Zara snickered. “Those five minutes were too much for him.”
I shook my head. “I think the fly fishing was the nail in the coffin for him. He really didn’t like having to beinthe river.”
“That didn’t help, for sure, but I think it was pretty much everything.” She sighed, a content smile tugging at her lips. “But the thing I told him before I left Oregon was I only have happy memories here, so I thought this would be the best place to really begin my fresh start.”
Dad raised his beer. “Hear! Hear! To new beginnings.”
She clinked her bottle against his. “Cheers to that.”
I tipped my beer toward hers. “To making more happy memories.”
She hesitated a beat before touching her bottle to mine. “To happy memories.”
Happy memories were good. Trouble was, a whole lot of mine centered around her.
Zara yanked my hand, pulling me into the woods. “Come on, Maccie. You’re so slow.”
“It’s raining. Don’t you think we should go back?”
She turned to laugh at me, raindrops trailing along her cheeks. “It’s the Pacific Northwest. If we stayed inside when it rained, we’d never get fresh air.”
She was smiling for the first time this week, so I wasn’t going to do anything to ruin it—not when I had to fly home in a few days and leave her here to handle her mom’s treatment on her own.
She wasn’t really on her own. She had her family, and they were great. But I wouldn’t be able to hug her whenever she needed it, and that was going to suck more than I could put into words.
She led me to the old rope swing by the river—the one we weren’t supposed to use because someone’s cousin had allegedly broken an arm. Slick with rain, the first time I jumped, it slid right out of my hands, dumping me face-first into the mud.
Zara laughed so hard, she clutched her stomach, wheezing, “Oh my god. If someone sees you, they’re going to think you’re some forest cryptid.”
I raised my muddy arms and groaned, coming for her. “I’m the mysterious Mudman of Oregon, haunting the forests.”
She yelped when I got too close and ran for the rope, swinging away with a battle cry.
When she swung toward me, I pushed her harder than she expected. She shrieked as the swing arced over the water, rain flying everywhere, her laughter echoing through the trees.
But she didn’t let go.
On the walk home, soaked and muddy and breathless, she slid her slippery fingers into mine like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“To the river and back,” I whispered.
She looked at me and smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. “To the river and back, Maccie.”
And I held on for as long as I could.
The rest of dinner was as painless as it could have been. My parents carried the conversation, asking Zara about Zane’s job as a nurse and his husband, Steven, her parents, the job she’d be doing this summer, neatly skirting around Jackson and her old job, as if they’d all silently agreed it was a land mine best left alone.
I didn’t contribute much. I mostly watched Zara. Christ, I couldn’t help myself.
Seeing Zara like this—close enough to pass the bread, to hear the quiet hitch in her laugh—hit me harder than I’d been prepared for. It was a true mindfuck. There was no other word for it. Everything I’d been convinced had settled a long time ago was scrambling uncomfortably in my chest.
This wasn’t supposed to happen.
I was never meant to sit across a table from her again—never meant to catch her eye and have her smile back like nothing had been broken.
Our carved names were going to be smoothed over, just like time had done to the friendship I’d believed was unbreakable.
So why did I feel like I was back on that rope, swinging wildly and out of control, no idea where I’d land?
