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Even after all this time, though, I still haven’t found a way to fill this black hole of a day.
“Where to now?” I murmur, mulling over the question.
Keep driving until you reach December 17th, please, I want to tell him.
But we’re still hours away from a new day, the sun sinking too slow for my peace of mind. Staring out the windshield, I catch sight of a playground up ahead. Parents hold their children’s hands, leading them to parked cars, likely heading home for happy family dinners now that the daylight is fading.
And I have a sudden urge to keep the place from being completely empty.
“Pull in up here.”
Cole doesn’t question me, he just puts on his blinker and turns into the parking lot. Once the truck is in park, I push open the door, hopping down from the slightly elevated seat. The air is cooler, and I hug my cardigan around me. There’s still a kid dangling from the monkey bars, a man with salt-and-pepper hair hovering close by, arms outstretched, acting as a spotter. Ready to catch the little girl if she falls.
Maybe this was a mistake. I avert my eyes, blinking fast and sucking a bracing breath in through my nose.
“If you cry on my shirt, no one will know. Because it’s black.” Cole appears beside me, arms slightly open in the offering for another hug.
“But if I snot on it, there’s no hiding that,” I point out, using my long sleeves to soak up the few rogue tears that made their way out.
“I could walk around shirtless.” He smirks down at me, and my eyes roll on their own.
“I’d rather not get splattered in girl guts. You know, from all the women spontaneously combusting from a sudden onslaught of lust.” Me included.
“You’re giving my bare chest more credit than it deserves.”
“Unlikely.” My ribs expand on a deep breath, and I realize the little bit of banter has chased away the potential sobs. For now. “I haven’t been on a swing in forever,” I announce, heading toward the swing set.
It’s one of the older kind with a rubber hammock-like seat suspended from two industrial-looking chains. Settling into it takes me back to a childhood I’ve avoided thinking about all day. But at least this bit is a good memory.
And to my immense satisfaction, Cole folds himself onto the swing beside me.
Rocking my torso and swinging my ankles, I begin moving in the soothing motion that has me wondering why I ever stopped coming to playgrounds.
All the while, my friend stays still.
“Swing with me, Cole!” I demand.
“My legs are too long.”
“Bend your knees.” I fly by him on another freeing pass.
“I am.”
“All I’m hearing”—a pause until I’m headed back his way—“are excuses.”
“Fine.” Cole resettles himself on the seat, then proceeds to kick off the ground, bending his knees at the most ridiculous angle to keep from dragging his feet in the dirt. It’s not long before he gets a decent rhythm going, competing with me for who can achieve the highest point.
“That’s it! I knew you could do it. You’re never too tall or too old to swing. Swinging is a lifelong sport!” I crow.
“You’re a competitive swinger? Did they give you a college scholarship for that?”
“If only. But I told them I’d only ever swing for the love of the game. Once you bring money into the equation, everything goes to hell.”
“Very wise.”
As we pass each other, I catch glimpses of Cole’s smile. That’s when I realize my face is creased in the same expression. I’m smiling. Despite this being the anniversary of the worst day of my life, Cole Allemand has found a way to make me just a little bit less miserable.
“How do we know who wins?” the magnificent man calls out to me. I let myself sink back into our banter.
