Page 47 of Love, Literature, and the Linebacker

Lucy presses her lips together and nods before the tears can fall. “Okay.”

“I’ll call if anything changes,” Mr. Bennett promises.

Lucy hugs her mom, and Violet holds her for several long seconds before letting go.

My parents were never like this with Gemma and me. Or each other. My family was nothing like Lucy’s.

I wait until she pulls away on her own.

Outside, the silence feels unnatural after hours of hospital noise.

We walk to Darnell’s truck without speaking. I don’t rush the silence. Anything I say would only break a silence she doesn’t need broken.

At the truck, I open the door for her. Instead of getting in, she wraps her arms around my waist, pressing her face into my chest. I hold her without asking her to explain what she needs.

“I didn’t know you had a truck,” she mumbles.

“It’s Darnell’s,” I say.

“He let you drive it?”

“He did.”

“That was nice of him.”

“It was.”

“I’m sorry you came all this way just to take me home.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, because it’s true.

She hesitates. “Is my mom going to be okay?”

I don’t pretend to know. “She’s in the right place. They’ll take care of her.”

She rises onto her toes and presses a tender kiss to my lips. Then, I help her into the truck.

The drive is quiet. When she points to her house, I pull to the curb.

“Can I walk you to the door?” I ask.

Lucy exhales. “Can you stay… until I fall asleep?”

“Yes.”

I wait while she locks the door behind us.

Every warning Mr. Bennett gave me follows us down the hallway, but Lucy’s fingers remain wrapped around mine. Tonight is not about testing boundaries. It’s about making sure she doesn’t have to be alone.

I pause at her bedroom door until she tugs me inside.

Paperbacks fill two mismatched shelves and continue in uneven stacks across the desk and windowsill. Trailing vines curl around the curtain rod, their leaves casting soft shadows beneath a small amber lamp. A corkboard above her desk holds handwritten quotations, class schedules, and photographs tucked beneath bright pushpins. Even the room’s disorder has a system to it, every book and folded blanket arranged according to rules only Lucy understands.

“I’m going to change,” she says as she motions to the hall.

I sit on the edge of the bed and text Darnell that I’ll return the truck after Lucy falls asleep.

When she returns from the bathroom in plaid pajamas, some of the composure she held together at the hospital is gone.