Page 121 of When the Smoke Clears

“We can’t leave.”

I fish my keys from my pocket. “We can. We’ll be back in an hour. Let’s run home. Everleigh made soup last night.”

Mom scrapes her teeth along her bottom lip. “But Pastor Gibbs—”

“He’ll sit with Dad. And if he has to leave, we’ll be back in no time.”

On a reluctant sigh, she nods and follows me to the parking lot. She says nothing on the way home, and neither do I. What’s there to say? This level of pain has no words. My gaze sweeps along the street as we pull into the drive. Everleigh’s truck is gone.

“This is hard,” Mom whispers when we step into the house. She wipes a few tears. “I’ve known that he wouldn’t return, but it just feels so real.”

I wrap my arms around her waist, pulling her back to my chest as I kiss the top of her head. She covers my hands with hers and squeezes hard.

We proceed to the kitchen after removing our shoes.

“She left you a note,” Mom says, nodding to the folded piece of notebook paper on the kitchen island.

I open the note as Mom retrieves the stockpot from the fridge.

Dear Will,

I don’t know if you’ll find this while your father is still alive. If not, I’m so sorry for your loss. Give your mom a hug from me and my deepest condolences. As much as I want to be the arms you long for, I’m honoring your request. Your friends will be here for you. They are good people. Let them love you.

This morning I emailed Hopkins and accepted the position. Although I’m leaving Montana, I’m always a phone call away. And if you find a day when you need me, I’ll be on the first flight back to you. But if that day never comes, I hope it means you’ve found comfort in your family. Maybe you’ll find yourself lost in the woods. Perhaps the best place to work through your grief is the place where you made the most memories together. Yosemite? Glacier? Zion? Have you been to Switzerland? Have you seen the Himalayas? You should.

If you’re ever in Baltimore . . .

Love,

Everleigh

“I’m not even hungry,” Mom says, lighting the burner.

I turn away from her for a few seconds to compose myself. Fuck, this hurts. Did I make a mistake?

I set the note aside, surprised how her words managed to infiltrate that aching organ in my chest despite the grief I’m feeling for my father. “He’d want you to eat, to take care of yourself,” I say.

She turns, eyeing the letter on the counter. “What about you? Are you taking care of yourself, or are you letting the right one go for the wrong reasons?”

“The right one?” I narrow my eyes before filling a glass with water.

“Everleigh. The girl has William Landry–size stars in her eyes. She’s beautiful. Smart. Talented.” Mom tries to smile because she wants my happiness more than her own, but her enthusiasm falls flat. Everything falls flat in the face of grief. It’s easier to hide an emotion than fake it.

“I’m aware.” I drink the water.

“He’s going to leave us behind.”

I set the glass aside and nod once.

“You have a long life ahead of you. I think you should live it,” Mom says.

I shrug. “All I see is death.”

She stirs the soup. “That breaks my heart.”

“What do you see?” I ask, retrieving two bowls from the cabinet. “Because it can’t be good. Everleigh is a lot younger than I am. Do you think it’s a good idea to set her up for this kind of heartbreak? If I find someone closer to my age, there’s at least a better chance of dying closer together.”

She glances sideways. “You think that’s the goal? To be with someone who might die close to you? And here I thought it was about love.”