HE SAID THAT! AND HE THREW HIS DQ HAT AT ME TO GET ME TO TURN AROUND!
I don’t know if I said thanks. I don’t know if I said anything at all. But my cup is full.
Until the next time.
That’s all 4 now!
3
Shane
January 1999
I find out frommy grandma that Ethan is planning to leave Port Leyden around lunchtime.
She offered the information without me asking, which meant Melody Henson must have blabbed to somebody who blabbed to somebody else, and by breakfast, my grandma knew all about it.
In the morning, I tell my boss, who I also rent an apartment above his garage from, that I’ll be out of town but back on the job site by Tuesday at the latest. He’s understanding, and he’s actually distantly related to the Sawyers, so he tells me to take my time, and he’s around if I need anything.
I look under my bed to find all the pictures, unceremoniously dumped in a shoebox, that I took my senior year of high school. It was a special photography project for my art teacher, Ms. Reynolds. She’d encouraged me, believed in me, and urged me to enter some of them into a contest at the community college in Boonville. I never did. Things happened. My life changed so fast, and the contest, the photos, were forgotten.
I don’t have time to look through all of them, but I pull out all the ones I took of Everett. They’re mostly of him running track and a few of him trying to do back flips. And there are photos of Ethan. I haven’t looked at them in five years, and I’d forgotten just how many of Ethan there were. Nearly half of the ones in that box. There’s maybe five of Everett. It makes me feel guilty, and that’s exactly why I’ve avoided looking in this box for the last five years. Especially since I don’t have all the pictures anymore.
One of the photos I took of me and Ethan is missing.
I find a manila envelope and put the photos inside, but I spot the one I took of Ethan and me out by Black River.
All the photos are in black-and-white, including this one. Ms. Reynolds said that was the best film to use. It was sunset, the golden hour, and I’d instructed Ethan to hop from one big rock to the other across the river, from one side to the other, while I got shots of him from each side. For the last one, I’d perched the old Rolleiflex that belonged to my grandpa on a rock a few feet away. I sat on one rock with my back facing the camera. I told Ethan to sit on the one next to me and face the camera. I wanted us to look relaxed, casual, as if we were just chilling there by the river. The timer was set for one minute. I don’t know what made me turn to look at him, or what made him turn to look at me, but that’s what the camera captured when the timer was up.
I hold the picture up and stare at it. No one else has seen it except for me. I never showed anyone. So, no one has ever seen the way Ethan looked at me in that moment, with a lock of chocolaty brown hair that had slipped from behind his ear, grazing his cheek, touching the corner of his lips. And no one has seen how I was looking at him, my face in profile, my lips parted as if I’m about to speak.
We were so close, looking right into each other’s eyes. If anybody saw this, it would be obvious. What was between us wasclear. But that moment wasn’t a revelation. It was a confession. The camera caught us. My throat swells. My heart races.
Cameras don’t lie.
The phone ringing makes me jump and drop the photo. I pick it up and answer. It’s Gina with Mikayla, telling me bye-bye, and to have a safe trip. I tell them I’m getting ready to leave, and I promise Mikayla I’ll bring her back something with a unicorn.
I go to put the photo into the envelope with the rest, but I put it in my coat pocket instead.
I won’t have time to go looking for the Rolleiflex, so I stop off at the drug store in Lowville to get a disposable camera. I take care of a few more things, tie up a couple more loose ends, make sure there’s someone to check in on my grandma, then I hop in my truck and drive to a place that used to feel more like home to me than my own.
What I’m hoping will happen is that Ethan will be outside already, so I won’t have to knock on the door or go inside. He doesn’t have to be nice to me at all. I just want this chance to do something right for once. Be there for my best friend one final time. I’ve rehearsed saying as much in my head a few times, but my heart is still pounding like crazy when I pull up across the street from the Sawyer’s restored Victorian, only to see there’s no one outside.
I remember it looking so cheerful. There were colorful flowerpots on the sunny white wraparound porch every summer. And there were piles of wood and a neatly shoveled front walkway through the long winter. The Sawyer’s home was always so inviting; a place that when I think of the wordhome, I always conjure up this house, rather than the one my grandparents lived in.
But now it doesn’t look so inviting.
The place looks drab. The wraparound porch is empty. There’s no pile of wood, and no one has shoveled the front walkway.Weak midday sunlight shines on the front of the house but no one inside probably sees it. Every window is covered with shades or curtains. In the driveway are two vehicles. One is a black Chevy Blazer that looks like it’s possibly a rental. My stomach twists. The rental Ethan drove from New York City.
My anxiety is double-headed—one the fear of facing Ethan and the other the fear of seeing inside Everett’s home without him in it. I take a couple of deep breaths before I leave the warmth and safety of my truck and go to the front door. I hope someone inside happens to see me through all those curtains and shades and comes out before I have to see inside that home again.
I knock timidly on the door. Then I knock a second time way too loudly. It takes a few minutes for someone to open the door, and for a split second it looks like Ev standing there, alive and well and ready to forgive. But the man I see is Rick Sawyer, Ev’s dad. He looks almost the same except older.Mucholder. It must be the grief around his eyes and bracketing his mouth.
His expression is blank for a moment before his eyes widen with recognition. “Shane?”
“Hi,” I say softly.
He smiles a tired, sagging smile and holds the door open to let me inside. Then he surprises me with a hug. A tight bear hug that he seems to need more than me. His eyes are redder when he lets go of me, and he looks away. “It’s good to see you, Shane.”
