"I was a little surprised he invited you," she says. "McKeon can be a bit of a dick, and you deserved a better getaway."
"It was gorgeous there."
"It's gorgeous in lots of places. Tell my dad to take you somewhere better next time."
That causes a frown Harper doesn't need to see. "I'm not sure there will be other trips in our future."
"Because of your grandma?"
"My grandma?"
"Yeah, when she died, my dad felt guilty for taking you away from her," she explains. "He knew you were close, and that she needed you, but then he invited you and—yeah."
"Did he say anything else?"
"That he didn't get to meet her."
Jesus. I hold too tightly to the thermos and swallow hard. It would've been absurd to predict where any conversation with Harper could have led, but even with the last month barely a memory, I didn't think she'd bring me back to the funeral so smoothly. I chance a look at her now, and she seems to know she hurt me somehow. But as much as I've been surprised a couple of times already, I don't think Jamie told her about our argument.
The fact that he and I both look terrible could be caused by anything, really.
I gesture toward the empty lid in her lap and smile when she hands it over. "I should probably go soon. Leave you to your peace and quiet."
"If you want to," she says. "But what aboutyourpeace and quiet?"
The ocean calls to me, and I think I turn toward it in search of ananswer to Harper's question. She waits me out while she folds my blanket, and I'm close to telling her to keep it. There's probably a hoodie of mine left behind in a drawer not far from us, and there's no reason I shouldn't fill an empty house with a few more of my things. I wonder about the picture I gave him for Christmas—the one year we let ourselves share a moment of it—and hate that I never saw his new home to know whether it's hanging there.
I hate a lot of things I've never done.
Then I shake my head. "I'm just missing my friend."
Harper helps me out with practice over the next week and a half, before she flies back up to school. We finally exchange numbers too, and I feel like I'm drawing nonsensical lines in windswept sand. I don't think I've given away anything about Jamie she hasn't already heard from him, or figured out herself, but I don't want him to think I'm using her to tie myself to someone drifting so far away.
If he's finally learned how to keep from turning around, I don't want him to think I'm using his daughter just to make sure he looks back when I call his name.
If I call his name.
As winter shifts into spring, Jamie's team is making another push for the playoffs. I watch more of the games than I should, but none of them at Kai's. Los Angeles is having an incredible year, and when anyone around school talks about hockey, it has nothing to do with New Jersey. I keep my head down as much as I always have, focused on my students when I'm working, and sprawled on the couch with Sophie on a handful of nights in between. I'm spending more time with my family because my parents tug on the strings that will always guide me home, but when spring break comes around, I skip out onmy volunteer work altogether.
And I go camping with Logan instead.
He'd texted me a month ago, our first contact since December, and asked if I'd mind a phone call.
I hadn't minded at all.
When we’d talked, he mentioned his plans to get away for a while, and coincidence or not, he'd made reservations for a campsite the same week I'd be off work.
"No strings attached, I swear," Logan said. "But you're good company, and I figured you might like to be off the grid for a while."
He’d figured correctly.
"I've got a sleeping bag, but not much else."
"I've got everything we'll need. And I'll even drive us there and back."
"It's out of your way," I pointed out.
"Eh, it's slightly out of the way. Worth it for the good company I mentioned."