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Goddamn them. Always confusin’ me. Reaching up, I pull the chain of my lamp and close my eyes as the room goes dark.
I startle awake, something stirring me. I blink the sleep away and flip over onto my back, waiting for the room to come into view.
What was that? It was like hail. It doesn’t hail in L.A.
I turn on the lamp and sit up, rubbing my eyes. I look at the window, the black night clear and quiet beyond it.
Rising from the bed, I walk over and pull aside the sheer curtain.
I cover my yawn with my hand, taking in the blue hue of the grass and the shadow of the tree falling over the dark lawn.
But then the shadow moves, and I look closer.
A rope hangs from the same bough my parents used, and a small tire is secured to the end of it. My pulse quickens. Am I seeing that right? Mirai cut down the tire last August, and the rope was gone when I came home. I…
I charge for my bedroom door and open it, jogging down the hallway. Laughter comes from the kitchen, and the scent of Jake’s chili wafts over me, making my stomach growl, but I ignore it and slip down the hallway and out the back door.
When was the last time I looked out that window? Yesterday, maybe? Did Mirai have it hung? One for me this time?
I guess it would be thoughtful.
Or maybe she hung it for my parents, since she knows I buried the ashes there. Kind of a final memorial of sorts.
I round the back of the house and see it ahead, swaying in the soft breeze.
It’s not the same tire. This one is a little smaller with a white stripe around it. Something maybe a child could fit inside.
Someone steps out from around the tree, and I stop, meeting his eyes.
Kaleb looks at me.
Everything inside my lungs empties, and I don’t feel like this is real, but he moves, placing his hand on the rope above the tire, holding it out for me.
He did this?
When…? How…?
I inch closer to him, my feet carrying me without a thought. “What are you doing here?”
My voice is barely audible, because my mouth is suddenly dry, and I can’t believe Kaleb is anywhere outside Chapel Peak. He flew here?
Or maybe he drove, but either way…
It’s surreal. I can’t picture him anywhere else but there, but here he is.
“How did you get here?” I ask him.
He doesn’t reply, of course, simply holding out his hand for me to take.
I look down at the vein over the back of his palm, remembering the nights I traced every inch of his body, that night, in particular.
I take his hand, and instead of guiding me inside the tire, he picks me up under the arms instead, lifting me high. I swing my legs around the rope, grabbing hold of it as he plants my ass on top.
I feel so high and happy, I almost feel sick. God, I love him.
He’s here. I can touch him.
What does this mean?
