I can’t see the rest. It fades behind his locked screen.
Interested in what? Who is Caleb?
It’s not my mind that is twisting at the words and what they could possibly mean.
It’s my heart squeezing with a familiarity from ten years ago.
I walk away from Milo’s phone to the other side of the room, where I open the door and step out onto the balcony. The day is already hot and sticky, but the breeze is cool as it greets my skin.
I inhale the smell of the beach before I take a long sip of my black coffee.
I tilt my head, curiosity tugging at my mouth as I look at the black liquid in the cup. I’ve never liked plain coffee,but there’s something about it today that feels refreshing. It’s not dressed up to be something sweet or palatable.
Or maybe I’ve just had my fair share of sweetness in those piña coladas for a while.
After another ten minutes and an empty coffee mug, my headache feels less life-threatening and more of an annoyance. I walk back into the room to get dressed so I can go find Milo.
I choose white flowy pants and a blue tank top. I take the elevator downstairs, the mechanical hum louder in my head than it probably really is. When I walk out of the hotel, the brightness causes my pupils to protest. The beach is only a few feet away. I snatch my sunglasses from my hair, offering relief to my eyes, and slip my sandals off my feet so I can feel the sand squish between my toes.
I spot Milo in the distance. The sun is already high above the ocean and he’s sitting in the sand, gazing toward the water. As I approach him, something lying beside him catches my attention.
A small brown Bible.
I gave it to him when we were ten.
Joe had dropped him off at Sunday school. Pastor Jeff had brought him to our class, where we were discussing water turning into wine, and I didn’t understand why Jesus couldn’t have chosen apple juice or Fanta Orange.
Milo took the seat next to me after I had smiled at him in the doorway.
“Do you have one of these?” I asked quietly, leaning over toward him.
He shook his head.
I slid mine over on the table. “You can have mine.”
“I can’t take your Bible,” he argued.
I shrugged. “I can get another.”
Which was true. When I told my parents I gave my Bible to Milo, the new pink one I wanted was on my bed two days later.
He took it from me reluctantly. “Thanks.”
I’d forgotten about that little brown Bible.
My bare feet press into the soft sand as I walk toward Milo. He turns as if he senses me before I reach him.
“Hey, you.” His words are warm and low. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks for the hangover remedies.” I sink down beside him, pulling my knees up to my chest before I add, “You still have my Bible.”
His lips turn up as he reaches over for it beside him. “I do.”
He gives it to me. I brush the sand off the bottom and when I do, I realize how worn it is. I study it. The leather is cracked and the brown faded where his hands have gripped it. As I open it, pages are folded and notes are scribbled along the margins.
I don’t remember him using this Bible much through high school. He never wrote in it or bent the pages. It was more of an accessory than a lifeline.
Milo’s watching me, his eyes searching for my thoughts.
