I glance around the kitchen, memories of Zach fill every corner. We’d come running in from baseball practice and Mrs. Kinkaid would shout, “Shoes off, boys!” Then we’d raid the fridge making what we called “Scooby sandwiches,” stacking bread and meat and cheese as high as we could. His presence is here like a mirage, faint and then fading as soon as I try to hold on to it.
“I worry about you. You know?” Mrs. Kinkaid takes a bite of her sandwich, but holds my gaze.
“Why? I’m fine. No need to worry.”
“You live alone on that big property. It’s not good for a man to be alone like that.”
“I’m smothered at the station every other day. My home is my haven.”
“Yeah. Yeah.” She smiles. “I know you like your solitude. But I don’t know if it’s actually the best for you.”
“I’m not like you,” I remind her. “Or Zach.”
He and I were such opposites. I only ever needed one or two close friends. He had so many people always wanting to spend time with him and he loved them all. He always told me I was his very best friend. I never quite knew why, but I didn’t take the fact for granted, either.
“I never was one to need a bunch of people in my life,” I say.
“No man is an island, Greyson. We all need people.”
“Well, I have you, then.”
She smiles. “I’m glad we have each other.”
We finish our lunches in relative silence. It’s nice. She doesn’t push me to talk when I need time to think. I’m glad I told her about Hallie. There’s something about letting the spinning thoughts in my head out that gives perspective.
We rinse our dishes and I get ready to leave.
“Thanks for showing up,” Mrs. Kinkaid says, pulling me into a hug at the front door. “You could have told me to call a plumber.”
“No. No, I couldn’t,” I say, giving her a squeeze and pulling back.
“Come by again soon,” she says when I step onto the porch.
“I will.”
“And think about what I said.”
I nod.
She laughs softly. “You always were stubborn.”
“Nice to be able to count on consistency, isn’t it?”
She shakes her head, and I descend the porch steps.
I glance up before I pull away from the curb, and she’s still standing there, arms folded across her chest, watching me.
I run my errands, alone, the way I like it. Then I make a last stop at the grocery.
I weave my way up and down the aisles, grabbing a few fruits and vegetables, a half-gallon of milk, some eggs and bread.
I’m standing at the meat cases when I hear my name being shouted by a girl.
“Coach G! Coach G!”
Mia comes running at me, skidding to a stop with athletic precision.
“Hey, Mia.”
