“Malcolm,” I whispered, afraid that the sound would go away. God, I didn’t ever want it to go away.
But it did.
His giggles faded until I couldn’t hear them anymore, and no matter how much I tried to find them…to find that slice of time where he existed, I lost him.
I lost him in the sunlight and the water and the endless heat.
I woke abruptly and lay in my bed for a good ten minutes, just remembering how he sounded. How he smelled. How he felt.
My skin was drenched in sweat, and I was still in the clothes I’d worn the day before. My hair looked like it hadn’t been combed for days, and I groaned. Ugh. I needed a shower.
Sunlight poured into my room, and the clock on the dresser across from me told me that it was nearly noon. I grabbed my cell but there were no messages from Nathan. I guess that was a good thing. In this case, no news was good news.
The hot water felt like heaven, but the restlessness in me had me showering as if I was running a race, and less than ten minutes later, I was trudging down the stairs, wet hair leaving streaks down my green sundress as I took them two at a time.
Eager to get back to the hospital and Nathan, I rounded the bottom step but froze when I heard voices from Gram’s kitchen.
For a second, I wanted to run back upstairs and turn back the clock, because I knew that, for me, summer was almost over.
And that meant no more Nathan.
Pain twisted inside my chest at the thought of what Labor Day weekend meant, but I forced myself to take those steps until I leaned against the doorframe and watched Gram chatting with my mother.
Instead of her usual business clothes—Mom was a lawyer in Manhattan—she was dressed in a simple white T-shirt and a pair of blue-and-white plaid shorts. Her golden hair, normally kept in a sleek, straight cut to her jaw, touched the tops of her shoulders. She’d left it natural, and the waves looked incredible on her.
She was still too skinny, but it was nice to see her looking relaxed. Kind of normal. I suppose it was all we could hope for.
Kind of normal.
Dad leaned against the counter by the sink, watching his mother—Gram—as she talked up Mom. He was casual too, wearing an old pair of jeans and a Rolling Stones T-shirt. There was a lot more gray in his hair, and he had lost weight as well, but he looked good.
They both looked good, all things considered.
Just then, my dad glanced up and my heart turned over as he stared at me in silence, Gram and Mom still talked softly, unaware that I was there.
In that moment, I saw the love, the pain, the anguish, and the question…was I better?
Was I?
Were they?
For so long, he’d acted as if our small, battered family had already moved on. As if the tragedy that had happened to Malcolm had been dealt with—wrapped up in an ugly box and put into storage. It used to piss me off so much. How could he not wallow in the pain? Pain is what made us remember.
But I think I kind of got it now. It was how he’d been trying to deal with the fact that his son was gone, and even though his daughter was still around, she’d pretty much taken a vacation. I had been nothing after Malcolm died.
Just skin over a bunch of bones with no heart and no soul.
I’d been so wrapped up in my own pain that I hadn’t once considered my parents didn’t know how to deal with theirs.
I’d thought that Dad’s apathy and Mom’s need to overcompensate in everything was their way of dealing with me. But it wasn’t. God, it wasn’t at all. It was them falling away and trying to deal with their own pain.
The thing was?
We were still here. My mom. My dad. My gram.
Me.
I was still here.
I thought of the dream I’d had less than an hour ago, and I realized something. Even though Malcolm was dead, he wasn’t gone. Not really.
He existed inside each and every one of us, in that one place where he’d never left. That one piece of my soul that hadn’t faded to black like the rest of me.
Malcolm had never really left us; it was me who had gone away. Me who had crawled deep inside myself because I wasn’t strong enough to deal with everything. But Malcolm? He was still here with us.
I saw his hazel eyes reflected in my dad’s. I saw his gentle, curious smile appear on my mom’s face as she nodded at something Gram was saying.
Malcolm would always be here.
My feet started moving before I even knew what I was going to do and I didn’t stop until his arms encircled me. Until I was breathing in that scent that was all Dad—part soap and musky cologne and just…just Dad.
When was the last time I’d let him touch me? The last time I’d given him a hug or a kiss? I couldn’t remember, and I thought that, that alone was tragic. He used to be my king, back when I was little, and when had all of that fallen away?
Finally his hands slipped away and I took a step back, my gaze sliding from him to Mom.
“I missed you guys.”
Mom didn’t look like she knew what to say, and I could see tears sparkling around the corners of her eyes. She still sat at the table with Gram, who squeezed her hand and slowly rose.
“Monroe, why don’t you grab the iced tea off the counter and pour us each a glass?”
“Sure, Gram.”
I bent low and kissed my mom’s cheek, but then quickly crossed the kitchen before she said anything. Our relationship had always been more complicated, and things were still fragile.
But the road back to good, though fragile, wasn’t one I was scared of anymore.
I poured four iced teas and leaned against the counter sipping mine while Gram served peach cobbler. I hadn’t had breakfast yet, but the thought of food—any kind of food—made my stomach turn.
“Nathan hasn’t called, has he?” I finally asked when I couldn’t stand it anymore. My cell still showed no calls or text messages, and I thought maybe he’d called the house.
Gram shook her head. “No, dear. I haven’t heard anything.”
“Who’s Nathan?” Dad asked, sitting a little straighter in his chair as he fingered his glass.
The boy that I love.
Just then, a loud rap sounded on the back door that Nate always used and my heart nearly beat out of my chest as I watched it slowly open.
Nathan strode into the kitchen, his tall, lean form still in the wrinkled, dirty clothes he’d worn the day before. He hadn’t shaved in a few days, and his jaw was shadowed while his hair was a wild mess—a hot, sexy, wild mess that haloed his head in burnished waves.
Burnished waves that I wanted to touch.
He pulled up short and my heart turned over when I saw how tired he looked.
“Hey,” I said softly.
He held my gaze for several, long seconds and then attempted a smile. “Hey.” Shoving his hands into the front of his jeans, he slowly looked around the room.
“Nathan,” Gram interrupted, “you look exhausted. Have you eaten?”
He shook his head. “I’m not really hungry, thanks, Mrs. Blackwell.”
He glanced around the room and cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you had company.” And then he turned. “I should go.”
I sprang forward. “Nathan, no. Wait.”
I was at his side in an instant, my hands reaching for him. Needing him. And when I slid my arms around his waist, I felt his muscles release and he sagged against me.
It was as if we were the only two people in the room. Heck, in the entire universe. He was all I was aware of and I glanced up at him, eyes searching, needing to know.
And like we were a part of each other, I didn’t have to ask.
“He made it through the night and they think…” Nathan blew out a long breath. “They think that he’s going to beat the infection.”