Page 65 of Left of Forever

The road curves sharply through redwoods that get taller and taller the farther we go from the highway. It gives off the illusion of the day passing in a sped-up video, the sky getting darkeraround us the thicker the forest grows. “I just remember feeling light, I guess,” I say. “Sage had just graduated and knew what she was doing next. Silas had started at the fire department with me. Micah was doing great in Double-A and was home from spring training for a few days. I guess I felt like I could relax with them a little more, like all of a sudden we were all our own people and had made it and I didn’t have to worry as much. Getting everyone through high school was like… like my primary parenting role with them was coming to a close.” I remember it being a rare sunny day. We’d just moved into our house and hardly had any furniture, so we kept it to a small family party in our new yard. We played lawn games and barbecued. Sam was in a phase where he would do anything for a laugh, even to the point that it got obnoxious at times. Wren brought his cake out and put it on the picnic table we had at the time, and before we could even light his candles, he’d jumped up to the bench, felt everyone’s eyes on him, turned around, and sat on it.

We all stood there with our mouths gaping. But then I started to laugh at the complete absurdity of it, which made everyone else join in. The cake was unsalvageable, and no one cared.

“I remember being happy, and I remember it being easy to be happy that day. I think that’s why it was perfect,” I say. “What about you?”

She falls quiet again, pensively staring out her window. “I’m not sure. I have a lot of those. When I think about it now—when I make myself think about all of it, I remember feeling so much happiness. So much that I feel fucking mad that those things weren’t big enough to outweigh the bad stuff at the end.” She raises her hands, shrugging before they fall back to her thighs with a small clap. “Like, I don’t get it. Why’d we let the bad stuff win?”

My nose stings and my throat knots. “I actually have an answer for that,” I manage to say. “Per my therapist.” It comes out stiffly, but I feel like credit should be given where credit is due.

“Tell me.”

I clear my throat. “Because when it comes down to it, on a physical level, feeling happy doesn’t take priority over surviving,” I say. “We’re programmed to remember the bad so that we know what to stay away from and how to keep going. That’s why the shit that hurts stands out in our minds. That’s why holding on to the happy takes work.”

Her eyes are wide and her lips press together tightly. “What’s your worst memory?”

My lungs constrict in an instant. “Wren.” I don’t know how to put that sort of helplessness into words. The real fear that she could die. The guilt I couldn’t explain that went with it.

“Ellis,” she says, wobbling at the edges. “We have to talk about it at some point.”

But we’re pulling into the parking lot now to check in. “Let’s get unpacked and get out of this truck first. We’ll go on a walk,” I say.

“It’s the last time we can stall on it,” she says.

“I know. I know it is.”

We get out of the truck and head to the counter and check in. Neither of us is surprised to find out that we’ve been switched to a single tent reservation. We smirk at each other and take the map with the directions to our tent location.

It takes us another few minutes to get to our site. An off-white canvas tent with a wooden deck out front and a little chimney popping up from the top greets us. Past it, I can see that the dense trees give way to a clearing that narrows into a trail leading out to a rocky beach.

A few notifications start chiming from both of our phones when we pull in to park. We must not have had service deep in the woods. My phone was the one hooked up to the Bluetooth today, and I forgot that I have the Read Text setting option on, so it’s jarring when Siri reads out, “From Silas, to you and Wren Byrd: This time, it was me.”

Wren cocks a brow at me with a crooked smile. “The tent,” she says. “Kinda excited to tell him we were going to, anyway. Wipe the smug look off his face.”

Before I can reply, Siri starts up again. “From Kirby,” the robotic voice says. “Did you tell her yet?”

I feel the blood drain from my face. I watch it leave Wren’s.

“Tell me what?” she asks.

CHAPTER 33

WREN

It’s the way his expression goes sheet white with fear that makes me feel like my windpipe is shrinking.

“Why is there a woman texting you and asking you if you’ve told ‘her’ something?” I ask, struggling to swallow back air. Using my voice feels like blowing on a whistle.

His head does a small shake, and he blinks hard. “Wait, how do you know that’s a woman’s name?”

I’m actually a little grateful he’s made this utterly stupid remark. Now I can feel momentary rage instead of soul-crushing dread. “Is that seriously what you’re asking me right now?”

“No, I mean, she is, but—”

“Who is she?”

“Wren, she’s just a friend. I swear it.” Realization dawns over him. “Thanksgiving. That’s whose text you saw.”

I start to pant, heart in my fingertips and in my throat and temples and everywhere but the place it should be. “So she’s a friend who texts you on the holidays. A very attractive friend you’ve maintained sincelast fall?! Are you fucking serious right now? What is this? What is this, Ellis? You’d better tell me right fucking now.”