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He finishes his sandwich and wipes his hands on his jeans before pulling out his phone. After a few minutes of scrolling, he finds what he was looking for and hands me his phone.
It’s a selfie of Wyatt and his mom. Her brown hair is short, stopping just above her shoulders. Her smile is weak but wide, and she’s resting her head on Wyatt’s shoulders. Her eyes are a warm, caramel brown and they remind me so much of his.
Wyatt looks so young, and I can see the sadness and fear hiding in his eyes. But he’s smiling, and the pain I see written in his face makes my heart ache.
“That’s the last picture I have with her.”
“At least you have a happy memory with it,” I say, handing him his phone back.
“I have a lot of happy memories with her. I’ve just spent so much of the last few years only focusing on the bad ones.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to remember the bad, it hurts less. The good memories make us miss them more.”
“Come here,” Wyatt says softly.
“Come here, where?” I laugh.
“Come let me hold you for a minute.”
Well, it’s hard to argue with that. I sit between his legs, my back against his chest, his chin pressed against the side of my head. His arms wrap around me and hold me tight, like he’s scared to let go.
“Tell me about her,” I say softly.
“About my mom?”
“Yes.”
“She was magic. She loved fall—her favorite colors were burnt orange and rust red. Country music was her favorite, but old school country like Shania Twain and Garth Brooks. She played it loudly every Saturday when she cooked breakfast. She believed we should always eat our meals around the kitchen table—the whole family. She loved fiercely and whole-heartedly. She was stubborn and kind. And she would’ve loved you.”
I smile at the setting sun and whisper, “I would’ve loved her, too.”
“What about your dad?” Wyatt asks.
“He was my favorite person in the whole world. He had the corniest jokes and the darkest sense of humor, but I loved it. He never sugar-coated anything, he just told it like it was. And sometimes that was infuriating, but most of the time it was refreshing. He gave me my love of reading, and my love for words. Also my love for Star Wars, but you aren’t allowed to tease me about that. He was a wonderful man, and the best dad. And I hate that I didn’t get to tell him that one last time. He would’ve pretended not to like you at first, but he would’ve come around.”
We’re quiet for a while, and I feel myself begin to drift off to the sound of Wyatt’s steady breathing and the warmth of him.
“Lucy?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think they can see us? Wherever they are?”
I open my eyes and turn to look at him, smiling gently.
“I do. They’re here, Wyatt”—I press my hand to his heart—“and that’s where they’ll always be.”
He looks down at me and smiles the softest, gentlest smile I’ve ever seen on his lips.
“Will you do something for me?” he asks.
“Anything.”
“Dance with me, Lucy.”
“We don’t have any music.”
He pulls out his phone and I watch as he picks a random playlist on Spotify, turning the volume all the way up and standing. He holds out a hand to me and I take it, letting him pull me up and into his hands.
