I take a step forward, toward the short stone wall separating us from the view.
“It’s—” I stop, feeling Jacob beside me, his shoulder brushing mine.
“What?” he asks when I don’t continue.
I shake my head. “I—I don’t know. It’s just…out here, don’t you ever feel like you’re so small? Likeeverythingis so small?” I pause, uncertain if I’m capturing exactly how I feel, unsure if I can put it into words. “I mean, something like this…it goes on forever. And we—”
“And we’re part of it,” Jacob says. “Maybe not forever, but right now, we’re part of it too.”
I let out an amused breath. “My version was going to be much more pessimistic than that.” I look over at him. “But I like yours better.”
He smiles, slow and gentle. “I didn’t used to like it, but at some point, I had to accept it. That nothing lasts forever.” He lifts a hand, pointing at the hills in front of us. “Not even this. All that purple? The heather? It only blooms twice a year. You just happen to be here at the right time, but in a few months all this purple will turn brown. This place…it won’t look like this forever. But maybe that’s what makesthisspecial, what gives it meaning. If we all went on forever, ifthiswent on forever, would we even be able to understand how beautiful this is?”
I look back at the hills, at the swaths of purple flowers, and it almost…hurts to imagine this place without them. To know their time here is so short.
And then I see my father, looking out at the same view, his back toward us.
“How do you—” A lump forms in my throat. “I haven’t experienced a fraction of what you have, but if I had, I don’t know if I could—” I shake my head. “I just wonder how you—you sound so okay with that. How do you not wish for more time?”
“Therapy,” he says, and something about his matter-of-fact tone makes me laugh.
“Sorry,” I say, but when I look over at him, he’s grinning widely.
“No,” he says. “I was being flippant. Though it’s partially true. I don’t know how I would have processed, how I would have dealt with everything without it. But the truth is Idowish for more time. I wish I had years and years, but I’d settle for five minutes. Five minutes with my parents in the kitchen. Five minutes talking with James. I’d settle for a handful of seconds, really. I wouldn’t even have to see them. It’d be enough to just hear theirvoicesagain. But—” He stops, his voice breaking. “There’s no amount of time that would be enough. I’ll always want more. And so, what other choice is there?” He lifts a shoulder. “There’s nothing else I can do but be thankful for the time I did have. And enjoy the time I have now.”
“I…” I take a deep breath, my shoulder brushing against his. “That’s beautiful. It’s—” I turn toward him, his face only a few inches away from mine. “You have a real way with words, you know that?”
He flushes. “English professor,” he says, half explanation, half apology.
“And poet,” I say.
“And poet.”
“And bagpiper.”
He laughs lightly. “All right.” He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and looks away, and something flutters in my chest.
“Are you embarrassed?”
“No. Yes.” He rubs the bridge of his nose. “Yes.”
“Why?”
And now when he laughs, he sounds shy. Self-conscious. “I don’t know.”
“You have no reason to feel that way, you know? I think it’s…I’m not teasing you. I like those things about you.”I like you.
“Thanks,” he says. His eyes meet mine, hesitant, but warm. Kind.
A heavy crunch of gravel sounds behind us, and I twist my head in time to see my father walking back to the car. His mouth opens when he sees me, as if he might call my name, or say something,anything,but he closes it just as quickly.
“Do you want to talk to him?” Jacob asks quietly.
Yes.
No.
Truly, I don’t think I can. I feel as if I’ve just donated blood, drained of energy, lightheaded. I’m not sure if I have anything left to give.
