I’m shaking my head.
I open the back door and snatch the tote bag sprawled across the back seat. I work to shove my things back inside.
“Can’t help but think maybe he doesn’t want to see me because he wishes I was the one that died.” Slamming the door shut harder this time, I walk around the rear of the truck and Harlen is in front of me, the tips of our shoes touching.
He sucks on his front teeth, then breathes so quietly, “Stop.”
I raise my eyes to him, feel tears lick at the back of my eyes, my bottom lip wobbles.
“I’m only speaking the?—”
He cuts me off, “If you believe that’s the truth…then you don’t know him at all.”
Before I can digest what he’s just said, Nan calls out from the porch, “Harlen, sweetheart, I’ve got something for you; don’t leave yet.”
Harlen is watching me when he takes a step toward the house. I can tell he wants to say more, that he is biting back a truth, fighting the entanglement at his teeth, but he looks away, and replies to Nan instead, “You’re too good to me, Nanna June.”
He meets Nan at the bottom of the porch steps, accepting the container of what looks like frosted cinnamon buns. He pushes a kiss to the top of her head and gives her a quick hug, they chat for a moment, and she squeezes his waist a little tighter before letting go.
I’m walking past them, up the concrete stairs and beneath the white arch overhead. My hand is at the front door when Harlen calls out to me and my instincts have me instantly spinning around, catching in his gaze, while Nan flicks her eyes back and forth warily between the both of us.
“I meant what I said,” he states, his hands shaking as he places the container of treats under his arm.
I stare at him for a moment longer, and nod but when I turn around I whisper beneath my breath, “Yeah, and so did I.”
“Regular tea, peppermint, chai, coffee…” Nan pauses, bending at the waist. She opens a cupboard door beneath the cream Formica countertop. “Hot chocolate?” Nan’s words are muffled as she speaks with strain reaching into the cupboard. Half her body is buried in the opening, and I’m always surprised at how flexible she is for, well, an old person.
“Chai please, with a little honey,” I whisper, running my hand over the plastic tablecloth bursting with sunflowers.
With two mugs clasped in the palms of her hands, Nan places them on the countertop and moves to the opposite end of the kitchen, opening another cupboard to retrieve a tin filled with an assortment of our favorite tea bags.
I’m tracing a sunflower in front of me when Nan places the mug beside it with a warning, “It’s hot, sweetheart.”
“Thank you,” I rasp, blowing steam off the top.
“Have you seen him?” she asks, her voice croaky, dangling on the edge.
I watch wisps flutter away. “Seen who?”
Nan runs her thumb down the length of the handle slowly. “Chase.” Her voice lowers this time.
I shake my head, deciding to push the lip of the mug to my mouth even though its contents are entirely too hot to be consumed. The searing liquid slips past my lips.
“You both have lost way too much. Your best friend, his sister, your parents, his parents…”
I skip over the liquid on my tongue, coughing into the mug, and burning hot liquid splashes onto my face. Curling the fabric of Chase’s hoodie around my fist, I run it across my mouth, drying myself off. My stomach tilts.
“Wh-wh-what?” I stutter, pressing my fist to my lips.
Nan’s eyes meet mine. “Harlen didn’t tell you?”
I shake my head, pursing my lips. “Wh-what happened?” I ask quietly.
Nan reaches for my hand, squeezes it as tightly as she can, though it's gentle and weak. “How about a cinnamon?—”
Tears are pin pricks at the rear of my eyes. “Please tell me, Nan.”
“Their house burned down overnight.” She stumbles over her words, and I find myself replacing her hands with mine, holding her tight enough without hurting her. “Candle and a curtain, started a fire, they had no working smoke alarms...” She pauses to swallow, and I almost feel it myself when she looks up at me, her green eyes as haunted as mine. “They were both inside, didn't make it out in time.”
