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“She sounds like a real winner.”
He shrugs. “Not her fault, she had two living and breathing parents who loved her. She didn’t understand what I was going through, and we broke up a few weeks later. I’ve dated on and off since then, but none of those relationships lasted longer than a few months.”
“Why?”
He looks at me, really looks at me. “Because grief is a lot. And unless the person you’re trying to share it with really loves you, they won’t want to deal with it. To be honest, though, I don’t think any of them really got it. They would always try to fix it, fixme, and that’s not what I wanted. You can’t expect someone to come into your life and magically take the grief and the pain away from you, even if they do love you. It’s something you must navigate on your own.”
I sigh and lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees and my chin in my hands.
“That’s not really the answer I wanted, Wyatt.”
He laughs and shrugs. “It’s the answer you get.”
We’re quiet again until he bumps his knee with mine. “What are you doing the rest of the afternoon?”
“My only plan was to come here. I don’t have any classes, or homework really, so I’m free. Why?”
“You wanna go get a milkshake?”
“Um? A milkshake?”
“Yeah. You know, ice cream that’s a little melty and you can drink with a straw?”
“I know what a milkshake is,Wyatt.” I roll my eyes.
“Your tone said otherwise,Lucy.”
“Why a milkshake though?”
Wyatt shrugs. “I dunno, they just always make me feel better. So I thought, you know, maybe it would help you, too.”
I smile and take his hand as he helps me to my feet.
“You’re not a serial killer, are you?” I ask.
He laughs and looks back down at my dad’s headstone. “Your daughter’s a real piece of work, sir.”
I like that he just said “sir,” and I like that he talks to my dad’s headstone like he’s actually standing here with us.
I think Dad would like it, too.
“Sorry, I just felt obligated to make sure you weren’t going to kill me the second we get into your car or something.”
Wyatt slides his hands in his pockets and tilts his head to the side.
“How do you know I’m not lying when I tell you I am not, in fact, a serial killer?”
“I don’t know, intuition I guess.”
He laughs and shakes his head, jutting his chin over his shoulder. “My truck’s this way.”
For a split second, I think about whether I should follow him. I don’t know this guy, notreallyanyway, and I’m about to get in a vehicle with him. He reallycouldbe a serial killer, but I don’t think he is. Then again, maybe that’s what all innocent girls think when they get in cars with strange men. Technically, I could just drive my own car and follow him to wherever we’re going to get milkshakes, but I don’t want to. I don’t want to sit in my car and overthink everything, I just want to not be alone for a little while.
Because in the past thirty minutes we’ve been talking, I haven’t been sad. I’ve laughed and smiled, and it’s been nice. Maybe that’s why my feet are moving without my permission and I’m following him without thinking too much about it.
Chapter Two
Wyatt
