“I’m okay, sweetheart.” A long pause, lungs laboring. “He helped me respond to some texts.”
I want to keep the conversation going. Ask who she was texting, what did they say, did she talk to Richard. But her energy wanes by the second and I don’t want to bombard her with questions.
Her gaze scans my face in long sweeps, side to side, up and down. Several beats pass without a word.
“Mom?” The single syllable is edged with a concern I’m incapable of hiding.
She squeezes my hand, lids already fluttering, and whispers, “Enjoy your date tonight, Haddy girl.”
A moment later, sleep pulls her back under.
“What are you thinking about?”Rowan’s voice, smooth like whiskey, comes through the line. We’ve been quiet the past few minutes, the sound of waves crashing the shore lulling me to reminisce.
I burrow deeper under the electric blanket to ward off the September chill. “This whole thing of you at the beach in shorts while I’m risking limb loss seems unfair.”
Despite the fact I’m not a beach person, I appreciate its allure. When Rowan said he’d brought Tess to an oceanfront rental in the Outer Banks to get some R&R before her surgery on Monday, I might have been struck with a twinge of jealousy if for no other reason than baseline body temperature. It’s not even technically fall yet, but I already miss the summer warmth.
“Limb loss?” he deadpans.
“I either lose a toe to frostbite or this blanket burns me alive.”
His deep chuckle lands somewhere behind my rib cage. Images of his dimples flash behind my eyes, and I smile. I miss him so much.
“Is that what you were thinking about? How big of a cold-weather baby you are?”
“Rude,” I whine. “And no. I was actually thinking about Maddy.” A wisp of a cloud floats across the moon, and I angle my head against the back of the patio lounger to admire it. Rowan stays silent, breathing softly, patiently. “Are there clouds where you are?”
“No, only stars tonight.” Wood creaks from his end like he’s shifting in his deck chair.
“Maddy and me always liked cloudy nights the best,” I murmur. “We used to do this all the time, summer nights looking up at the stars. Our moms would share a bottle of wine on the patio while we sprawled out on the lawn just…watching the sky.”
The stars, the moon, the blue haze of the clouds, it was all very awe-inspiring to a couple of pre-tween girls whose life aspirations revolved somewhere between astronaut, professional puppy rescuer, and Chad Michael Murray’s love interest inA Cinderella Story.
What I’ve learned about grief is you never know exactly when it shows up or when it leaves or why the most mundane of daily activities can feel so insurmountable. I couldn’t tell you a single detail of any ofthe conversations Maddy and I had under these stars—they were completely forgettable.
Laughs between friends, though? Gwyn’s hearty chuckle and Maddy’s schoolgirl giggle punctuated by a tiny snort—I still hear them on the breeze under this night sky. The sky that felt like it belonged to us. It’s the only explanation I have for why Mom and I stopped coming out here after they passed. Without them, it all felt hollow.
Absently, I wonder what will linger most once Mom’s gone. What will be the first thing I forget.
“You’re quiet again,” Rowan nudges. “Tell me.”
“The night we met, I told you about them.”
“I remember.”
I twist my finger around the corner of the fleece blanket. “For so long, I questioned why I unloaded my trauma on some guy I didn’t know. It was so unlike me, but…”
“But what?”
“I don’t know, it all felt safe with you.”
Waves swell, leaves rustle under a soft breeze.
“You sat in Nana’s chair,” Rowan says.
The woman from the waiting room who gave blood to try and save my best friend’s life. The woman who whispered sentiments of hope and strength to Mom and me. Six years later, when a kind stranger invited me out to the dock and offered me hot chocolate and a rocking chair, I’d never in my wildest dreams have suspected it was all hers. And when that oak of a man wiped my tears, spouting a similar tune of hope in the face of unimaginable grief—I never could have imagined he’d learned it from her first, like hope itself coursed through his veins as identifiable as DNA.
A deep breath. “Remember when I told you I didn’t think running into you was a coincidence?” I hum in agreement. “And I was always meant to find you?”