He still doesn’t look at me. “She didn’t cry. Not even at the funeral. You’d think that would mean she’s okay, but she’s not. Mom cries all the time. I hear her at night sometimes. But she still smiles. Jess doesn’t do that either. I’ve even seen Dad cry, but not Jess. Not that she ever comes home. She's avoiding all of us, like somehow that will make it less real.”
I lean back on the couch to take it in. He has a lot of insight for a kid. At least I know I’m not the only one she’s avoiding. But knowing how much she’s hurting rips through me. Protective instincts, always strong when it comes to Jess, are killing me. I want to help. I want to wrap my arms around her and take away the hurt. She won’t let me near her. Won’t let anyone near her.
Except... I remember Gage’s warning. “Watch out for Stephens. He’s getting closer to Jess than he should. I don’t know if she realizes it. She thinks he’s a friend. He wants it to be more.”
He answered her phone. He was there with her, driving her home, after Matt died.I’ll take care of her.
How far does taking care of her go?
I feel like a jerk for asking this, but I have to know. “Is she dating anyone?”
Tyler shakes his head. I’m not sure if it’s a yes or a no. “There’s this guy—Michael. He came from Fort Bliss with Matt. He stayed at our house for a couple of days over Christmas last year. Went skiing with us. He brought her home after Matt died, then came with us to the memorial service. He likes her a lot.”
“How does she feel about him?”
“You’ll have to ask her.” He un-pauses the game so I get that he's done talking. I stand up and leave him alone. He looks so tired. So much older than fifteen right now. He’s carrying around a huge weight. I can’t push anymore. I can’t make it worse.
thirty-five
Treasure
I’m lying in her bed.
Alone.
It’s been a long time since she slept here. The sheets smell like they were just washed. I wish they'd left them from the last time she was in this bed. Mr. Robert’s friend is sleeping in the rec room. No one suggested I sleep in Matt’s room. I’m not sure if anyone has been in there since he left. It hasn’t even been three months.
I lie in her bed, staring at the glowing stars on the ceiling. They’ve been here since Jess was a little kid. I used to tease her about making a wish when they fell. They're all stuck tight. No wishes for me tonight. I can’t sleep, so I get up and wander around the room—slide my hand over the curve of the headboard, pick up a pen she left on her desk, look out the window where I saw her watching me the first time I worked on her car. I'm trying not to snoop. Wanting so bad to snoop. I want to know what Jess left in this room.
There’s a picture stuck in the side of the mirror—Jess and her high school friends Jasmine, and Taryn. They have their arms around each other on some beach, shorts, sweatshirts, and bare feet. They must be about 16.
I lean in to study the picture closer and accidentally knock into a blue box sitting on the edge of the dresser. I try to catch it, but it falls on the floor. The lid comes off and the contents scatter.
I look around, feeling guilty, like someone heard the noise and is coming to see what I’m doing in here. I try to scoop everything up without looking. A little label on the lid of the box stops me. “Jessica’s treasure box,” written in a childish scrawl.
I change my mind. I’m full-fledged snooping now—going through the papers and the things that fell. I need to know what Jess’s treasures are. What they were.
She started this a long time ago. The first thing I see is a picture of her and Gage on a soccer team. They were about six, maybe seven. There’s a running medal–Capitol Lake Marathon. A picture to go with it, Jess and her mom, arms around each other, holding their medals. Everything is mixed together, a 100% spelling test from grade school next to a picture of her college roommates.
Something silver slides out of a pile of papers. I pick it up, already knowing what it is. The locket I gave her, no chain at all now. There are patches where the silver has gotten dull from her rubbing it.
I think back to the day we moved away from here. The day I gave Jess the locket. I've spent a lot of time trying to sort out what happened that day. She used to follow me around like a puppy. “Hero worship,” my mom called it. But I didn’t mind.
There was always something about Jess. Even when she was a little girl. She was tough. She never seemed to care what the other kids said to her, or how many times she got left out. She kept coming back, kepttrying to be part of everything we did. It got to the point where I cared more about the teasing than she did. I went after anyone who hurt her. When I found out we were moving, I bought the locket, but I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to give it to her until I found her crying in the barn.
And the kiss?
That one I’m still not sure about. I only knew that it would make her happy. When I saw her again, all grown up and beautiful—seventeen, I was worried that she would think of me as some creepy fifteen-year-old who stalked a kid four years younger than him.
She didn’t.
She told me the kiss was perfect. I wish I knew the perfect thing to do now.
Another picture catches my eye. We’re kids. It’s a picture her mom took after we spent the day digging a hole in the ground to make a fort. My idea. Me, Matt, Nate, Gage, and Jess are gray, covered in dirt. Jess wasn’t afraid to get dirty. She'd do anything to keep up with the boys. She never cried, even when she got really hurt. Gage would cry before she would.
Never cried. Never cries. Maybe she’s still trying to be tough.
I’m done snooping. I pick up a pile of papers and pictures and shove them into the box. The next handful stops me. This time it’s a picture of us. Grown up. My arm is around her, her head is on my shoulder. She sent me an identical picture right after I left. It's the only picture I have where we look like a couple. I looked at it every single day in Iraq.
