It seems to be the go-to meal for anyone dropping food off at the house. I’ve had fried chicken for every meal since the morning after Les died, and that was four days ago.
I walk to the stove and take the spoon out of her hands, then rub her shoulder with my free hand while I stir. She leans against me and sighs. It’s not a good sigh, either. It’s a sigh that all but says, “I’m done.”
“Please, go sit on the couch. I can finish this,” I say to her. She nods and walks aimlessly into the living room. I watch from the kitchen as she takes a seat and leans her head back into the couch, looking up to the ceiling. Brian takes a seat next to her and pulls her to him. I don’t even have to hear her to know she’s crying again. I can see it in the way she slumps against him and grabs hold of his shirt.
I look away.
“Maybe you should come stay with us, Dean,” my father says, leaning against the counter. “Just for a little while. It might do you some good to get away.”
He’s the only one who still calls me Dean. I’ve been going by Holder since I was eight, but the fact that I was named after him may be why he never took to calling me anything other than Dean. I only see him a couple of times a year, so it doesn’t bother me too much that he still calls me Dean. I still hate the name, though.
I look at him, then back to my mother still holding on to Brian in the living room. “I can’t, Dad. I’m not leaving her. Especially now.”
He’s been trying to get me to move to Austin with him since they divorced. The truth is, I like it here. I haven’t liked visiting my old hometown since I moved away. Too many things remind me of Hope when I’m there.
But I guess too many things are going to start reminding me of Les, here.
“Well, my offer doesn’t expire,” he says. “You know that.”
I nod and switch off the burner. “It’s ready,” I say.
Brian comes back to the kitchen with Pam and we all take seats at the table, but my mother remains in the living room, softly crying into the couch throughout dinner.
I’m waving good-bye to my father and Pam when Amy pulls up in front of our house. She waits for my father’s car to clear, then she pulls into our driveway. I walk to the driver’s side door and open it for her.
She smiles half-heartedly and flips the visor down, wiping the mascara from underneath the frame of her sunglasses. It’s been dark for over an hour now, yet she’s still wearing sunglasses. That can only mean she’s been crying.
I haven’t really talked to her much in the past four days, but I don’t have to ask her how she’s holding up. She and Les have been best friends for seven years. If there’s anyone that feels like I do right now, it’s her. And I’m not even sure if
“Where’s Thomas?” I ask when she steps out of the car.
She pushes her blonde hair away from her face with her sunglasses, adjusting them on top of her head. “He’s at his house. He had to go help his dad with some yard stuff after school.”
I don’t know how long the two of them have been dating, but they were together before Les and I even moved here. And we moved here in the fourth grade, so it’s been a while.
“How’s your mom?” she asks. As soon as she says it, she shakes her head apologetically. “I’m sorry, Holder. That was a really stupid question. I promised myself I wouldn’t be one of those people.”
“Believe me, you’re not,” I assure her. I motion behind me. “You coming inside?”
She nods and glances at the house, then to me. “Do you mind if I go up to her room? It’s fine if you don’t want me up there yet. It’s just that she had a few pictures I’d really like to have.”
“No, it’s fine.” Based on the relationship she had with Les, Amy has just as much right to be in Les’s bedroom as I do. I know Les would want Amy to take whatever it is she wants.
She follows me into the house and up the stairs. I notice my mother isn’t on the couch anymore. Brian must have finally coaxed her into going to bed. I walk to the top of the stairs with Amy, but have no desire to go into Les’s room with her. I nudge my head toward my bedroom. “I’ll be in my room if you need me.”
She inhales a deep, nervous breath and nods while releasing it. “Thanks,” she says, eyeing Les’s door warily. She takes a reluctant step toward the bedroom, so I turn away and head to my room. I shut the door behind me and take a seat on the bed, picking up Les’s notebook while I lean back against my headboard. I’ve already written her today, but I grab a pen because I’ve got nothing better to do than write to her again. Or at least there’s nothing else I
Chapter Three-and-a-half
Les,
Amy’s here. She’s in your room, going through your shit.
I wonder if she had any clue as to what you were about to do? I know sometimes girls share stuff with their girlfriends that they wouldn’t share with anyone else—even twin brothers. Did you ever tell her how you really felt? Did you give her any hints at all? I’m really hoping you didn’t, because that would mean she probably feels pretty damn guilty right about now. She doesn’t deserve to feel guilty over what you did, Les. She’s been your best friend for seven years now, so I hope to hell you thought about that before you made such a selfish decision.
I feel guilty for what you did, but I deserve to feel guilty. There’s a responsibility that comes along with being a brother that doesn’t necessarily come along with being a best friend. It was my job to protect you, not Amy’s. So she doesn’t deserve to feel guilty.
Maybe that was my problem. Maybe I spent so much time trying to protect you from Grayson that I never thought who I really needed to be protecting you from was yourself.
H
There’s a light tap on my bedroom door, so I close the notebook and set it on the nightstand. Amy pushes open the door and I sit up on the bed. I motion for her to come in so she eases through the door and shuts it behind her. She walks over to my dresser and sets the pictures she collected down, running her finger over the top one. Tears are silently streaming down her cheeks.
“Come here,” I say, holding a hand out to her. She walks closer to me and takes my hand, then completely breaks down the second she makes eye contact with me. I continue to pull her forward until she’s on the bed and I wrap my arms around her. She curls up against my chest, sobbing uncontrollably. She’s shaking so hard and it’s almost a devastated cry, but like I said before,
I close my eyes tightly and try not to let it all hit me like it’s hitting Amy right now, but it’s hard. I can hold it in for my mother because she needs me to be strong for her. Amy doesn’t, though. If Amy feels anything like I do, then she just needs to know there’s someone else out there just as blindsided and heartbroken as she is.
“Shh,” I say, stroking her hair. I know she doesn’t want me to console her with empty, overused words. She just needs someone to understand how she feels and I may be the only one she knows who truly does. I don’t tell her to try to stop crying, because I know it’s impossible. I press my cheek against her head, hating the fact that I’m now crying, too. I’ve done a pretty damn good job of keeping it in, but I can’t anymore. I continue to hold her and she continues to hold on to me because it’s nice to be able to find solace in such an ugly, lonely situation.
Listening to Amy cry reminds me of all the nights I used to be in this same position with Les. She wouldn’t want me to talk to her or help her stop crying. Les just needed me to hold her and let her cry, even if I had no idea why she needed it. Just being able to be here for Amy in this same small way gives me that familiar sense of being needed like I used to feel with Les. I haven’t felt needed since Les decided she didn’t need
“I’m so sorry,” Amy says, her voice muffled by my shirt.
“For what?”
She catches her breath and attempts to stop crying, but her effort is wasted with the new tears that follow. “I should have known, Holder. I had no idea. I was her best friend and I feel like everyone blames me and . . . I
