Page 74 of Lost and Found

He straightens, palms hitting his thighs with an exasperated slap. “And that’s fine. That’s great. But that still leaves one thing to consider.”

“And what is that?”

“Whether or not Bea decides she would like you to be more.”

I snort. That’s easy enough. She won’t.

“Just . . . stay in constant communication, all right?” he says, turning to head for the lot. “Say the hard shit even when it’s scary. You’ll regret it if you don’t.”

I give him a dirty look out of the corner of my eye. “Remember when you had the emotional transparency of concrete? Those were good times.”

“Silas.”

“Yeah. I heard you. I will.”

“Are you sad you’re the only one who didn’t catch a fish?” Bea asks from the passenger seat a while later.

“What? No,” I laugh. “I honestly didn’t even realize it until you just mentioned it. Was I the only one, really?”

She nods in the corner of my eye before she reaches over and screws a fingertip into one of my dimples. It’s the second time she’s touched my face intentionally like that today, and now, thanks to my brother, I’m deeply in my head about it.

“Then what’s got that surly look on your face?” she says.

“Surly, huh?”

“Forlorn.”

I heave up a smile. “Just tired. Honest.” I let myself squeeze her knee. Because what’s another splash of self-loathing, anyway? “This was the best birthday I’ve had in years.” Thirty-two, to be exact.

“What do you mean ‘was’?”

“What do you mean what do I mean?” I pull the truck into the driveway and turn in my seat to search her.

“It’s barely five! The day isn’t over.”

CHAPTER 28

Now

Silas

Bea directs me to shower and change and to meet her back in the kitchen in precisely forty-five minutes. I do as I’m told, my nervous system going from brittle, uncooked pasta to overcooked noodles in the meantime. I’m unsteady and unsure why.

She’s already fluttering around the kitchen by the time I’m done. I hover at the opening to the hallway and let myself drink her in. She’s wearing pink sweatpants and a matching sweatshirt, damp hair swaying around her waist while she hums along to the music she’s turned on. One leg of her sweats is tucked into a gray sock.

“You better be hungry,” she says when she notices me. My limbs feel unsteady again when she smiles my way, like the hinges of my joints have all forgotten their angles.

“Famished.”

My mouth waters as the smells of baked garlic and cheese reach my nose.

“All right, hopefully you didn’t get your expectations up too high,” she says. “This is all pretty silly, but I wanted to do something to make sure your day was great.”

“Bea.” My voice is rough, almost shredded. “That’s done. It’s been a great day.”

“I know it has, but I would like it to get even better,” she says, mouth stern, eyes placating. “Obviously, I couldn’t make thirty-two of your favorite foods, but I could do threes and twos of things. You might not remember, but we talked about my eighth birthday party once—”

“Iremember, Bea. Everything.” More than I want to. How you’re so dark pink you’re almost red, same shade as your lips when they’ve been bitten. How much you smiled when I touched you in some way you liked, bottom lip held behind your teeth. The way your hair looked spread across a pillow. How I thought you saw right through me and I also thought I liked it.