Page 139 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

Lucy leans her head against my shoulder with a quiet sigh.

Instinctively, I lace my fingers through hers.

“I missed this,” I admit.

“This?”

“Just… being with you.”

She smiles without lifting her head. “I missed it, too.”

I look out across the park, watching the little girl finally swing across the last monkey bar before dropping triumphantly into her father’s waiting arms.

Life keeps moving.

Kids grow up.

Dreams change.

People leave home.

But none of that feels frightening. Because home isn’t Willow Creek or California. It isn’t a football field or the library.

Maybe home isn’t the place waiting at the end of the road.

Maybe it’s knowing we decide where to go together.

I kiss the top of Lucy’s head. “Ready?” I ask softly.

She gazes up at me. “Yeah.”

We stand and continue our walk beneath the late afternoon sun, neither of us hurrying toward whatever comes next.

I don’t need to know exactly where I’m going.

As long as she’s walking beside me, that’s all that matters.

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Lucy

I wake before my alarm.

Normally, I reach for a book. Instead, I simply lie here, watching as ribbons of early sunlight stretch across my bedroom ceiling.

Everything is exactly the same. Light walls. Overflowing bookshelf beside my bed. The stack of library books on my nightstand waiting to be returned. The framed picture of Mom smiling up at the camera with flour dusted across the front of her apron.

Nothing has changed.

Yet, somehow, everything has.

I throw the covers back and pad barefoot across the hardwood floor, pulling open the curtains.

Willow Creek is just beginning to wake up.

Mr. Jensen is already watering the flowers outside his house.

Mrs. Alvarez walks her golden retriever down Maple Street, just like she has every morning for as long as I can remember.