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George is waiting for me in his car when I get outside. He opens the passenger door but has to get out of the car and convince me before I’ll get in. I don’t want him to see me, see this, but he’s kind and quiet, speaking only to confirm directions until he stops in front of my house.
“Do you want me to come in with you?” he asks.
“God no.”
But I can’t seem to open the door.
“I’m going to text you later,” he says. “You’re going to text me back, OK?”
I sniffle. “I’m not...you don’t have to worry about me,” I say.
“That’s not what I meant,” he says. He squeezes my hand. “I want to make sure my friend is OK, Lulu.”
My smile is watery but sincere. “Thank you.”
He leans across the seat as I’m getting out. “I’m not trying to make excuses for him,” he says quickly. George winces. “You deserve an apology and an explanation but I’ve known Jesse for a long time and I’m just saying...” He shakes his head. “Ever since the accident, he’s had to relearn who he is. Or rather, learn who he is for the first time. He’s always had all these other labels defining him and now he doesn’t have them anymore. And you know he’s not the most verbose person.”
I snort. “No.”
“I know that he hurt you and I’m mad at him for that, but I also know that what happened back there? Whatever Jesse said to you in the bedroom? That’s not what he meant. When you’re ready—if you’re ever ready—I just know he’d want a chance to do that all over again.”
I’m too numb to do anything other than nod and close the door.
Dad stands on the front porch as I walk to my apartment. I keep my face turned away from him, pathetically hopeful he’s just getting some fresh air and not wanting a chat.
“Lu?”
Crumbs.
“Yeah.” I shade my face with my hand even though it’s overcast, anything to ensure he can’t see me.
“Do you think your friend Jesse would be up for some more yard work this weekend?” He’s got his gardening gloves on, the knee pads Mom bought him last year for when he spends long days kneeling on the ground.
“I...um, I don’t...uh. No? I can help you.”
Which is how I end up in a pair of old overalls and sneakers, my bloodstained gardening apron, shimmying the trunk of a dwarf lilac tree across the yard. I don’t know what’s heavier, this tree or my broken heart.
“Try lifting it, Lu,” Dad says, bending his knees and holding his arms in a bear hug to mimic exactly what he wants me to do.
“I’m trying,” I huff. “It’s heavy.” A branch smacks me in the face.
“Maybe you can see if Jesse can come over some night this week. I’ll pay him.”
“No,” I snap. “I don’t need him. I can do it myself.”
“Did...something happen between the two of you?”
I should have just pretended I didn’t hear him when he was on the porch in the first place.
“Nope.” I wrestle the tree into the hole dug into the ground and sit back on the mound of dirt beside it.
Dad watches me, his gaze assessing. I’ve never been able to hide things from my father and I’ve never cared to until now. “Ah. I see,” he says.
I hope to god he does not.
Dad readjusts his Tilley hat and pushes his glasses back up his nose. “You haven’t come for dinners at the house in a bit,” he says.
I busy myself with the shovel.
