“I thought we’d eat on the back porch,” he says. “Is it warm enough for you?”
“I think so.”
I follow him out the back door to the spot where he’s set a table with drinks and low, fat candles.
“Oh,” I say. “Thisisa date.” A skitter of tingles dances across my skin.
“It is,” he says, smiling over at me.
We’ve had meals together. I don’t know why tonight feels so different—strangely significant.
We sit next to one another, our chairs facing outward toward the railing and the woods beyond. We eat and talk—about the game, Dustin’s ridiculous getup, and work. I tell him about Mom and Jonathan and the TV wars.
“I could get them a remote setup that wouldn’t cause an overlap,” he says, easily.
Always solving problems—taking care of the people around him.
“I think I’d rather not mention that to Mom.”
“No?”
“I don’t know. They seem oddly compatible.”
“Ohhh. Yeah. Let’s keep this going for a while.” He chuckles softly.
After dinner, we take a walk to the pond, holding hands all the way there, the sounds of peepers and waterbugs fill the air. When we come back, we snuggle on the couch, the fire burning in the hearth across from us.
Greyson’s running his hand lazily up and down my arm.
“It’s Zach’s birthday month,” he says, quietly. His hand stills, resting in one spot on my arm. “I went to see his mom this week.”
“That has to be so hard on her—and you.”
I turn so I’m looking him in the eyes.
Greyson’s brow furrows and his eyebrows draw in. He swallows hard.
I settle my hand on his leg and we sit there, staring intoone another’s eyes. When my other hand rises and softly rests on Greyson’s jaw, tears form at the edges of his lashes.
“I don’t talk about him enough,” he says in a choked whisper.
“It’s not your job to keep his memory alive,” I say softly, my hand still cupping his jaw.
“I can’t … He shouldn’t have died, Hallie.” His head shakes almost imperceptibly back and forth. “Zach was life itself. I never met anyone like him. So all in. So open and ready to take on whatever life sent him—always with a smile on his face.”
“I know,” I say, remembering the boy at the train station.
Greyson nods, the tears spilling over and down his cheeks. I gently swipe one with my thumb.
“I miss him all the time. And then …” He swallows a sob, rubbing his own thumb roughly across the other cheek. “Sometimes I forget him.”
Greyson’s face contorts in agony and the tears come in streams. He glances down and then back up at me.
“Of course you have times he’s not on your mind. You’re living your life. That’s what he would want.”
Greyson’s chest heaves with two deep gasps for breath. He pivots and leans into me, resting his head on my shoulder. I wrap my arms around him and he sobs in my arms. I hold him, running my hands up and down his back while he lets out this fresh wave of grief.
We sit like that for a while, his sobs slowly subsiding. Then he sniffs and pulls back, staring at me with red-rimmed eyes.
