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“Oh, um … The Beatles and Van Morrison … Eric Clapton, Elton John, Tom Petty …”
“Oh, Grandpa likes Tom Petty,” Noah chimed in from the backseat. “Right, Mom?”
Ray's eyes met the rearview mirror. “He does. Tom Petty's one of his favorites.”
“It's, like, the soundtrack of my childhood,” I continued, thinking about those days on the dock, fishing with Grampa, or cooking in the kitchen with Gramma. The good days. The days of my childhood worth remembering and holding on to.
“I wish I could've met your grandparents,” Ray mused thoughtfully as she turned the car into Harold's parking lot.
“Yeah,” I replied as the old but familiar sting of grief struck swift and hard. “Me too.”
***
That afternoon, after going shopping and grabbing lunch, Noah and I carried the sixty-five-inch flat screen from Ray's car and up the steps to my house.
Ray, meanwhile, had gone back to her place to get dinner started. She was making white chicken chili—a meal that had quickly become a favorite of mine.
“Watch that,” I reminded Noah as he stepped over the rotted plank of wood. “I really need to fix that shit.”
“I can help,” he said as I fished my keys from my pocket while struggling to steady the underside of the big box on my forearm.
“I'll let you know when I get around to it.”
The doornow unlocked,I pushed it open to Eleven's welcoming meows. Noah and I carried the television to the couch, where we propped it against the cushions until we were ready to put it up. It was already late, and we were both tired and hungry, but I told him he could help me put it up the next day.
“Can I feed Eleven?” he asked, wiping the sweat off hispalmsonto his khaki shorts.
“Yeah, sure. I'm justgonnajump in the showerrealquick.”
After I’d spent so much time in Ray's hot car and hoisting around a heavy TV, the sweat stains beneath my pits were gnarly, and I could only imagine what the rest of me looked like … never mind the smell.
Later, after showering and putting on a fresh pair of clothes, I wandered into the hall, only to find Noah across the way in my bedroom, standing in the open doorway of my closet. My brow furrowed as I crossed the threshold. He wasn't one to snoop—or at least, he never had before.
“Hey, buddy,” I said slowly, making him aware of my presence. “Uh …whatchadoing?”
Startled, he turned on his heel. “O-oh! Um … sorry. I, um …” He swallowed and pointed to Eleven, sitting at his feet, licking his front paw. “Eleven ran in here, and I went after him, so, uh …”
“It's cool,” I said, dropping the towel in the hamper by the door. “Well, youwannahead back to—”
“What is that?”
“Huh?”
“That.”
Noah pointed to the top shelf of the closet. I followed with my eyes and spotted the only thing I had left of my childhood, then smiled.
“That, my friend, is a tackle box,” I said, raking my wet hair back against my head. “My grampa used to take me fishing a lot in the summer, and that's what he'd bring with us.”
Noah's stare turned melancholy as he nodded. “I've never been fishing.”
“No?”
He shook his head.
“Well, we'regonnahave tochange that. Maybe when school's out, you and I can go down to the water and see whatkindafish are out there.”
His smile lit up his whole face. “Really? You'dwannado that?”
