“For you, course I do.” He offered me a seat in the shack and a glass of sweet tea. “What’s on your mind, darlin’?”
I took a deep breath, tracing the rim of my tea glass. “George, I’ve been thinking…about Jack.”
“What about Jack? He’s not in some kind of trouble, is he?”
I shook my head, my lips pressing together in a tight line as I searched for the right words. “No…it's just…I kinda like him, you see, and I don’t exactly know how to tell him. And since you know him better than just about anyone, I thought you might have an idea.”
George leaned back in his chair, his face relaxing. “Oh. And here I was worrying it was something serious.”
“This is serious, George,” I protested. “At least to me. I’ve been trying all summer to work up the courage to tell him, but no matter how hard I try, the words just won’t come.”
“I’m sorry.” George’s grin softened into a warm smile. “I didn't mean to belittle your feelings. When it comes to Jack, he…well, he's not the easiest to read. But I can tell you this—he thinks mighty highly of you.”
“He does?”
“Of course. You should see how his face lights up whenever someone mentions your name. I’m no mind reader, but if that ain’t a sign of affection, I don’t know what is.”
A blush crept across my cheeks.
“But if you really wanna know how he feels, talk to him, and be truthful. Jack, he values honesty above all else. You, of all people, should know that.”
I was silent as I absorbed his words, my mind swirling with thoughts of Jack. I finally nodded, meeting George's gaze. “Honesty,” I said, my fingers absently tracing the condensation on my tea glass. “I’m sure you’re right. It’s just… What if he doesn’t feel the same way?”
George shrugged. “Then he doesn't. And that will sting, no doubt about it. But at least you'll know where you stand. Who knows? Maybe he feels the same way, and you’re worried for nothing. Sometimes, the fear of rejection outweighs the possibility of happiness. But what's most important is that you stay true to yourself and your feelings. If he can't reciprocate, it'snot because you're at fault, but because his feelings are different. And that’s okay.”
I listened to George, his words resonating deep within me. Something shifted, a slow unearthing of a courage I didn't realize I had. “You're right,” I said, the words leaving me in a rush. “I have to tell him.”
George smiled at me, the kind of smile that made you feel like you've accomplished something great. “That's the spirit,” he said, lifting his glass in a silent toast to my newfound resolution.
Later that night, I lay in bed, replaying George's words in my head. Jack. Honesty. Rejection. Happiness. The fear of rejection was something I had always battled with, a lurking shadow that kept me silent about my deepest feelings. But now, the possibility of happiness seemed worth the risk. Jack was a young man who made me laugh, who listened when I spoke and saw me for who I truly was. I thought of his warm smile, his endless eyes that seemed to hold a world of mystery I yearned to unravel. Yes, I decided, he was worth the risk.
The following day dawned bright and beautiful, with an intensity that mirrored my own resolve. Buoyed by George's supportive words, I found myself striding toward the lake with a fierceness I didn't know I possessed. I had dressed in my favorite blouse, a soft pastel pink that complemented my complexion and had me brimming with confidence. The closer I got to the water, the faster my heart raced, but I did not let the fear deter me.
At the edge of the lake, where the creek merged with the water, I found Jack hunched over his journal, deep in thought.
“Whatcha working on?”
He looked up as I approached. “Oh, nothing. Just doing a little writing,” he said, closing the journal and tucking it away.
“Are you working on another story?”
Jack shook his head. “Actually, I was thinking about Lewis.”
“Oh.” I sat down beside him on the grassy bank. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“No, not really. I just… I miss him, you know?”
I nodded, not quite knowing what to say. “I can only imagine,” I said, placing my hand over his.
He glanced at our intertwined hands, then back at me, his eyes reflecting the same vulnerability he always hid behind his mischievous grin. He sighed, a deep weary sound that seemed to echo across the lake. “Sometimes, I feel like I’m the only one who remembers him. Like if I stop, he’ll just…fade away.”
“I don’t think memories work like that, Jack. Mother says that memories are resilient, like people. They aren’t tied to the number of people who remember, but to the strength of the emotions they evoke. I think Lewis will always be a part of you, no matter what. He’ll always be a part of me too.”
Jack was silent for a moment, studying the rippling water as if it held the answers to the questions he was too afraid to ask. “I guess you're right,” he finally said, his gaze shifting back to me. “I just worry that I'm not doing him justice. That by not talking about him, I'm failing him in some way.”
I shifted closer, the grass whispering softly around us. “Grief is a strange thing. There's no right or wrong way to handle it. You're not failing Lewis by not talking about him all the time.”
His lips tightened, a faint line appearing between his brows. Just then, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of evening blooms. We sat there, shoulder to shoulder, as the sun began to dip beneath the horizon.
