Page 19 of Riding the Curve

My hand sprung forward on its own accord, lowering Ryleigh’s arm. Puzzled, he raised a brow. Henley halted her steps, eyes widening with hope. “You head back with your mom and get started with dinner. I’ll watch her while she swings a few times, then walk her back up to the house.”

As he opened his mouth to reply, his mom hollered their names once more. With a sigh, he brushed his fingers through his russet hair.

“I’m coming, mom!” he yelled, before turning back toward us. Pointing a finger toward Hen, he said sternly, “Alright, I’ll cover for you with mom, but only five jumps off the swing, okay?”

The golden light of the setting sun illuminated her wide smile. She turned immediately and dashed toward the old oak’s tree swing.

“Best brother ever!” she shrieked, taking one gigantic swing and plunging into the lake below. Ryleigh and I both broke out in laughter, and he placed a hand on my shoulder before heading toward the truck.

“Take care of that little firecracker, will ya?”

“Of course,” I said, then jogged over to the lake.

Leaning against the tree, I folded my arms across my chest and watched her leap on and off the old tree swing. Each time Hen emerged, she was laughing so hard that her whole body shook. It sent a wake of laughter rumbling through me.

The sudden burst of amusement made me realize how long it’d been since I’d laughed this hard. There was so much that I’d been keeping inside that some days I felt like I might break. Things had been so heavy, for so long.

For fun—and to shake myself out of this funk—I started holding up my fingers, silently scoring her after each jump. Once she caught on to what I was doing, each new swing became a personal challenge to beat her previous score.

I just wanted to hit pause on this exact moment.

Henley had always been so full of life. Enthusiasm seeped out of her like radiant rays of sunshine. The feeling was intoxicating to anyone around her. Her infectious personality had been a little spot of warmth to my family over the years. You would never guess that at times she struggled with worry and fears.

Lately, she’d been keeping Mama company. My Mama taught her how to bake, and while they waited for their creations to be done, Hen entertained her. Sometimes she painted her nails, or she helped her cut her favorite wildflowers from the garden and group them into arrangements at the kitchen table. On the harder days, she helped her over to the couch and they would watch Mama’s favorite rom-coms. Every time she walked into our house, she helped dim the heaviness that loomed over us.

After about the millionth dive into the lake, I decided it was time to call it quits. Mrs. Cole would worry if we were gone for too long. Plus we had a long walk back up to her house before it got dark. The sun had almost descended behind the mountain range, dusk misting over the vibrant colors of the sunset. She must have come to the same conclusion, because she slung on her Converse and wrapped herself in a towel.

We strolled back up to the house. The silence was awkward. Usually, Ryleigh or our parents were around. Honestly, I didn’t even remember a time it was just the two of us.

“Thank you for coming over the other day to bake with Mama,” I said. Hugging her towel a little tighter around her, she grinned. “She loves it when you and your mom come over to cook together, but I can tell teaching you how to bake is a special part of her day. I’ve never quite gotten the hang of either, so I’m glad she gets to share her passions with you. On those hard days, you always seem to make them a little bit easier, especially when you make her laugh so loud Dad and I can hear it all the way outside in the garage.”

“Your Mama has a great laugh and I love spending time with her,” she breathed, startling me by wrapping her hand in mine. “She makes my hard days lighter, too.”

My heart tugged a little at her confession, and I squeezed her hand reassuringly before she wiggled it free.

“You didn’t have to stay with me today, I know I bother you guys.” Her face scrunched, her gaze fluttering toward the ground. “I—just . . . well, I just want to say thank you, too.”

“Of course.” I shrugged. “That’s what friends are for right?”

“You . . . you think I’m a friend?” she squeaked.

Taken aback, my eyes widened. “Absolutely, why wouldn’t I?”

She fell silent, and I could tell she’d fallen into her thoughts from the deep creases set between her brows. Her shoulders shrugged.

“Your brother is my best friend, but I’ll always be your friend, too.”

“Really?” She peeked up at me shyly as I nodded. “Like even when I call you by your full name, and steal your Mama’s favorite apron?”

“Good point.” I hummed playfully. “Thieves are automatically un-friended.”

Her pointy elbow jabbed me in the side, making me bellow out a laugh.

“Jerk,” she mumbled, shaking her head.

“Not a jerk,” I said gently. “A friend.”

We reached the back porch, and before I could say goodbye, she wrapped her arms around my waist and squeezed me tightly. So I did what any good friend would do and hugged her back.