“It was a beagle. His name was Arthur.”
A few seconds later, I’m outside, holding something behind my back.
There’s a pause between us.
Oliver arches a brow. “What do you have there?”
“Something I want to give you.”
“For what?”
“Just because.”
“Give it.”
I hand it over. Oliver blinks at me. “This is… Sam’s shirt…”
“Yes. And I want you to have it.”
“Why?”
“It doesn’t fit me. And I figure it’ll look better on you.”
Oliver stares at the shirt for a long time. “I don’t think I can take this,” he says.
“What do you mean? Of course you can.”
He hands it back to me. “No, I can’t.”
I push his hands away. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s only a shirt.”
“It’sSam’sshirt.”
“And I’m giving it to you.”
“I’m not taking this—” Oliver tries forcing the shirt back in my hands, but I push it away again. We do this back-and-forth game until I’m annoyed.
I slap his wrist.“Why are you being like this?”
Oliver sighs. “Because Sam obviously wanted you to have it,” he says. “Not me.”
“You don’t know that. So just take it, okay?”
Oliver stares at me, and then back at the shirt. “I don’t get it. Don’t you want to keep it?”
“I have plenty of his things. Don’t worry.”
Oliver runs a hand over the shirt. Then he holds it tight. “Thank you.”
I smile at him. “Just don’t lose it, okay?”
“You know I won’t.”
I slide my backpack on and head down the steps, ready to go. For some reason, Oliver remains on the porch, unmoving.
“What’s the matter?” I ask. “Not changing your mind, are you?”
“No,” he says, sliding off his letterman’s jacket. “I feel like I should give you something now.” He steps off the porch, and places it over my shoulders.
