“You made it,” Claire said with a smile, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder. “Proud of you.”
I winced. Didn’t think that was what he wanted to hear, but…whatdidhe want to hear? Was there anything you could even say?
“It’s good to see you, man,” I said.
“Same to you,” he murmured. “Keep meaning to come by the bar, but with the kids…”
He trailed off. We all went silent for too long.
“You should really get some help around the house,” Claire said. “We could all pitch in?—”
“I’m fine,” Reid interrupted, his voice a little heated. “We’re good. We don’t need anyone.”
Claire pressed her lips together and let it go. She was smart enough to know when to back off with Reid the same way she was smart enough to know when to back off with me. It was one of her better qualities.
I looked at him.
He looked out at the field where Sadie had found Nell and they were already in motion together, running toward the ring toss. Something moved across his face watching her—relief, maybe, or the grief of watching your kid be happy when you can barely hold yourself together.
“She talked about this all week,” he said. “Couldn’t not bring her.”
“Glad you did,” I said.
We stood in silence for a minute, watching the kids. Claire had the good sense to drift toward Andy, who had finally been released from his jungle gym duties and was now attempting to win something at the bean bag toss with great enthusiasm and poor results.
“She loved this damn festival,” Reid said. “Never let us miss it, not one year. I should have volunteered…for her, at least.”
“No shoulds here,” I asked. “You’re doing your best.”
He frowned.
“My best isn’t good enough,” he said, voice hoarse. “Maya’s holding the whole house together, and she shouldn’t have to do that. The boys are angry. Mostly at me, I think.”
“People are gonna feel what they’re gonna feel.”
“Verycomforting, Nash.”
My eyes slid toward him. “I don’t think there’s anything I could say that’ll comfort you, man.”
He was quiet for a moment. Then, roughly: “No. There isn’t.”
We stood with that for a bit. The festival carried on around us—kids shrieking, the bean bag toss, someone’s toddler crying about a dropped pumpkin—and Reid just stood there in it, present and completely somewhere else at the same time.
“Keep thinking I should sell the house,” he said finally. “Start fresh somewhere. Give the kids a clean slate.”
“Right, because leaving your support system is absolutely the best way to recover from loss.”
“Fuck you.”
I raised my hands. “Not trying to be an asshole. Just saying.”
“You’re always an asshole.”
We both laughed. It felt good. And as we went silent again, my eyes went back to Maggie Laine.
She’d gathered a horde of kids around her now, pouring cider for everyone. They ran off, immediately spilling it on themselvesand her, and she looked down at her yellow dress, then back toward the school.
I needed to stop staring. I knew that.
