Page 5 of Let the Light Shine Through

“I couldn’t help but notice you inside.” To put it mildly. “You were the only one smiling.” That same smile grows, waiting for me to continue. “Is there a reason?”

“I just thought you’d be a good one.”

Good one?

“Roz, honey, are you ready to go?”

Waiting for me next to the short wrought-iron fence, Diane’s anxiously clutching her small purse that I know is only full of tissues—both clean and used.

“Yeah, just give me a minute,” I tell her gently, then quickly spin around to ask, “Good for what?”

My question goes unanswered, however, as I find the spot in front of me now empty. I rub at the back of my neck, watching the girl still wearing my jacket skate down the street, untamed hair blowing out behind her like a superhero’s cape.

Is that who she is then? A skateboarding crusader that goes around rescuing choked-up speeches at funerals?

Seems unlikely, but crazier things have happened.

“I was wondering if I’d see that again,” Salvy’s mom tells me on the way to my truck.

“What’s that?”

“Your smile.”

Catching my reflection in the window, I see she’s right. The person that pulled me from the void, even if it was only momentarily, left me without a backward glance or a way to ever see her again. Am I even gonna get my jacket back?

Fuck. Me.

I hope you’re laughing your ass off up there, I send to Salvy mentally before sobering at the thought. The last time I was this riveted by something was in Switzerland, when Salvy and I went up on a little heli trip. We became obsessed, so much so we flew back up there the next day. And look how that turned out.

Everyone talks about addiction being dangerous, but nobody ever warns you about avalanches being one of the deadliest consequences of all.

Roz

“Is that the last of it?” my roommate, Fletcher, asks from the kitchen as I head back out the front door, so I throw up my pointer finger above my head in answer.

Not long after the funeral, I ran into one of my old buddies who went to middle school with Salvy and me. After catching up, he invited me to move in with him and his roommates. I didn’t know where I would ultimately live once I moved back here, but after staying with my parents for a couple months, I knew it wouldn’t be there. It’s one thing when I’m jetting around the globe to different events with only short stints back at home, but it’s another to be there every damn day with the constant pressure to return to something I already swore off.

Anyway, I needed out, and Fletcher needed someone else to help with rent, so I took him up on his offer. According to my phone’s lock screen, it’s already June, but I couldn’t pinpoint what day or week, even if there was a gun to my head. It all blends together into one giant endless stretch of time. The hands on the clock move but nothing changes. At least not to me.

I don’t think it’s technically summer yet, but I guess it’s warm enough to pass because we’re opening the pool today. The party we’re hosting might be the real reason, but I stopped paying attention to the excuses my roommate makes for throwing parties. I just show up—physically.

Mentally…I don’t know where the fuck I am anymore. Grabbing another case of spiked apple cider apparently.

I reach for the last box in the back of my lifted Chevy, freezing when I hear a whirring—one that sounds a hell of a lot like…

The whirring grows louder, like it’s getting closer, but there’s nothing on the only sidewalk I allow myself to actually scope out. Unfortunately, during Fletcher’s pitch to get me to move here, he left out the fact that the house sits directly across from an all-girls high school, so I make it a point to never let my eyes wander over to that side of the road. He got a great deal on the historic Victorian after a fraternity beat the ever-living shit out of it and has been trying to fix the place up bit by bit to increase property value, but since high school girls are too young for everyone that lives under this roof, I’ve been keeping my eyes—and every other part of my body—firmly on this side of the road.

Now though, there’s something—no, someone—that has my full attention as I chance a peek across the street.

Russet-brown hair tied into a gigantic sloppy bun sits atop a face I’ve been thinking about since March. A face sporting the smile that drew me in from the beginning.

The same girl from Salvy’s funeral is riding her skateboard past the finial fencing to the hundred-year-old Jacobethan Revival-style school.

It’s not that she’s in front of the school that bothers me—anyone can breeze past it—it’s the uniform she’s wearing. The white long-sleeve dress shirt half sticking out the bottom of a black sweater vest, the tie hanging loosely from her neck, the plaid knee-length skirt, and the brown heavy-duty boots—it all really, really bothers me. And nothing bothers me anymore.

Does she go there?

She swings a look over her shoulder to check for cars, then she’s jumping the curb flawlessly and crossing the road. Straight to my side. Straight to me.