Page 225 of Bend

We’re not.

We’ve just gotten better at functioning around the hole Wolfe left behind.

His section of the memorial wall still sits across from Bay Three.

I miss him in stupid ways more than the big ones. I miss knowing exactly what smart-ass comment would come out of his mouth when Andre started yelling. I miss the way he’d steal food off my plate without asking and act offended when I told him to fuck off.

I miss seeing his name light up my phone for something completely pointless.

Wolfe was one of my best friends.

My brother.

I know Echo and Thorne lost him in a different way than I did.

They lost someone they loved. Someone they’d built something with.

Wolfe knew Thorne better than most people did. He could tell when the jokes were bullshit, when to push him and when to leave him the fuck alone. Somehow, he got Thorne comfortable enough to stop running from parts of himself he’d spent years avoiding.

And Echo was the same in her own way.

Wolfe knew when she was hiding behind work, or jokes, or being useful because sitting still meant feeling too much. He saw through all of it without making a big deal out of it.

That kind of connection doesn’t just get replaced.

I know that.

Which is exactly why I haven’t tried.

I can’t be Wolfe for either of them, and I wouldn’t insult him by pretending I could.

All I can do is stay.

So that’s what I’ve been doing.

For Echo.

For Thorne.

For myself too, even if I’m slower to admit that part.

Around one, Andre finally tells everyone to get the fuck out of his face for lunch, which is probably less about giving us a break and more about preserving his last remaining shred of sanity.

I grab my keys and head out before Revel can convince anybody that gas-station taquitos count as nutrition.

Echo isn’t here today.

She texted the group this morning saying she was working from the cabin, which in Echo language probably means she’s been sitting with her guitar, forgetting food exists and calling it productivity.

I know her well enough now to know she’s probably eaten fuck all.

So I stop for lunch on the way over.

Nothing dramatic. Just something I know she’ll actually eat, plus coffee because I’m not stupid enough to show up empty-handed when she’s been writing.

Her bike is outside when I pull up.

Good.