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In other ways, I’m not sure I’ve fully accepted he’s gone. There are moments when I’ll catch myself living in that fantasy world. When I’ve just woken up, or been focused on something else, and I’ll think of something I want to tell him. The split seconds it takes to recall that I can’t are some of the hardest ones to get through.
Grief isn’t a linear path from loss to rediscovering joy and laughter. It’s a trail of zigs and zags, of ups and downs, that eventually leads to more happy days than sad ones. It’s a journey that never really ends, just becomes easier to travel.
It also has a way of making some things more meaningful. Others less so. It’s a reminder not a single moment we have is guaranteed. That worry about the future takes time away from the present.
“Yeah, okay. Bye.”
Caleb hangs up the phone right as I reach him. Stands, so I’m looking up at him instead of down.
“Hey. How was class?” he asks, slipping his phone in his pocket and then pulling his hat off to run a hand through his hair.
I don’t think Caleb has any idea how that move affects me. If he did, he’d do it all the time, just to amuse himself.
Sometimes, no matter how well you know a person or how many times you’ve looked at them, you stare at them the way a stranger would. And Caleb is just…really hot.
“Lennon?”
“Good, yeah. Class was good.”
Caleb nods as we start walking along the paved path toward the parking lot. I’ve taken an elbow to the side or experienced a close call with the skateboarders who love to fly around campus many times before. But Caleb walking beside me is like being enclosed in a bubble. Everyone walks around us, instead of trying to walk through straight.
“Have you heard of the Fulright Fellowship?” I ask.
“No. Why? What is it?”
“It’s a journalism grant. I don’t know much about it. My professor mentioned it at the end of class, and Eric was telling me more on the way out.”
“Are you going to apply?”
“I guess so. Apparently, it’s really hard to get.”
“I have faith in you, Matthews.”
I smile. “Who were you talking to?”
“Colt.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Pretty good. He wants to plan a winter break trip, since we’ll both be tied up with baseball over spring break.”
We reach his truck. Caleb tosses his baseball bag from the cab into the bed, and then we’re headed downtown. He takes me to a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop I’ve never been to before. Gramps and I hardly ever ate out and Landry has a small selection of restaurants. Exploring all of the eating options here has been an unexpected highlight of attending Clarkson.
Caleb pays for my lunch.
It’s something he’s always done, ever since we first started dating. He’s a perfect gentleman when it comes to the tiny details most guys don’t seem to bother with—opening doors for me and walking closer to the street when we’re on the sidewalk.
When it comes to money, he’s never bought me extravagant gifts or flaunted his wealth in any way.
I’m not even sure exactly how much money he has. I know he has a trust fund and I know he inherited a lot when his grandfather died. The only time he alluded to how much was when he brought me the bank account papers.
The bank account I haven’t touched. Because now that Matthews Farm has sold, I don’t need to. I have money of my own—lots of it.
And I haven’t told Caleb that.
I haven’t told him the property is gone or disclosed the dollar amount. Caleb hasn’t asked. So maybe he’s already assumed it sold. He knows as well as I do plenty of people with lots of money want to live in Landry. If there was more property available, working there would be a real estate agent’s dream. And the property that is available goes fast.
Once we’re settled at a table with our food, I decide to stop putting it off. It’s not like he won’t find out about it. I’m sure it’s a topic of gossip in Landry. I don’t think Caleb has talked to either of his parents lately, or they probably would have mentioned it. Maybe now, they’ll stop thinking I’m after Caleb for his money, which has been heavily insinuated on the few occasions I’ve met Mr. and Mrs. Winters.
