Page 65 of Point of Contact

“Trevor—”

“I remembered something we talked about in that grief group I went to, about making a tangible expression of letting go. Not of the person so much, but of an idea of them, something that’s maybe holding us back. What’s hard for me are the might-have-beens, all the dreams, the hopes. The adult friendship I wanted us to have.”

He let out a shaky breath.

“Riley wasn’t even supposed to be mine, but yet there he was, a wonderful, temporary gift I was given. My plan was to die first, an old man surrounded by my son and his family. My family. Now it’s just me, and all those fucking might-have-beens.” Trevor’s voice was anguished, but his eyes were dry. “I have to let those go, Jesse. I have to, or I’m not going to survive this.”

He held the rock out again, flipping it over, and before Jesse could say anything, Trevor drew his arm back and flung it with all his strength over the cliff, stumbling a little with the forward momentum.

With a muffled exclamation, Jesse grabbed the back of Trevor’s jacket to keep him from falling, and Trevor wrenched away, staring out into the darkness.

“I’m going to sell the house.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Jesse put his hand on Trevor’s shoulder. “Sell it for you, or because Carl said you should?” he asked gently.

“For me. It’s time. At first I didn’t want to because of the memories, but now I have to because of the memories. Does that make sense?”

“Yes, it does,” Jesse said, “but Jesus, Trevor, you don’t need to make all these decisions tonight. Come here.”

He led Trevor back over to their rock bench and knelt to rummage in his pack. “In Afghanistan, the tradition is to shoot flares off on the one-year anniversary of someone—of losing someone.” He pulled a small box out of a zippered pocket and held it up. “Obviously we can’t shoot off flares around here, but I thought maybe we could light these for Riley tonight.”

Trevor stared at him before reaching out to take the box from him. “Sparklers?” he said wonderingly. “You bought sparklers?”

“Yeah. I brought a lighter, too.” Jesse brandished it. “Hey, if you don’t want to, that’s—”

“No, it’s perfect. Riley loved these things on the Fourth of July.” Trevor took one out. “Here, light me.”

It took a few tries, but soon Trevor’s sparkler was burning, the little stick spitting and glowing bright in the dark night.

Jesse lit his off of Trevor’s, holding it away from himself, watching the shower of sparks. “God, I haven’t done these since I was a kid.”

“You can write in the air with them, remember?” Trevor made a curlicue motion, leaving behind a spiral of light that dissipated a split second later.

Jesse tried it, and soon they were laughing, trying to top each other’s skywriting artwork, running through the box of sparklers until they were down to the last few.

Finally Trevor sank down on the stone bench, holding his aloft and looking up at the sky. “I miss you, Riley James. I love you.”

Jesse hoisted his sparkler up, too. “Miss you, Riles.”

“What’s your favorite memory of him, Jesse?” Trevor asked, staring at the hypnotic shower of sparks he held, waving it idly as it burned out.

Jesse fished another sparkler from the box and lit it from the dregs of his, handing it to Trevor and getting one for himself. Only a couple left now. He thought for a moment, aware of Trevor looking at him expectantly, and his heart started to pound as a particular memory surged to the forefront of his mind.

“My favorite memory?” Jesse took a deep breath, almost light-headed. “Uh...”

Was he really gonna do this, say the words that would change everything?

He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat several times in rapid succession, his fingers clenched in a death grip on the sparkler.

Trevor looked mystified as he fished out a bottle of water and handed it over. “What is it?” he asked cautiously. “What’d he do?”

“Nothing,” Jesse forced out, draining the bottle with a couple of huge gulps. “He didn’t do anything. It’s—” He took one more deep breath. “It’s just that my favorite memory is the time we were sitting on a beach, drinking beer, and Riley gave me the courage to come out to him.”

An almost comical look of disbelief flitted across Trevor’s face. “Say again? I don’t think I heard you.”

“My—” Oh, God. “My favorite memory is the one where I came out to him, Trevor. He’d already guessed, but that day he gave me the courage to actually acknowledge it out loud.”

Trevor stared at him for a moment, then blinked. “Wow.”