Page 33 of Lost and Found

“Yes.” I’m certain of it. “She hated anything that felt obvious.”

There is also everything Mom said about me living my lifeforher still, and this baby . . . this baby would be mine, regardlessof DNA. Judging by the way the letter sounded to me, at least, I think Merritt wanted her name on something that was hers. I’m not sure how I’ll figure that one out, but I’ll get there.

When it comes to the final item on the list, it takes me a little bit to come up with the right phrasing for my ultimate goal, because I believe in setting goals that are realistically achievable.Get pregnanthas too many variables beyond my control, and I have to accept that maybe I won’t. On the other hand,Do my best to get pregnantfeels too vague.

Do everything I can to take care of myself in every way so that I feel ready and excited to tryis a mouthful, but it’s what I land on for number six.

Silas asks if he can get back to me on his item, but admits he has something in mind. For being as open as he typically is, I figure if he wants to keep it close to the chest for now, I should let him.

We’re quiet on our walk home, the night air running over my skin like cool silk. When we ramble back through his gate and into his yard, I fall into one of his Adirondack chairs and let the rest of my senses take it all in, too. The rhythmic whistle-chirp of insects and the smells of sunbaked trees and brine. The lights he’s got strung up around the ancient madrone’s branches.

“Déjà vu,” Silas murmurs.

My head whips his way. I wonder if his mind was drifting off to the same night mine was, or if he’s talking about when he brought me home from Wren and Ellis’s wedding. The latter, I think. Must be.

“Do you want to check off one thing from the list tonight?” he asks.

I frown at the 9:47 time on my phone and then at him.

“I’ll be right back,” he says, then runs inside.

He comes back with a small jar, seats himself in the chair opposite me, and places it on the end table between us.

Death by Sour, the label says in bold, medieval-looking script. Inside appear to be black candy balls coated heavily in white powder. “You ordered some of these already?” I ask.

“I did. And I really did have to sign a little waiver. I am honestly terrified.”

I am . . . I can’t cry over this, can I? I feel like I ingested a hot lump of coal. I don’t know why it’s moved me so much that he’s taken this initiative.

“Did I overstep?” he asks tentatively.

I shake my head and crush my lips together. “No. No, you didn’t. You’re just . . . You’re a really good friend, aren’t you?” I say to him.

His eyes widen, and his smile falls away. “I—no. I mean, I don’t know,” he says, mouth turned down at the corners. “I doubt that’s something I’m known for.”

“You are.”

His head does a small shake. “They were like ten bucks after shipping, Red. It’s not a kidney.”

And I have a feeling he’d give me one of those if I asked him to, too. I don’t know what to do with this information yet, this new angle of him that’s crystallizing for me. But I’m more determined than ever to try to be a good friend to him.

I twist off the lid and peel away the seal, pluck a candy out and pass it to him, then pick one out for myself.

“Why sour?” Silas asks. I’m glad he’s stalling, because I’m suddenly nervous about the stupid thing.

“I don’t really know.” I shrug. “My best guess is that when she was writing that letter, she was hungry, and sour candy was all that sounded good. Before she got sick, she’d been a bit of a foodie. She really wanted to do something in food science. Maybe a dietician. That’s what she was going to school for originally.” I need a fortifying breath. I look out into the dark night at the smattering of stars that can be seen through themarine layer. “But cancer treatments made foods taste different and ruined a lot of her favorite things. And when she was doing chemo, hard candy helped with the nausea. The sourer, the better.” Even now, I know I’ve got some Lemonheads and watermelon Warheads rolling around in the bottom of my purse.

“To Merritt, then?” says Silas, holding his ominous candy up in salute.

I laugh through my nose even as it tingles. “To Merritt.” I knock mine to his and put it on my tongue.

I don’t think it’s too ba—

—I can’t even complete the thought.

It hits us both at the same time. Silas does aneughhuughhhhas I lurch back into my seat with a yell, every muscle in my face trying to peel back from my bones. My hands shoot up and claw at the air, and I shove myself to my feet.

Silas is up right behind me, big shoulders hunched, face screwed up like crumpled paper in the patio lights. He’s got the candy in his palm and a river of drool pouring out of his mouth.