I let myself into the library at the Big House and slipped behind one of the bookshelves. George had discovered a doorway to a forgotten cupboard, and every time I squeezed into its confines, my heart pattered with excitement. Some of our bestadventures began with a plan hatched in the cupboard. I found George sitting inside with all the supplies we needed for a wedding. An old curtain for a dress. The top hat. A notebook and a pencil for me to write my vows. He’d already written his.
We pronounced ourselves best friends forever ten minutes later.
George’s vows
Frankie, I promise never to let anyone come between us.
I promise I’ll never be mean to you.
I promise to share my grape sodas.
I promise I’ll always be your best friend, no matter what.
Even when we fight.
Frankie’s vows
I promise not to yell too much.
I promise to say I’m sorry.
I promise I’ll stick up for you, even to my brothers.
I promise to be the best best friend I can be.
Everyone else sucks compared to you. You’re the best,George.
TheWoods
Chapter Seven
The warm kiss of the sun filtering through the curtains.
The buttery aroma of Mom’s baking.
The chirp of crickets in the field and the twitter of chickadees in the branches of the apple tree.
Chick-a-dee-dee-dee.Such an optimistic song.
I lie in bed, waiting for the wallop of devastation to hit. But it’s just the sun, the crickets, and the birds. It’s July 16. In another life, this would have been my two-month anniversary, and I’d be packing for a honeymoon. I picture Nate’s face, but it’s like pressing on a fading bruise—it doesn’t hurt like it used to.
I’ve been home for more than a month now.
My parents live in a classic orange brick farmhouse on Old Stone Road in the Kawartha Lakes region, although they don’t live on water. Their tiny piece of central Ontario is completely landlocked, about two hours northeast of Toronto. It’s not exactly the middle of nowhere, but it’s very rural. The Big Houseis right next door, but otherwise the closest neighbor is half a mile up the road. Before George moved in, there were no children aside from my brothers within walking distance or even a bike ride away. It’s all fields and woods and rock.
Now, alone in my bedroom, I find that time collapses. I look around at the Katniss Everdeen poster and the bulletin board covered in letters from George, track and field ribbons, and recipes clipped from magazines. It’s easy to imagine that I’m sixteen. I let myself pretend that George is in the kitchen, scarfing down my mom’s banana bread while he waits to give me a ride to school in Mimi’s Cadillac. I’ll find him on a stool as my mom slices him a second piece, chatting to her about ocean acidification or melting glaciers.
All it takes is one text to drag me back to the present.
Aurora:You’re the strongest person I know. I love you, and I’m thinking about you. GO TO TOFINO!!!
Groaning, I send her back a string of heart emojis. Aurora has been the go-between on all post-relationship administration between Nate and me. She says Nate is adamant that I go on the honeymoon. But all of my friends are busy with work, and a romantic getaway for one is beyond my limits.
I hear Darwin’s truck pulling into the driveway and my dad walking out to greet him before they start their day in the workshop behind the house—Gardiner Cabinetry is now Gardiner & Son Cabinetry. I never thought I’d move in with my parents again, but hearing my oldest brother and father greet each other warmly every morning is comforting, and I love seeing more ofBirdie. My niece is messy and silly and loud, and her tawny hair is always in tangles. She reminds me of myself when I was little. Birdie has a big appetite and declares almost everything I feed her to be “Yummy! Yummy! Yummy!” Grilled cheese and carrot sticks are her favorite, and even though anyone could make them, seeing her smile as she eats something I prepared satisfies me on a soul level.
I force myself out of bed and put on a bathing suit and the Parks Canada T-shirt I stole from George when we were roommates. I head down the stairs, my flip-flops slapping against the maple treads, and find my mom in the kitchen, with muffins cooling on wire racks.
“How are you feeling?” she asks, pulling a second muffin pan from the oven.
