“You don’t have to. We can just hang out here for a little while.”
We sit on the grass together. The air feels eerily still, as if the wind doesn’t reach this place. I haven’t felt a single breeze since we entered. The trees around us are as inanimate as if they’re made of stone. I keep glancing over my shoulder. We seem to be the only two out here this afternoon.
Some time passes. Oliver picks at the grass in silence. He hasn’t said anything in a while. I wonder what he’s thinking about. “Do you usually come here alone?” I ask him.
“Usually.”
“And you just sit here like this?”
“Sometimes I change the water in the vase.”
I stare at his rose again. I wonder how many flowers he’s given Sam. “You really miss him, don’t you?”
“Probably no more than you.”
We both look at each other. Then he looks away, and things go quiet again.
“I think Sam would be happy to know you visit him,” I say after a while. “I think it would mean a lot to him.”
Oliver looks up. “You think so?”
“I do.”
After a moment, he lets out a tense breath. “I just don’t want him to feel alone, you know?” he says. “Like, what if he needs some company? I want him to know that someone’s here.”
A pain shoots through me. I wish I could call Sam and let him hear this. I wish I could tell Oliver about our calls, just to give him some sort of peace. What would he even think? Would he believe me?
In almost a whisper, Oliver asks a bit nervously, “Can I tell you something?”
“Of course.”
“Sometimes… I talk to him.”
“To Sam?”
Oliver nods.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, right here,” he says, gesturing at the grass where we sit. “Out loud, I guess. About normal things. Like stuff we used to talk about, you know?” Then he looks away, shaking his head. “It’s stupid, I know.”
If only he knew the truth. If only I could just tell him.“No, it isn’t,” I say to ease him. “I get it. If it makes you feel better, I tried calling him.”
“You mean, on the phone?”
“Yeah.”
For a second, I think he might ask me more about this, but he doesn’t. Though a part of me wishes he did. I wonder what my answer would have been. I watch Oliver pick at the grass again and feel a pang of guilt. Guilt for getting to talk with Sam, and not being able to tell anyone about it. Maybe I should. Just to know what happens next. Or for him to tell methis is real.Without looking up, Oliver asks me another question. “Can I tell you something else?”
I lean forward and listen.
“Remember what I asked you that one night? About what you’d say to Sam, if you had one more chance?”
“I do.”
“Do you want to know mine?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
