“Where will you go?”
I know the answer, which is why I can’t be upset at her.
“Texas. If they buy there, I can get residency, and in-state tuition,” she says.
“Makes sense.” Both of our stares drift back to the sign.
I hate that sign.
“It went up fast.” I blink at it. As much as I don’t blame her for anything, I can’t help but feel she’s known about this a little longer than since she exited the mat at the competition.
“I wanted to tell you.” She stifles a cry and I feel terrible because it’s my fault. I can’t seem to get myself to say it’s okay. I do reach for her hand and cup it between both of mine. We sit in the quiet of the Bronco, the motor gurgling through gallons of gas. I’m not moving, though. Not as long as she wants to sit here with me. If I have to push this thing back into the garage, I will.
“They signed to list it the day of the service. Someone made a cash offer that night. I guess the company likes to get backups though, so that’s why they went ahead with the sign,” she says.
I nod and look back at our house. For all the reasons the Trombleys want to leave, my mom is fighting to stay and keep making the mortgage payments. She likes the memories in our house. I do, too. At least, I did. I don’t know that I’ll be able to look out my window ever again.
“When do you move?” More questions I don’t want the answers to, but I need to know.
“Last day of the semester. We’ll be set up in Texas by Christmas.”
I break down a little at that thought. That’s in two weeks. I’m going to miss Christmas with her. I had so many grand ideas.
“But we can visit! And I’ll call and write,” she says, shifting in her seat to face me as she grabs on to my arm. She’s forcing the upbeat tone, and shame on me for killing it. I just can’t help it.
“Sure.” That’s the only response I give. Pathetic. Cruel.
She sinks back into her seat, and after a few more minutes she gathers her things at her feet and pushes on the handle of the door.
“I love you, Jonah. That’s still true.”
I roll my head to the side and force my mouth up as high as I can on the corners. It isn’t very far.
“I love you, too.”
She slips out of the cab and pushes the door shut, not even gratifying me with a slam so I can ease the pain and guilt. Gentle, loving and perfect, all the way to the bittersweet end. And that’s what this is—a really bittersweet end.
Twenty-Four
Moving day came fast. I think maybe because the last two weeks have been filled with packing and making donation runs to the thrift store in town. The Trombleys are leaving the scene of their nightmare, but they aren’t leaving Addy. Of the dozens of boxes I helped them take to the donation center, I think only one was filled with Addy’s things. They’ll have to work through this slowly, a process that will probably take years. My dad’s shirts still hang in my Mom’s closet. I think if she boxed them up and asked me to take them to town, I’d lie and hang them in mine just to keep them longer.
The Trombleys hit the road at five in the morning tomorrow. Elle and her mom will ride together in the big moving truck, and her dad is following behind with the family car. The Volkswagen was one of the first things to go in the donation binge. Apparently they made more off it as a write-off than what it was worth for sale. I regret not buying it.
I have literal hours left with Eleanor, but I can’t seem to get myself to sit with her in her emptying house. Besides, Gemma deserves a little time with her, too. I’m half-tempted to throw a wrench in the Bronco engine to give me something to work on again. It would beat sitting at the kitchen table picking at the crust on the peanut butter sandwich as I’ve been doing for the last hour and a half. I’m pretty sure it’s no longer edible.
Grandpa tosses the Sunday paper down in front of me to wake me up, and I sit back in my chair to feign looking alive.
“Hey, you bum. Why aren’t you over there squeezing out every last second of time with your girl?” He takes his regular seat and divvies up the sections of the paper. He slept in today, a rarity for him. I think perhaps the cigar stench in the garage and the empty case of Pabst has something to do with that. The boys were over late last night.
“I’m giving her space. That’s all,” I say.
“Horseshit. You’re sulking,” Grandpa says.
I shrug and take the insult because he’s probably right.
I pick through some of the sections of the paper, sliding the sports section to Gramps when I notice the Blackhawks photo on the front. He mumbles something about the coach getting sacked, but I’m not really listening. I spend about twenty minutes on a section of the paper that I don’t read. I just let my eyes lose their focus and try to form pictures with the words. It gives me a headache after a while, so I get up to track down some aspirin right as Jake pulls up in front of the house.
“What’s that idiot doing here?” Grandpa says, glaring out the front door from over his paper. I guess Grandpa Hank got an eyeful of Jake’s stunt at the cheer competition.
“He’s probably here for Gemma and to say his goodbyes,” I say, searching through the medicine cabinet for something
