 
#

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Advertencia Antipirateria del FBI: La reproducción o distribución no autorizada de una obra protegida por derechos de autor es ilegal. La infracción criminal de los derechos de autor, incluyendo la infracción sin lucro monetario, es investigada por el FBI y es castigable con pena de hasta cinco años en prisión federal y una multa de $250,000.

**_Skipping Stones  
_** Copyright © 2013 by J.B. McGee

Image Copyright Conrado and Jim David, 2013  
Used under license from bigstockphoto.com

Cover Design and Formatting

[Indie Pixel Studio  
](http://www.indiepixelstudio.com)  
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever including Internet usage, without written permission of the author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

#

Dedication

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Epilogue

Heartfall Preview

Heartfall Prologue

Heartfall Chapter 1

Heartfall Chapter 2

Heartfall Chapter 3

Heartfall Chapter 4

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Glossary

#

_This book is written in memory of my late grandfather David Homer Lee McGee,_ ** _my Papa_** _._

Today I went by your grave. It still doesn't seem right that you've been gone for almost 10 years. It still causes physical pain to not be able to hear you talk or laugh. To think about your body being in a grave. I can see your smile in my mind like it was yesterday. There aren't many days when my heart doesn't hurt because you're not here. I miss our talks. I miss you.

Thank you for never letting me outgrow your lap, for letting me do horrible things to your hair in the name of love, for tickling my back until I fell asleep, for taking care of me when I was sick, **for walks to the creek in the summer** , for telling me carrots were good for me...that they'd make me pretty, for telling me I could do anything I wanted to do if I tried hard enough, for making me feel like the most special girl in the whole world.

I wish you were here for **_this_**.

This book is also dedicated to all of the men and women who selflessly serve our nation in the United States Military.

#

# 2011

SITTING ON ONE of our rocks, I stir the dirt beneath my feet. It seems like yesterday that I was here with him that summer. Growing up, for every year I can remember, I spent my summers in the small town of Graniteville, South Carolina. Population 2615 as of the 2010 Census. Home of the now non-existent, Graniteville Company. Driving through town earlier, there was no mistaking the industrialism of this town. The only difference between now and fifteen years ago is that when I was younger you could smell the pollution coming from the mills a mile away.

Now it's more like a scene from the pages of _The Lorax_. There were never any truffula trees in Graniteville that I know of, but if there had been, it sure looks like they were all used up long ago. It's become a ghost town. The mills have all closed. The parking lots that were once alive with life and purpose are overgrown and cracking. The small shopping center next to the railroad tracks that run through the town center has nearly all but been abandoned. I glance around realizing that even the majority of the houses in our neighborhood, once considered the nicer mill homes, have become run down.

The biggest news coming from Graniteville is no longer about how it's the industry leader in textiles. It's about the train wreck that happened in January, 2005. I had just turned twenty-three two months prior, and I was in my second year of medical school. A month after my birthday, my papa was sick and nearly passed away due to complications associated with his diabetes.

After everything we'd just been through, it wasn't bad enough that my family watched the town we loved become even more dilapidated. We lost several friends, and others have suffered irreversible illnesses because of the chlorine leak triggered from the derailment. It happened right in the middle of the town, and in front of our church, St. Paul's Episcopal. It nearly fell apart from the chemical damage. I swear, I thought this ordeal would destroy my grandparents, who had to watch every material thing they loved literally become tarnished.

Even though the house seemed far away, if it hadn't been for this creek separating the land, we could have easily walked to the crash site from our house because I can see the church right from where I sit. We were the lucky ones, though. The house wasn't damaged. We didn't get sick. We survived.

I didn't feel like I could leave to go to a war-torn country without coming back here first. I need to be in this place in case I never get the chance to come back again. I need to sit on Papa's lap one more time. I need to strum my fingers across that tattered wallpaper, have one more home-cooked meal from my Memaw, and run down that big hill. I need to feel that rush of adrenaline. I need to skip stones in this creek.

As I continue to stir the earth with my swirling motion, visions of him come flooding into my mind. I wonder what he'd look like now. Would he still love me? I reach down and pick up a stone, rubbing it like it's a magic bottle and a genie is suddenly going to grant me three wishes. Oh, what I'd give to just have three wishes. But there are no genies, and there's no way, it seems, to regain what I've lost.

This town, this creek might not be much to many people, but it built me. This little body of water was my solace, my comfort when I thought I couldn't go on another day. Well, the creek and him. He was my saving grace, and even though I lost him, when I'm here, I feel our intense connection. I clench my eyes closed as I recall our first kiss here. The images of falling in love for the first time play like a movie in my mind. I gave him all of my heart. At least, what was left of it. Despite everything around me being tarnished, this creek, my memories, are the only things that seemed to have made it out unscathed. This place is where I became the confident woman I am today. _This is home_.

#

# 1996

"ALEX! HURRY UP. We've got to get on the road."

"Coming," I answer even though it wasn't a question. My mom hates being late. I do, too, but packing for this summer at my grandparents has been more difficult than usual. I take a quick inventory, looking around my room like something is going to jump out at me if I forgot it. I think it's because I know that I won't get the chance to come back home if I forget something. I toss the last few things I just can't live without into my duffel bag, throw the strap of it across my chest, and then put my backpack on. "I'm ready," I announce as I walk back into the living room.

My dad is packing the car. There are several suitcases lined up in the mud room that leads to our garage. I place my heavy bag down beside the rest. Mom laughs. "Did you forget the bathroom sink?"

I glance up at her with a smile. "Yeah, I did. Thanks for reminding me," I giggle.

She shakes her head and holds her arms out to embrace me. I nuzzle my head into her chest as she rubs my hair. "I'm gonna miss you, Boo."

I look up to her under my lashes. My momma is so pretty. She has big brown eyes and black hair. She wears it straight, no bangs. It goes halfway down her back. It's not scraggly, but more like silk. She doesn't need make-up. She's got an olive, dewy complexion. People say I'm a good mix of my parents with my father's brown eyes and my mother's features. "I'll miss you guys, too."

"I can't believe you didn't want to come with us," she says as she releases me.

"There'll be other times for me to go to Europe." I shrug. I don't care about fancy stuff like expensive vacations. "You know that I look forward to my summers. There may be no Eiffel Tower or Big Ben, but there's The Blue Top." My mouth starts to water at the thought of the best, greasiest cheeseburger I've ever had in my life. The Blue Top is this little diner that is across the street from the church. It's been around my entire life and then some. "Besides. I can't imagine that European food would be able to come close to being as good as Memaw's."

Mom smiles. "You're probably right about that."

"Oh," I raise my eyebrows for emphasis. "I know I'm right about that."

"You're fifteen going on thirty, you know that?"

I roll my eyes, playfully. "Yeah, yeah. Old soul and all. The good girl." She puts her hand on my head and starts to make circular motions, essentially causing my hair to become a frizzy mess. "Hey," I protest as I smooth it back into place.

She chuckles. "I wouldn't have you any other way, Alex. All things said, I'm glad that we raised you to understand the importance of priorities."

I can't help but grin. "Papa is always sayin' this might be his last summer, or this might be his last Christmas." I close my eyes for a moment. "I know one day that will be right. I don't want to look back and wish I could have spent more time with them."

Mom purses her lips together for a moment. "You'll always feel that way about the people you love. But it's important to know that you did everything you could while you could, ya know?"

"Yep, I mean, most of my friends don't even have grandparents still living. I'm a lucky girl."

She nods.

I point to the door. "I'm gonna go ahead to the car."

"Okay. We're right behind you."

LUCKILY, I'VE NEVER had much trouble sleeping in the car. I stretch my arms to the ceiling as a yawn escapes my mouth. "Where are we?" I ask as I look around. We moved to Ballentine, North Carolina, a few years ago. The road trip to Memaw and Papa's house isn't too bad. It's around three hours. We're still on the interstate, but the scenery is different. I know it sounds crazy because trees are trees, but I can always tell when we get close. There's something about the landscaping that's different in each state.

My mom doesn't turn around; she just calls over her shoulder, "About twenty minutes away."

Well, that's a relief. I slept most of the way. An overwhelming urge to go to the bathroom comes over me. I start to squirm in my seat. "Oh. I've really gotta use the bathroom."

"No time to stop," Dad mutters, "We're on a tight schedule to catch our flight."

I inhale sharply. "I really have to go. Like I'm about to pee in my pants."

My mom looks back over her shoulder and gives me a stern look. "You heard your father. You're going to have to hold it." She shakes her head. "Anyway, look around, Alexandria. It's not like there's anywhere to stop."

I turn my head to look out of the window to hide my eye rolling. It's times like these when I wish I was a guy and could just go on the side of the road. Then again, it's not like Dad would stop anyway.

"Can't we just stop at that gas station right off the interstate?" I plead. "I don't think I'll make it. Please, Dad?"

"Fine. But you better hurry up, Alex."

"I will. I promise."

I cross my legs and put my hands in between them, as if putting my hands between my legs is going to actually keep me from wetting my pants. I can tell by the mile markers that we're only a couple of miles away from the exit, but I swear it seems like it takes us an hour to get to that gas station. We've all been silent since I convinced him to stop. I know that I've got my Dad wrapped right around my pinky finger. He acts tough like he's being stern with me, but as an only child, I know better. I sit here and pray that I don't wet myself. I'm about 12 years past the age of peeing in my pants.

Silence. I hate silence.

Not much longer of sitting in silence. When we get to Memaw's and Papa's, there will be none. It's loud there. People from church and family are always visiting. Everyone is always cheerful. Sometimes my grandmother's cousin will come by and bring things he got for little or nothing. He's very much the bargain shopper. It's always funny to hear them talk about their weekly deals. My papa always chuckles and reminds me of what it's like to be old and on a fixed income.

Dad starts in on me as soon as we pull off of the interstate. "Alex, you need to hurry. I mean it. In and out in a flash."

"I know. I will." I smile. "Thanks, Daddy."

He shakes his head, but I can tell he's trying to hide his smile. "You're welcome, baby girl."

The car has barely stopped when I hop out of the back seat and run into the bathroom. In middle school, my best friend and I used to have races to see who could go to the bathroom the fastest. Our friends would time us every day after lunch. I always won. I've got this down to a near science.

One minute and twenty seconds later I'm flopping back into the car, panting. "Was that fast enough for ya?" I wink at my dad.

"That was pretty darn fast. I'm not gonna lie."

I look at my mom and she looks back to me. I can tell she's trying just as hard as I am to contain her amusement. Finally, we both just burst out laughing. Good times.

Another ten minutes, and I start to gather my bags as their house comes into sight at the bottom of the hill. "Don't act so excited to get rid of us, Alexandria," Mom says sarcastically.

I can't help but giggle. "Not excited to get rid of you."

"I know, Boo."

"I mean." I shrug. "You know. I'm gonna miss y'all. I just can't wait to see them. To get my great big hug from Pop." Sometimes I call Papa that. I'm not sure why. I just seemed to shorten it over the years. "And let's not forget I'm sure Memaw prepared a meal large enough to feed an army."

As soon as the car is in park, I crawl out of the back seat and immediately head to the door. No knocking necessary. The only thing keeping me from the inside of my heaven on earth is an unlocked storm door. It creaks as I swing it open. "Knock knock. Who's there?" I tease.

My grandmother turns slightly from the stove in the kitchen that is open to the living room and looks over her shoulder. "Come give your Memaw a hug!"

Papa's sitting in his recliner in the living room, which I have to pass to get to the kitchen in order to hug Memaw. Papa interjects, holding his arm out to catch me. His face is beaming. "Oh no. Not before she sits right here," he pats his right thigh, "on her Papa's lap and gives me a hug first."

I can't help but toss my stuff to the side and plop down onto his lap. I wrap my arms around his neck and give him a peck on the cheek. "You know. One day I'm going to break your legs sitting on your lap."

He chuckles. "Oh no. I don't think so." He shakes his head. "You'll never be too big or too old for your Papa's lap."

I smile as I give him another hug. "I sure have missed you both." I nod towards the kitchen, then wink. "I better give her some love or she might think I have a favorite between the two of you."

He releases me and I bounce the few steps to Memaw's side. The smell in this house is divine. Fried cornbread is in the cast iron skillet. Salmon patties are on a plate in the center of the stove. There's a large pot of corn, which I'm sure has at least one stick of butter in it. The table, which is more of a bar separating the kitchen from the living room, is already set for us. There is a plate full of fresh cut tomatoes, a bottle of hot peppers, and a bottle of mustard. "Hey," I say as I wait for her to put the spatula down.

She wipes her hands on her apron and pulls me into a warm embrace, then looks into my eyes. "Ya know you're growing like a weed." She strums her hands up and down my arms. "I do believe you might be taller than your Daddy!"

The door creaks and my parents emerge with the rest of my stuff. Dad calls, "No way has she passed her Daddy, but she's pretty darn close." He puts my bags down by the couch, and walks towards Papa, who stands up and extends his arm. "Dad." He pulls him into what I call a guy hug. "Lookin' good," he says as he lets go of him and walks towards us.

"Good to see ya, son." Papa rubs his belly as he hugs my mom. "Lookin' round is more like it." Papa smirks back to Memaw and that look in his eyes is so obviously love. I see it when my father looks at my mother, too. "She feeds me too well."

Dad walks up to Memaw and gives her a hug, then reaches around for a salmon patty. "Mmm. So good. Wish we had time to stay for supper, but we have a flight to catch."

"Sug, you want me to fix you a plate for the road?" I roll my eyes playfully. What is it with people saying 'sug' instead of 'sugar' in the South. My grandparents love to use those pet names.

Dad glances back to mom. "Babe, you want a plate to take with us?"

"Oh, that'd be fantastic." She looks to me. "Especially since Miss Alex had to stop to go to the bathroom. I doubt we'll have time to stop for food."

I give mom a playful glare. "Hey! I can't help when I gotta go."

She winks as she laughs, "I know. I'm just picking. Well, partially picking." She grabs a couple of plates from the bottom cabinet. "I really wish we had more time to visit. I hope y'all have a great summer." After she gives the plates to Memaw, she pulls me into a hug. "I'm gonna miss you, Boo. I hope you have a nice summer. We'll call you every day."

"I know, Mom." I pat her back. "It's not like spending summers apart is anything new. It's just that you're not going to be three hours away this year."

"Right," she says in a determined voice. "You're right. Just seems different since I'll be so far away."

I shrug. "Okay."

She pushes me back so she can look into my eyes. "We'll bring you some Twining's English Tea."

I cock my head to the side and playfully say in my best Eliza Doolittle accent, "That would be _lovely_."

#

"MEMAW, CAN YOU pass me those 'maters?" I ask.

Papa smiles. "Good girl. You know those make ya pretty."

I can't contain my laughter, "I thought that was carrots that made you pretty."

He smirks and nods his head. "Yes'um. Those, too. You must be eating lots of carrots."

I smirk as I put my head down. I can feel the blush coming over me. "Maybe."

Memaw chimes in, "It's true, Alex. You're blossoming into a beautiful young lady."

"Young lady sounds so old."

"That's what you are," she chimes.

I shrug, "Yeah. I guess so." I take a bite of my salmon patty and close my eyes as I savor the taste. "Mmm. This is so yummy."

"Tell me it's still your favorite?" Memaw asks.

I continue to chew, but cover my mouth with my napkin. "Definitely still my favorite. Only yours, though. No one can make them like you." She beams. It's no secret she loves to hear her cooking is the best. I look over to Papa, and his eyes are alight with humor. "So Pop, are we going to the creek tomorrow to go fishing?"

"Already got the bait today." I get up from the table to get the mayonnaise. Pop continues, "Ah, I should have gotten that out for you. I forgot you're like your mother and like mayonnaise on your tomatoes."

I look back over my shoulder and wink. They just put salt and pepper on theirs. I put mayo. I can't help it. "It sure beats putting mayo on your pears. Talk about gross."

"Hey, you don't know what you're missin'. Pear salad is delicious. In fact, I think Elizabeth will have to make you some of those tomorrow," Papa teases.

"Ha, she can make them all day. I'll even help. But I'm _not_ eating a mayo-filled pear. And if that's not enough, you add cheese and a cherry. Just gross."

Papa takes a bite of the fried cornbread. "Be nice or we'll fix you some of that good 'ole ham hock soup to go with it."

I squint my eyes at him. "You wouldn't!" I pout.

He grabs his belly as he erupts into laughter. "Of course, I wouldn't."

Ham Hock Soup has to be the most disgusting combination of food ever. It's diced ham, stewed tomatoes, and macaroni. If you want to torture me, then you'll feed me that. I don't know what makes people find that appetizing. Just the smell and sight of it rolls my stomach.

Papa interrupts my thoughts. "So you'll be ready then first thing in the morning to go get out there before it gets too hot -"

There's a loud boom. It causes all of us to jump. The clashing of silverware hitting ceramic plates, my heart starts thumping in my throat. "What was that?" I exclaim.

Memaw and Papa look at each other. "I don't know," Papa replies. He wipes his mouth with his napkin and puts it in his plate. "I'll go outside and check to see if I can figure out what it was."

I nod and mirror his movements. My appetite is suddenly gone because of the nervousness in the pit of my stomach. "Okay."

He walks outside and comes back in quickly. "I hear a lot of sirens." He looks to Memaw, his brows furrowed. "I'm gonna ride and check that out."

"I'll go with you," she offers, almost worried.

I stand up, not understanding what the big deal is. Memaw can be dramatic. I just figure Papa wants to see what the excitement is all about. "Yeah, me, too," I plead. "Maybe we can ride to get an ice cream for dessert from _MacDonalds_?" I glance to Memaw and smirk. It always amuses me when they call McDonalds _MacDonalds_.

He shakes his head from side-to-side. "Okay. I suppose so." As we're gathering our things, he mumbles, "Fifteen years later and she still has me wrapped right around that pinky finger of hers."

We pile into their big Mark III van. I remember when Papa brought this home. We couldn't believe he'd gone and bought a new van. My great aunt moved away a few years ago, but that summer, she brought my second cousin when she came to visit. We thought it was the coolest thing that we could climb up on the top, and it has a television for the people in the back seat, a cooler, and a table. It's almost like having our own RV, except there isn't a bathroom. That would be nice. I remember the look on Pop's face that day. He looked so proud and excited to share it with us.

Sirens are getting closer, and louder. Then there's another explosion as we're riding to the end of the street. It's obvious when we get to the stop sign that there's been a horrific accident at the next intersection to the right. It's not the lights that are so blinding. It's the blazing inferno that the firefighters are working to extinguish. It smells different. I'm not sure what it is, but my nostrils are filled with an almost sweet, but pungent, nauseating stench. The cars involved are hard to make out from so far away and all of the emergency vehicles in front blocking the view.

A loud rumble comes overhead, and I look through the skylights to see a helicopter. It's really low. I have no idea where they'd land that, but I'm pretty sure it's one of those medical helicopters. My thoughts immediately halt.

We are all silent. I don't know about Memaw and Papa, but I'm not sure I'm even breathing. For some reason I have this sickening feeling. I try to swallow the lump in my throat, but it doesn't go anywhere. My mouth has suddenly become so dry I can barely move my tongue. My heart is pounding so loudly that I can hear the magnified sound in my ears. It's like I'm beside a car blasting their music with the bass maxed out.

This is why Papa wanted to check it out, and why Memaw insisted on coming. There's no way it's them. It just can't be them. My parents have one of those fancy car phones in a bag that can be changed from car to car, but my grandparents don't. I wish right now more than anything that we could call them. "Papa, can we go home and call them to see if they are okay?" I ask, hopeful.

"Yeah, Alex. There's no way we're going to get close enough to that scene to know what's going on."

Memaw reaches over and places her hand on his leg. I can see what I'm almost positive is worry in her eyes. Papa turns the van around in the street and heads the short distance back to the house.

I pray the entire way there that they answer. We need to hear they are okay.

Papa shifts the gear to park when we are back in the driveway. "Why don't y'all wait here. I'll go try to call." He looks back to me and winks. "Then, once we know they're safe, we'll go for that ice cream."

I smile at what I think is his effort to lighten our spirits. Maybe he's not even trying to lift our spirits. Maybe he's willing them to be okay. Because they have to be okay. My hands come together in my lap and my fingers start moving in circles, fidgeting with each other. These few minutes of waiting seem to last an eternity.

The look on his face when he comes out is not one that I will ever forget. I watched on television once that sometimes parents just know when their children aren't okay. I think this must be a prime example. The color has left Papa's face. He walks stoically to the car, and as he opens the door to climb back in, he calmly says, "They aren't answering. It went straight to their voicemail."

"No, that means the phone is off," I blurt out. Tears that I've tried to keep at bay begin to push their way out of my eyes. I shake my head. "They wouldn't have it off. It's always on when they are in the car."

He looks back to me through the rearview mirror. "I know, Alex."

"There has to be some other explanation, Lee." She reassures us. "Maybe we should stay here instead of going for ice cream in case they try to call, or so we can keep trying. They're probably in a bad area."

Before another word can be said, a car comes down the hill. In that moment, we all know there will be no ice cream tonight. Memaw gasps and immediately starts to sob. All I can say is no. _No. No. No. No_.

I watch as the police car pulls onto the side of the road and two officers put their hats on as they exit the car. Through blurred, teary eyes I know this is my worst nightmare coming true. That's what this has to be. It's got to be a nightmare. I want to wake up. Someone help me wake up. "Please wake me up!"

"Oh, Alex," Memaw cries. "Oh my sweet, baby. Come to Memaw."

I painstakingly start to make my way out of the van and fall into her arms, all the while never taking my eyes off of Pop and the officers. When they are close enough, they say a few words and I watch my Papa fall to his knees. Mine are getting wobbly. Inhaling, I try to catch my breath, but it's like I'm a fish out of water. No matter how much I try, I can't fill my lungs. My chest is moving, but despite my efforts, it's like being suffocated, like someone is burying me alive, piling bricks onto my chest. The lump that's been in my throat since I saw, what I now know was my parents' unrecognizable car, is growing by the second. I think I know what it feels like to die. I think I must be dying.

#

IT'S IMPOSSIBLE TO hold back the wails. Even though I recognize that I don't even whether I've lost one or both of my parents, I know it can't be good. I turn a quarter so that I can help carry my grandmother to Papa.

"Pop," I whimper.

He pushes off the ground and moves towards us. I've never seen him cry. He shakes his head, and then glances towards me. He swallows as he wipes the tears from his eyes, his brows furrow. "We gotta go."

That wasn't what I expected. "Where are we going? What's happening?" I beg for information. Maybe we're all overreacting. Maybe it's not as bad as we thought. Maybe those are tears of relief for my Papa.

Memaw is barely able to speak, her voice cracks. "Where to, Lee?"

"Hospital."

I need to know what is happening. I'm not five. I'm fifteen. I'm old enough to know what in the heck is happening. "Are they okay?" I ask as we all climb back into the van and fasten our seat belts.

He doesn't say a word. He just shakes his head. "Tony's..."

He's talking about my dad. "Tony's what?" I plead.

Memaw reaches her hand over and places it on his thigh. "Lee...What's wrong with Tony? And what about Felicia?"

He doesn't answer as he backs the van out of the gravel, winding driveway. As he shifts the gear to drive, he stoically replies, "Felicia has been airlifted to Doctor's Hospital Burn Center." The police are in front of us. It's a small town. My grandparents are very well known, liked, and respected. I would assume that we're getting some kind of escort to the hospital.

Memaw and I gasp. I cover my mouth as the tears I'd just dried up resume. "And Daddy, Papa? What about Daddy?" I ask.

Memaw reinforces my question. "Yeah, Lee. Please tell me Tony is okay. Please, tell me that he made it. He has to be okay."

I can see Papa's big brown eyes in the rearview mirror filling up with tears. He doesn't respond. He just shakes his head.

Memaw buries her head in her hands. The only time I've heard cries like this are on TV. I've never witnessed a mother finding out that her baby, even if he is forty-five years old, has passed. Maybe it's because I'm in shock, but it's taken me a second to follow suit with the bawling. I can't contain the feeling that someone has taken a scalpel and sliced my chest wide open.

WHEN WE ARRIVE at the hospital, we're ushered to the Intensive Care Unit. This experience reminds me of times when I would be watching movies with my mom. I remember always asking, "What does that mean? What's happening?"

She'd always reply, "Shh, you're watching the same thing I am."

Her point was always that she didn't know any more about the situation than I did because we were seeing the same thing. If I didn't understand, then neither could she. You'd think I'd learn, but every time I always thought there might be a chance she would understand. The whole older and wiser thing.

It's like that right now. I want to ask a million questions. _Can we see her? Can I touch her? What happens next?_ But I know they are all a lost cause. I know in this moment that if my grandparents knew what was going on, they would tell me. It's obvious by their walk, the firm grasp they have on each other's hands, and their blank stares they are just as lost as I am.

So I just tag along, like a broken third wheel. I watch everything, listening intently for a clue. It's a distraction. It's something to do to get my mind off of the alternative, which is that my father is gone. My Daddy. I shake my head. _No, Alex. You can't do this right now. Be strong. Chin up_.

We are ushered into a small room. The plaque on the wall says, _Family ICU Waiting Room_.

At the moment, I wish there was a switch for my feelings. Like a button I could press that would turn off all emotions and make it so I could just exist, but there isn't. Instead I try to deny this is happening.

That's what I have to do. Pretend none of this just occurred. Act like we're here visiting someone else. Let this play out in my mind like it's a movie because the reality hurts too much. Refrain from asking questions about what's going to happen next, because I have a feeling that the answers aren't ones I'm ready to hear.

There's a television in the corner, a pot of coffee that smells old, Styrofoam cups, stirrers, cream, and sugar. Other than that and a few chairs, this place is empty. It's uninviting, not a place intended for long-term stay.

That is probably because people don't stay here long. They either get better, or, the alternative is not one I can wrap my head around at this moment. I see movement at the door, and I'm grateful for the distraction. It's my mom's parents.

Again, the expressions on their faces will forever be imprinted on my brain and my heart. The apprehension, the anxiety, the heartache that is plaguing all of us are visible. My grandmother is usually beautiful: flawless, dark skin, sea foam green eyes, silky black curls just barely speckled with gray. I've never seen her unkempt. She's in her sixties, but she looks like she could be my mom's sister. Today, her eyes are bloodshot. Her hair looks frazzled.

My grandfather is tall compared to her. He has her tucked into his side. I can tell in one glimpse that he's trying to be strong. He's completely no nonsense. I admit that sometimes I don't know how to act around him. He intimidates me. I have the complete opposite relationship with him as I do with Papa. Whereas Papa has a little dark hair to cover his mostly bald head, Granddad has the softest white hair. It's clear that both of my parents inherited their brown eyes from their fathers.

I spring from my chair, thankful to stretch my legs, but also thankful to be with the people I love. There's solace in knowing that I'm not alone in this misery. "Hey," I say as I approach them. They both wrap their arms around me, and we are suddenly in a group hug.

Their bodies muffle my growing whimper. Like everything else in my life right now, it's not something I'm able to contain. The tears escaping my eyes increase in their rate of frequency and volume. The bricks that have taken occupancy on my lungs, making it impossible for me to catch my breath, seem to be pressing harder with every single breath.

Nothing's said. There's nothing to say. None of us are ready for what comes next. Even if my mom gets better, we have to bury my father. That's when I totally and completely lose control of me, of my mind, of my body.

WHEN I WAKE up, I pray that everything I just experienced was a nightmare, but it quickly becomes clear that isn't the case. I'm surrounded by my family in an unwelcoming, sterile room. It reminds me that I'm in the hospital...and fatherless.

I hear Memaw cry, "Thank God. Alex, you scared us."

Papa scolds her, "Give her some space."

I have never really heard them argue. I've heard him pick on her about getting onto him for his driving. The tensions are high in this room, and I feel guilty for my responsibility in it. We should be focused on my momma. Instead, everyone is fawning over me.

"I'm okay," I whisper. My mouth feels like all of the air has been sucked out by one of those things at the dentist and stuffed with cotton balls. "I wanna see my momma."

Grandma rubs my arm as she nods her head. She turns to Granddad. "Let's find out if Alex can see Felicia."

He leaves her side without a word. Papa swipes a tear that has dripped from my weepy eyes. It's only replaced by another, then another. "Papa?" I say.

"Yes'um?"

"You're going to need a bucket if you are trying to catch all of them." My chin quivers.

A small smile escapes. He nods as he pulls his hand away from my face. "You've always been a strong girl, Alex. So much more than we give you credit for."

I shake my head as I try to choke back the lump that has formed in my throat. "I don't feel very strong."

"Me, neither," he agrees. "Me, neither."

A few seconds later Granddad is back. He nods. "They said that we could go back to see Felicia two at a time."

Then I realize that they are her parents. They should get to see her before me. "You two can go. I can wait."

Granddad furrows his brows. "No." He gestures towards me and Grandma. "You two go first. I'll be fine."

I glance back to Memaw and Papa, and they both give me a reassuring look. Reassuring me about what, I don't know. That they will be fine, that mom will be fine, that I won't die from a broken heart? I'm just not sure, but whatever the reason, it comforts my soul.

#

# Three Days Later

LAST NIGHT AT the visitation and today at the funeral, there were so many people approaching us that it went on for hours. My poor grandparents had to finally get chairs because they just couldn't physically handle all the standing. There's apparently a whole part of our family I've never met. They hugged me like they'd known me for my entire life. They cried on my shoulder telling me how sorry they were. I felt like, instead of them trying to comfort me, it was my responsibility to comfort them.

I tried to act myself, but I just couldn't. I still can't. How am I supposed to stand around for days and hold it together? I just lost my father. My mother doesn't even know she's a widow. She's fighting for her life, barely recognizable from the extensive burns she suffered.

The stench of burnt skin. The scene. The sound. All of it comes flooding back into my mind, and I shudder just thinking about it. It's as fresh as it was in those first moments. Sleep is impossible since I can't bear to close my eyes. Every time I do, I'm assaulted with vivid nightmares.

The pills my grandparents' family physician prescribed seem to be helping me. I don't feel like I have a ton of bricks on my chest at the moment. In fact, I don't feel anything. I'm sure this numbness is partially medically induced, but I'm sure the other part could be described as shock.

Guilt, maybe? Guilt that if I hadn't asked to go to the bathroom, then they wouldn't have felt rushed to get to the airport. Guilt that if we hadn't been a little behind schedule that they wouldn't have been in that exact spot at the exact same time as the drunk driver. Guilt that I wasn't with them.

Then there's the anger. The anger that's consuming me. The anger I have for the man who was so selfish that he thought he was fine to drive after getting completely and utterly plastered. This is what drives me to my feet, through the front door, and charging down the side street that leads to the creek.

The creek is my comfort zone. It's the place where I know I can be all alone because right now those bricks are coming back, and I need to be able to breathe without feeling like I'm suffocating.

It only takes a few strides before I can see it - and him.

Slowing my pace, I debate whether to keep going. My need to be alone doesn't win out because something keeps my feet moving. I don't think it's my brain. Well, maybe it is. It's more curiosity. In all of these years of coming to my grandparents' house, there have never been other kids here. Definitely not guys that look to be my age.

I think part of me is relieved to see a stranger. Someone who doesn't know me - for a person to maybe look at me like normal. Not with the look of pity and regret.

When I get to the creek, I just reach down and start throwing rocks into it as fast and hard as I can. I don't even look at him because I'm not sure I care about anyone else right now. I'm not sure anyone else is worth it.

"Grr!" I grunt as I continue throwing the stones, my pace getting faster. I see out of the side of my eyes that he's completely stopped and his arms are crossed. I think he might actually be laughing at me. _What a jerk._

I turn a little bit. "What the heck is so funny?"

"Oh nothing." He points down to the pile that I've been pulling from. "Just help yourself," he says amused.

"Oh." Ordinarily I'd apologize profusely, but not today. "Bug off."

I start to run away because I feel tears coming. The bricks are returning. As I start to sprint down the road perpendicular to the creek, I hear him.

"Wait. Stop! I didn't mean it like that."

I can't stop. It's like I'm treading water in the open sea. If I stop, I'm going to sink. I'm going to drown.

I hear footsteps pattering behind me. "Hey! I said to stop. I'm sorry."

I know I can't outrun him if he's already caught up to me this fast. I can't speak a word. Just trying to open my mouth causes my chest to burn. I shake my head no in protest.

As he reaches my side, he says, "I didn't mean to get off on the wrong..." He looks down and chuckles, "the wrong foot."

He's just making my heart hurt even worse. Any other time I think I might have been excited to meet him. I got a good look at him before I took off, and now that he's at my side I see his muscles even more. He's gorgeous, a total jock. Tall and lean body, dark hair, sun-kissed skin, his eyes are the color of milk chocolate. He must play sports. I can see the ridges of his muscles behind his snug white tank top. I'm not used to seeing bodies like that except in magazines. Perfection. Not too buff, just right. There's something about those sculpted, exposed shoulders. My eyes don't spend much time on them because they are drawn back to his magnetic eyes.

I can't speak. I wish I could. My mouth opens, and it's like I'm sucking in salt water. I feel my lungs filling. All I want to do is cough it out. Except, instead of the water coming from my mouth, it gushes out of my eyes.

Suddenly I stop, placing my hands on my knees, and then walk to the side of the street and sit down. My legs are sweaty as I wrap my arms around them. The humidity has already started, and it only contributes more to the feelings of suffocation.

Burying my head into my lap, I release the floodgates as my chest starts to heave up and down. The aching in my side, the coarseness of my throat, the burning of my eyes are all reminders of the physical toll crying non-stop for days has taken on me.

A warmth comes over my body as he sits beside me, but he doesn't touch me. I'm not sure if I want for him to. There is already so much guilt from the sheer emotions of his mere proximity. My dad just died and desire for a hot guy consumes me.

My dad. The sobs grow in their intensity. _My daddy_. This has to be a nightmare. This can't be real.

"This is clearly something more than my comment to you. What can I do to help you?"

That does make me look up briefly, as a smile curves onto my lips. I try to speak, my voice quivering. "Okay, so maybe you're not a jerk."

"No, I'm not. Apology accepted." He reaches his hand, hesitantly to dry my tears. "I'm Andrew, but you can call me Drew, and you are?"

"Alex," I whisper, "Alex Hart."

He smiles the most dazzling smile I've ever seen. I'm not sure I've ever seen a guy that I thought was as cute as he is. He surely has a girlfriend, though. Guys this easy on the eyes are never available.

"What has you so upset, Alex? And don't say it's my pile of rocks."

I can't help but giggle. The bricks start to change to butterflies with each word he says, with each look he gives me. "My...I...I can't talk about it," I whisper.

"Okay. Can you walk again?"

"Probably, why?"

"I'd like to share my pile of rocks with you. Skipping stones always helps me when I can't talk about stuff, too."

I breathe a sigh of relief. That's all I want to do. Well, except I can't skip a stone for the life of me. I'm excellent at throwing them. "I can't skip stones."

He bursts out laughing. "You can't skip stones?"

I shake my head. "Nope."

He stands, reaching his hand out to help me up. "Well, let's see what we can do about that, Alex."

#

PLACING MY HAND in his, he helps me up. When our skin touches, I don't want to let go. So I wait to see what he does. Disappointment sets in when he releases me as my feet become steadier. I glance up to him and smile. Smiling. It feels good. It's easier with him, too. In fact, for a few seconds, forgetting the reason for the intense stabbing in my chest isn't so hard.

Not wanting to cry in front of him, I look down. I'm not a cry baby. Maybe that should be past tense. I _wasn't_ a cry baby. I rarely used to do it because I hate it, and had always thought it was a sign of weakness. I'm a girl, but I'm strong. Now, I'm not sure what I am, but if it's indicative of a flaw, then I'm not nearly as tough as I once thought.

I squint my eyes closed as he lifts my chin. "Hey," he whispers.

I purse my lips and shake my head.

"You don't have to talk." He holds his grip despite my shaking. "And if you need to cry, then cry."

That's the permission the dam holding back my river of tears needed. I try to cover my face with my hands, but before I do, he wraps me into his arms. He squeezes me so tight. My body heaves, and the loud gasps that are coming from my mouth are hushed by his shirt. When I inhale, I memorize his scent: the smell of sweat, outdoors, and something sporty. Comfort. He's soothing me. Or maybe it's something else. Maybe he's saving me.

Is he even real because he seems too good to be true? He seems like an angel sent to keep me from drowning in the sorrow that has become the reality of my life. Or maybe he's just a figment of my imagination. "Where did you come from?" I manage to ask through the sobs.

"Me? Um. The creek?"

My throat hurts so badly from crying. "So you're real?"

He laughs. "Last time I checked."

He pushes me back and our eyes lock. "No. Like where did you come from before the creek?"

His eyebrows scrunch together. "My house?"

Okay, if he's trying to be cute, it's working. "Nice. Where's your house?"

"Top of the hill, the other side of the street." He points to our left.

"Ah." I take a deep, quivering breath. "When did you move here?"

"A few months ago."

"So that's why I've never seen you around?"

"Might be." He smiles.

"How old are you?"

"What is this? Fifty questions?" He winks. "Thought you didn't wanna talk."

Hmm. He has a point, but I'm curious. I want to know more about him. Then again, maybe it's that I don't want him to leave me. Maybe it's that I want to know where I can find him after today. I need to know he's not going to leave. Because right now, he's the only person that I feel like I can just be myself. "I didn't."

"But now you do?"

"Would appear so." I shrug. "So. How old?"

"Oh." He nods. "Seventeen. You?"

"Fifteen," I mutter as I start to walk back to the creek.

He takes a skip to catch up. "So where did _you_ come from? I've never seen you around."

Talking about random things seems to come easy with him, but I don't think can talk about where I came from. I swallow. This visit was supposed to be temporary. In an instant it has changed to what seems like a more permanent visit. Even if my mom pulls through and we go back to where I came from, it will be without my dad. It will never be the same. Opening my mouth, I try to speak, but my throat closes. Instead I shake my head. "Can't."

"Can't what?"

"Can't talk about it."

He nods. "Okay."

We walk the rest of the way back to the creek in silence. It's awkward. I hate silence. When we get back to the pile of rocks, he points. "Was that the best you could do earlier?"

While I love a challenge, this is a lost cause. This is beyond a challenge. "Yup."

He smiles, and there is a glimmer of amusement in his sparkling eyes. He reaches down and picks up a stone. "Turn sideways."

Complying without hesitation, I shuffle my feet. "Like this?" I look back over my shoulder and catch him looking at my backside. "Ahem. Up here. Like this?"

He shakes his head, but doesn't stop smiling. "Sorry." He reaches in and puts his hands on my hips. Everything in my body swirls in conflicting directions. He pulls me to where my back is touching his front. "Like this," he breathes into my ear.

His words make me freeze. My skin is wet from sweat, and his warm breath sends shivers down my spine. This feels so good: these emotions as opposed to the grief, the sorrow. Mentally, I make a commitment to enjoy this normalcy. This is what I should be doing. I'm a teenage girl, out of school for the summer. I should be flirting with guys, especially hot ones - not mourning the death of my dad.

"Mhmm. Now what?" I already know what comes next. Or I think I do. Maybe Papa hasn't been able to teach me how to do this because he's never held me like this. Maybe I've never had so much riding on a lesson of skipping stones.

He reaches down my side and lifts my right arm and holds it, palm up, and places the stone in it. His voice is deep, soft, and has unspoken undertones. "There's a certain way you have to hold it."

When I turn my head, our faces are so close that our noses touch. The bricks that have taken occupancy in my chest for the last several days are back, but it's not a feeling of suffocation. It's the constriction that must be keeping my heart from pulsating out of my body. It's a burning, on fire with desire. No. The words 'fire' and 'burn' aren't welcome in my mind right now. My breathing hitches. Partially because of him and partially because of them, my parents. A tear escapes my eyes.

"I don't know what's going on with you, but I know that I just met you and already I wish I could make it all better." I swallow and nod. He uses the pad of his thumb on the hand that isn't holding my arm to swipe it away. "There." He manipulates my fingers around the stone. "Just like that," he says.

It makes me smile. I don't think he understands what a lost cause I am. It's going to take more than positioning my fingers to help me do this.

He moves a little. "Now. As you sling your arm, give your wrist a little flick."

I glance at him, humored. "You think teaching me to skip a stone is that simple?"

"I'll help guide your arm."

"Ah, you make it sound so easy."

He chuckles, "It is easy."

"Matter of opinion." I whisper.

He pulls my arm back like a slingshot and as we're gaining momentum to release the stone, I hear, "Alex!" being proclaimed through the entire neighborhood. It causes my already racing heart to speed out of control. Completely losing concentration, I virtually spin myself around as the stone is released, plummeting me into his arms, our lips just mere millimeters away from each other.

We stare into each other's eyes. Speechless seems to be my middle name for one reason or another today. I blink. "I..."

"You can't skip a stone to save your life, can you?" He smirks.

Breathing for what seems like the first time, I start to laugh. "No. No, I can't."

He brushes a piece of hair out of my eye. "You will. I'll teach you."

"I am not sure I'm teachable. Been trying for years with Papa."

"Come back to me. I'll teach you. If it's the last thing I do..." His entire face lights up. "I'll teach you everything I know."

Something about his voice makes me think that there's more to that statement, and I must admit that I'm curious. "Everything you know, huh?"

"Everything." He caresses my cheek, just below my eyes. "Come back to me. I'll teach you how to deal with those beautiful tears of yours. I'll teach you how to breathe again. I'll teach you everything." He looks down to his pile of rocks. "I'll share those with you. And I'll teach you how to skip stones. It's a promise, and I don't break promises."

"Alex! Alex!" I hear Memaw again.

"I better go. It could be really important. I wish I could stay."

He backs away and puts his arm out, as if excusing me. Barely able to take my eyes off him, I muster the ability to break the pull that is attracting me to him. It's like he's the south pole and I'm the north pole on those big red fridge magnets I used to play with when I was little.

"I'll see ya 'round?"

He nods. "I hope so."

My name is called and I start to run once more. Once I'm able to get out of his immediate proximity, the urgency in the screaming gets more and more pronounced. Guilt consumes me once again. How could I just run off like that and not even tell them where I was going? How could I not come or answer as soon as I was called? As if they haven't been through enough already?

Then I glance back over my shoulder to see if he is still there, reassuring myself that he's real. It's also one last look at him to imprint it upon my brain in an effort to tide me over until I get to see him again.

#

WHEN I COME over the small hill that leads to the house from the creek, I can see Memaw pacing and Papa sitting in the van. _Crap_. Her hands go up in the air, as if to say _finally_. "Hey." Speaking in long sentences is difficult because I'm too out of breath. This is in part due to running, but also from the effect that Drew has on me. Though I want to say his name over and over, it's not possible. Now is not the time to be thinking of him. Struggling to concentrate, my bow furrows and I ask, "Where are we going?"

"It's your mother. She's taken a turn for the worse, Alex. We have to go. Get in the van now."

I swallow and shake my head. "No. No way." Disbelief. Denial. Call it what you want. It's like an out of body experience. Like I'm watching of my life. All I want is a pause button, or a rewind button.

She ushers me the rest of the way. My knees are too wobbly to make it on their own. "There's an infection, Alex. It's common, they say, in burn victims."

"We were only gone for a little bit." I plop down into the burgundy captain's chair in the backseat. "She was fine the last time we were there."

Papa glances over his shoulder and gives me a look of what I think is reassurance. It's his look of hope mixed with fear. I know my Papa's looks. As he puts the van in reverse, he says, "Things change quickly, Alex. Where were you anyway?"

Guilt. It's back. Guilt for being gone and delaying our arrival back to the hospital. Guilt for the few minutes that I wasn't concerned about my mother. Guilt for feeling anything other than sorrow at the significant loss I have incurred. Guilt for being a boy-crazed teenage girl and wishing that Drew would have kissed me.

Keeping my emotions under control is so hard. My body is tired and weak from fighting it. It's so hard. Even crying now reminds me of Drew, and that makes me feel a combination of guilt and anger. Anger for him coming into my life when I'm not in a position to do a darned thing about it. _He called my tears beautiful_ I think as I watch the familiar scenery on the thirty-minute drive to the Burn Center at Doctor's Hospital.

THANKFULLY, TRAFFIC WASN'T too bad. We didn't get stopped by any trains. The drive was quiet. We enter the hospital and I say a quick prayer thanking God for this place, but I also beg him to please spare me a parent. Because I can't lose them both. I can't. I've always been told that He doesn't give us more than we're capable of handling. He has to know that I can't handle that.

As we exit the elevator on her floor, Papa tells me to sit in the waiting area until they get more information. I've only seen her once. While I want to see her, the last time that happened, I collapsed. It wasn't a good thing at all. The last thing the doctors and nurses need to be doing is taking care of me instead of her.

Getting the smell out of my mind has been impossible. Every time I close my eyes all I see is white and flames. It's quite a visualization. The white sheets that covered her body while they were waiting on the burn surgeon to consult. The fire from the explosion. The only way I can sleep is if I take the medicine the doctor prescribed and just wait until I can no longer keep my eyes open. Even then, I'm usually awoken with sweat and tears from the nightmares. In seconds I went from a perfectly normal, extremely intelligent, and pretty well-behaved teenage girl to a completely screwed up, confused girl.

I need my mom to pull through this. I need a reason to keep living with this agony. Otherwise, why would I continue to torture myself? Torture. Just a few days ago, my idea of torture was stupid ham hock soup and pear salad. What I'd give to have that be my only form of torture. Heck, I'd eat both every day for every meal if I could go get a hold of a rewind button. A lump forms in my throat. There are no rewind buttons.

Papa walks over and the look on his face is one with which I'm becoming familiar. Despair. Agony. Regret. No. I shake my head. No. This is _not_ happening. "Alex, let's go see your mother." He takes a handkerchief from his pocket and dabs his tears and then mine. "They said..." His voice cracks. But he said we could go see her. That means she's still here. I don't understand. "We need to say our goodbyes."

And now I do. No I don't. I don't understand any of this. "No."

"You don't want to see her?" He cocks his head to the side. "It's your decision."

"No. I am _not_ telling my mother goodbye. She's not dying. She's a fighter. I get that from her!" I shout. "I don't care _what_ they say." A lone tear escapes my eye. It's like my body knows and understands, but my mind refuses to allow the reality to sink in. "She _will_ make it through this."

He drops to his knees in front of where I'm sitting and he pulls me into a huge hug. "Oh my Alexandria. My baby girl." He rocks me back and forth and I just sit there, numbly. I almost feel like I need to comfort him. These last few days have been so out of character for him. I slowly put my hand on his back and pat.

"She's going to be okay. She has to be."

He pushes back off of my shoulders. He clears his throat, shaking his head. "No. Alex, the infection is in her blood and in her bones. If she survives, she'll have no limbs left. We're removing her from the respirator. It's no quality of life for her. She's suffered too much already.

"So it's our decision if she lives or dies?"

He nods. "To some extent."

"And she's my mom, but I don't get a say. No one included me in that talk?"

"Alex, your mother had a living will, a healthcare power of attorney, and advanced directives. She didn't want to live like this."

I start to sob. "Why? Why would she do that?"

"Because she didn't want us to watch her suffer. She didn't want to continue in life if she wasn't able to do so on her own."

"No," I hiss.

"No what?"

"No." I shake my head. "I don't want her taken off. I don't care what she had. Miracles happen."

"Alex. Do you want to see her?"

"I'm not telling her goodbye," I whisper as I stand up.

"That's fine. You don't have to tell her anything. Just be with her, Alex. I'm afraid you'll regret it if you don't."

"I can't do this, Pop."

"You _can_ do this. I've got you." He puts his hand on the small of my back and guides me down the hall for what seems like an eternity until we've made it to her room. As we enter, he whispers. "Remember this time. I've got you."

I nod.

When we walk in, there are so many more machines than last time. I've never seen so many. My other set of grandparents are on each side. They were the ones who told us to go home to get some rest. We had been taking shifts. I look to my beautiful grandmother, her reddened, tear-stained eyes. Then I look to my grandfather. They give me a half smile and move back. "Alex, baby. Come here."

Closing my eyes, I'm not sure that I can do this. Not sure I can look at her. This can't be the end. Saying goodbye is impossible.

As I bow my head, I beg for a miracle. This is playing out like something surreal we'd see on TV. The scene where everyone is gathered around her bed when it cuts to commercial. This isn't that kind of show, though. This is a horror movie. The part where the heroine runs upstairs, knowing there is no escape. Well, there's an escape. She'll either fall to her own death or be tortured by the villain. Pick your poison. Death is inevitable, but it becomes a matter of controlling her own destiny, keeping things on her own terms. If she chooses to try to jump to her escape, there may still be a chance for divine intervention.

It all starts to make sense. Why my mother made this decision. If we cut this respirator off, she still has a chance at a miracle. But it's on her terms. She picked her potion. Why? Why did we have to find out the potion she picked? Why now? Why like this?

I open my eyes and wish that I could see hers again. They are closed. I'll never be able to look into her eyes ever again. My chest starts to heave. I can feel the hyperventilation starting. Papa comes to my side and puts his hand where he had it in the hall. I hear him in my ear, "Remember, I've got you. Let it out, Alex. Let it all out."

That's the permission I need. Nothing is visible through the blur of the tears. I feel like someone has taken a splitter and cracked my chest open. Like my heart is a soaking wet rag being squeezed dry. This hurts so, so bad.

"Alex, she'll always be with you. She'll always be in your heart. Instead of one guardian angel, you'll have two. We all will," Grandma whispers.

Sniffles are coming from everyone else in the room. I nod my head. It doesn't make this any easier. It doesn't change the fact that we're all stuck in this horror film, and there's nothing any of us can do about the fact that my mother is about to leap to her own death from a proverbial window.

Whispering comes from the door, and I glance over to see a nurse speaking with Memaw. Then she walks over to the machine that I know is the respirator. "Stop."

"Alex, it's time."

"I just need another minute. Please, just another minute."

The nurse looks to my grandparents, all four of them. They nod.

"Can I touch her? Will I hurt her?" I ask.

"You can touch her, Alex," the nurse replies. "You're not going to hurt her. She's under so much sedation that you can't hurt her."

Collapsing onto her chest, I hug her. I just need to hug her. "Mommy. Please fight. _Fight_. You can't leave me." I sob. "I love you. I love you so much it hurts." My head is starting to pound. "This hurts so bad. I'll do anything for you to be okay. For all this pain to go away. Please," I beg.

Papa helps me up. "Baby girl." He pulls me into his arms and smoothes my hair. "Do you want to be in here when they cut it off, or do you want to go to the waiting room?"

"The waiting room, please."

Everyone moves out so we can leave. I hope I don't regret this decision, but I can't be in there and watch it. _I can't do this_. Before we're even down the hall, the beeping from the machines end. A few seconds later, my grandmother's wail is all it takes for me to know that my life has yet again been irreversibly changed, and certainly not for the better.

When I think I'm about to collapse, I feel strong arms squeeze around me, carrying me the rest of the way.

#

WE STAYED AT the hospital for another thirty minutes or so. Everyone was hugging and crying. I'm numb. I am beyond being able to try to wrap my head around the fact that I have lost both of my parents within a couple of days. I don't think I have any more tears to cry.

No. That's not true. All I have to do is open my mouth to try to speak, and I'm reminded that I have plenty left. The only thing is that I don't want to cry them. I don't want to hurt. I don't want this pain. I want the non-existent rewind button.

We're in the van on the way back to the house. Everyone is coming to Memaw and Papa's house to just be together. The only good thing that has come from this is being with everyone. I didn't want it like this, though. I don't want any of this.

In fact, as much as I want to be around all of them, I desperately want some time to be alone. I think I must be overstimulated from it all. My head is either spinning or throbbing in pain from all the crying. I try to make my mind wander to other places.

I wonder what will happen with my friends. Where will I live? Will there be some kind of a big fight between grandparents as to who should have custody? Will I feel like I have to choose between them? I love them both equally, just in different ways. What will happen to our house in North Carolina? My home. None of these things make me feel any better. They just overwhelm me even more.

As I swipe the tears from my eyes, I hear a deep voice. _Beautiful tears_. If he only knew. Yeah. If he only knew, he'd probably wish he had never chased me and made a promise that he says he won't break. I feel so guilty for even thinking about him.

WHEN I GET back home, I hang around the house and listen as everyone shares memories, eats, and basically treats this as a family reunion. I can't. I can't talk. I can't eat. I can't share memories. It's too hard. I pop one of the pills that the doctor gave me in my mouth and decide I need some air.

This time, I decide to tell Papa where I'm going. I find him sitting in his recliner, a piece of Red Velvet cake on a Corningware saucer resting on his belly. It makes me smile. My Papa loves his sweets. I've had a lot of Red Velvet cake in my life. No one makes it quite like Miss Shirley and my Memaw, though. It's the best I've ever had. I know it's supposed to have cocoa in it, but they don't put so much to where it overpowers the cake. It's light and fluffy.

Papa moves his plate and puts it on the big freezer that's beside his chair. He pats his right thigh. "Come sit on your Papa's lap."

Plopping down, I wrap my arms around his neck. It's like I'm an empty vessel lost at sea, not knowing who I am anymore. He reminds me. "You'll always be Papa's Little Girl. You know that, right?"

He rubs my back. I can't speak. I just nod my head and sniff, refusing to give in to the tears. I hear people talking about me as if I'm not even in the room. "That Alex still sits on her Papa's lap. How about that."

It's okay. I wish I wasn't here. I wish I had been with them. What kind of messed up cruel joke is this, anyway? If it weren't for my grandparents, I think I would just go into my room and swallow the entire bottle of pills. But I can't. I can't do that.

We sit like this for a few minutes and I come to the conclusion that I can't be here any longer. I just need some time to be alone. The creek. Nope. Can't go back there right now. I don't need to be with Drew. I can't deal with the guilt that I have for liking a boy.

"Pop," I whisper.

"Yes'um." He rubs my hair, my head still resting on his chest.

"Can we go for a walk?"

"I wish I could Alex, but we have company."

I nod. I understand, but I can't do this. "I need some space." My shaky voice cracks. "I'm gonna go for a walk. Maybe to the creek."

He kisses my head. "Take as much time as you need, but please check in every hour or so. You scared us last time."

"I'm sorry. I won't do it again." This guilt is eating me alive. Guilt for not checking in. Guilt for being with Drew and actually feeling something other than mourning. Guilt for every dadgum thing. When will it stop? I just want to scream. Maybe I will. Maybe when I get far enough from the house, I'll just scream as loud as I can. A punching bag might be a better release. Maybe I could just box out all of this pain. Hit something so hard and so long that my knuckles bleed. That the pain I feel from the gaping hole in my heart is transferred to something that might actually heal. Because I don't think I will ever heal. I'll certainly never be whole again.

Giving him a kiss on the cheek, I go to my room to put on my running shoes. I don't have a punching bag, but maybe I'll ask for one of those for my birthday. It comes before Christmas. November. My birth. My mother. No more birthdays with my parents. Ugh. _I can't do this,_ I think __ as I sprint through the house and out the back door. I wasn't going to go back to the creek, but my feet must be on auto-pilot because that's exactly where I'm headed.

When I see Drew in the same place I'd seen him before, I think for a split second to keep going straight, but instead I round the corner to that side street that I unsuccessfully used to escape him last time. Maybe he won't even notice me this time.

I hear feet pattering. "Alex?" I keep running, speeding up my pace. "Alex!" he shouts louder. He's fast. Maybe he runs track or something. He reaches my side and grabs my arm.

Trying to get away, I struggle with all my might, which isn't much these days. "Leave me alone."

"Whoa, whoa, whoa." He clinches harder. "What did I do to you?"

"Ou -" He releases me immediately.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, but just stop for a minute. This is not at all how I expected this to go." I turn and start hitting his chest as my cry turns into an ugly sob. His body is unmoved by my efforts. He grabs my arms and stills me. "What in the world is going on with you? Is someone hurting you?"

I just turn my head and shake it. He pulls me into an embrace. I am being squeezed again by his muscular arms and it feels so good. It feels safe. It makes the pain from the heaving more bearable. I shake my head. "No."

"Then what? I mean. I'm at a loss."

I sniff. It's not fair to not tell him. This isn't his fault. More guilt. I'm hurting everyone around me. I'm being selfish. Who the heck am I? "My parents just died."

"'Plural?" He pushes me off his chest and lifts my chin. My eyes are fixed on his pecs. Very nice pectorals. I turn my head away from him. I feel so bad for trying to use his body as my punching bag. "Look at me." I glance up into those milk chocolate eyes. Compassionate, caring, soothing eyes. "Plural?"

I nod.

"Life's so freakin' cruel," he hisses.

It makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time to see him so passionate. "It is." I burst out into giggles. They're delirious giggles. It feels so good. They just keep coming.

"Alex, that sucks. There are no sufficient words."

The laughter stops. "Drew, it sucks so, so bad." Then there's guilt for even laughing, for enjoying his company. "So bad," I say as my chin starts to quiver.

His beautiful smile vanishes as he pulls me back into his arms. "I know what it's like to lose a parent, not two," he whispers.

I wrap my arms around him as we have a moment. Sharing a connection that no one should feel. I murmur into his chest, "Sorry for trying to beat the crap out of you. Do you run track?"

"Um, once again, apology accepted. And that was random. I don't run track. I don't play any sports." He pulls back and cocks his head. "Why?"

"You should run track. You're fast." I hesitate. Should I ask how he got a body like this not playing sports? I decide that would probably make this more awkward. I'll wait.

"Good thing I'm fast. I've had to catch you twice." He smirks. When he does that, it makes my insides flip.

"And twice you've made me feel like the sky might not be falling as quickly as I had thought." I shrug. "So thank you for that."

"You're welcome," He smiles as he threads his fingers through mine, causing sensations to travel through my entire body. Butterflies swirl.

_What is he doing? Where is this headed?_

"Now." He brushes the tears away with the pad of his thumb, then he kisses his finger where the tear now lies. "I think I promised to teach you a few things...and I don't break promises."

I beam. Should I be beaming? "I can't."

"You can. I'll teach you."

"No. I mean, I can't do this." I bow my head and try to let go of his hand, but he squeezes it.

"Why not?"

"It just feels so wrong. My mom died a few hours ago and now I'm holding hands with a boy. A boy I just met. I don't even know your last name."

"Foster. Now come on." He gives me a tug. "You're still alive. You're still here, Alex. Live."

My feet start to move as I let the words he just spoke settle into my mind. Live. How do I live now? "I'm not sure I know how to anymore."

"Sure you do."

"No." I shake my head and will myself not to start crying again. I think the medicine is taking the edge off of my emotions. "I don't."

We're almost back to the creek. His walking speeds up, which means mine does, too. We're attached. He pats one of the big rocks. "Sit."

Being ordered around isn't usually my thing, but for some reason I do anything he says. Maybe it's trust. He's a stranger, and yet it's easy to trust him already. I've never experienced anything like this before. A butterfly flies by, catching my eye. It sits on a leaf beside me. Then it flutters to him, swirling around him, staying in his general proximity. "Okay," I mutter as I sit. "Look at that butterfly."

"Yeah, it's pretty."

"She seems to like you."

"How do you know it's a she?"

"Ah, um..."

He bursts out laughing. "Just say it, Alex. Because you think I'm hot, so naturally a girl butterfly would, too."

I squint my eyes. "Oh, conceit is one of your many attributes, too?"

"No. Just have heard it a time, or two." He winks. Every time he winks, it brings a rare smile to my face.

"So. If we're sitting, then I take it you're not giving skipping stone lessons right now."

He shakes his head. "No."

"So. What are you going to teach me?" This flirting is nice. Even though I just met him, I feel like I've known him forever. Like he's my best friend.

"We're going to work on the tears."

I drag in a breath. "I don't know that today is a good day for that."

"Do you have a boyfriend?"

"That was blunt. And what does that have to do with the tears. I told you why I had them."

"This coming from the queen of bluntness. So..."

"Do you have a girlfriend?" There's nothing better than being able to answer a question with a question.

"No. You?"

I giggle. "I have a girlfriend. Her name is Charlene, but everyone calls her Charlie. She's been my best friend since I was five. Everyone always goes on and on about how our names are both boy names." I pause. Will she still be my best friend? Does she even know about my parents? Will I ever see her again? "I _had_ a girlfriend. Her name was Charlie. She _was_ my best friend since I was five."

He turns his head to the side as he watches the tear escape. "Not past tense."

"You don't know that."

He swallows and looks to the creek. "Boyfriend, Alex?"

"Negative." Do I want to know why he's interested? Is it presumptuous for me to assume that it's because he's interested in me? "Why?"

He glances back towards me and leans forward. "Because I want to know if I'm allowed to kiss your tears away. Because I want to be able to hold your hand. Because I like you."

"You just met me. This is pity."

He rolls his eyes as he picks up a stone and gracefully skips it across the water. "I don't pity you."

"Oh, you do. You feel so sorry for me you can barely stand it. You want to fix me. Teach me everything you know."

He flashes a grin as he looks at me out of the corner of his eyes. "Yeah, that teaching you everything I know wasn't a completely innocent statement."

I feel heat envelop my body. My heart that is so raw and vulnerable is pounding in my chest. "What not-so-innocent things did you want to teach me exactly?"

He looks down. "I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I'm not good at verbalizing them."

"How were you going to teach me then?"

He inches closer. "One day I'll show you."

"But not today?"

He closes his eyes for a moment. "No. Not today."

"Why not?"

"You're not ready for the things I want to teach you."

"You just met me. How could you possibly know what I'm ready for and what I'm not?"

He picks up another stone and lets it glide across the top of the water. "You're right. _I'm_ not ready." He turns and suddenly his legs are on the outside of mine. We're facing each other and he has me trapped with his body, once again. He leans in, our lips nearly touching. My breath hitches. I wonder if my face is as red as I think it is. My body is so hot. Partially the summer heat, and partially his close proximity. I watch as he comes closer. His lips brush mine. "You're going to regret this if we do it right now."

"No, I won't." I clench the rock that I'm sitting on. "You make me forget. I want to forget. I want to be lost with you. Please take me to another place, a happy place."

"Alex."

We both turn towards the road, and I jump when I see him. "Papa."

"It's time to come home. It's gettin' late."

My brows furrow as I look back to Drew. I whisper, "Gotta go."

He nods, "Bye, Alex."

"See you tomorrow?"

He smiles. "I hope so."

#

GLANCING OVER MY shoulder, I give Drew a weak smile. It's like we were caught doing something far worse than what we were. By all practical purposes, we weren't doing anything wrong. Although, I was wishing we were. All I wanted was for him to kiss me, for him to take my mind to a place where coherent thoughts were no longer able to be formed.

"Who's the boy?" Papa grumbles as we start to walk back to the house.

"His name is Drew."

"Drew who?"

Oh, I know what this is. This is the fatherly inquisition. Except, he's not my father. My father is dead. He's my grandfather, who now must feel obliged to play the fatherly role. I swallow back the tears as moments of lost father/daughter dances move before my eyes. I hesitate to answer as I think about the lonely walk down the aisle one day to a husband, maybe it will be Drew.

"Alex. Drew who?" Papa reminds me of his impending question.

"Drew Foster."

"I don't know any Fosters from 'round here." It's not so much a statement. It's more of him thinking out loud. "Did he just move here?"

"Yeah. He said a couple of months ago."

"Well, just be careful. This neighborhood isn't what it once was. A bunch of riff-raff these days. I don't want you gettin' mixed up with trouble."

I draw out my 'okay' for dramatic effect. He knows nothing about Drew. While I don't know much, I do know that he's been the only person able to get me to feel like I'm not connected to a lead ball that is sinking into the ocean, thousands of miles beneath the surface. He's been the air my lungs can't seem to find in any other way or place.

"He seems nice. When I'm with him, I can kind of forget."

"Forget what?"

My chin starts to quiver again, squeezing my throat in the process. "Forget everything I've lost."

"Everything we've all lost, Alex."

"I know, Papa. I know."

"Your family's here for you. You just have to let us in. Anything you need."

I shake my head, but then it occurs to me that I do need something. It's what Drew is providing for me. "Just a friend."

"You have friends."

"Not here."

"There are a lot of people who love and care about you. There's Joshua and Jason from church. You know they've always liked you, right?"

I giggle, "Yeah. I don't like them the way they like me, Pop."

"Then there's Kayleigh and Malia from church."

I glare at him. "Pop, they don't like me."

"Awe, who could not like my Ali Lou?"

Rolling my eyes, I answer, "Mean girls who smile and act fake for the adults."

"Whatever you say. I just think there are people here who care about you."

I nod. "Okay." It's not worth the argument, even a playful argument. I don't have the energy for that. "What about my friends back home? Like Charlie?"

We're nearing the house. It took longer than usual because we've walked at a snail's pace. Papa can't seem to get around quite like he used to. I can see the cars have all left. I hook my arm in his as I look up into his teary brown eyes right before he looks away. "I'm not sure, Alex. I'm not sure how to do any of this."

"Me neither. What about my stuff, our house?"

"Can't we get through these next few days before we worry about your stuff and your friends?"

I'm not a materialistic person. I feel bad for even mentioning it now, and it seeming that way. "I didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"I know you didn't."

A tear manages to escape. "I'm just scared."

"Me, too." He takes my hand that is looped through his arm into his other hand, brushing it with the pad of his thumb. "What do you say we have a slice of that delicious Red Velvet cake that Miss Shirley brought for us, and then watch the stories?"

The mention of the stories makes me smile. The stories are soap operas. My grandparents record them on cassette tapes. Then they watch them in the evenings before bed so they can fast forward through the commercials.

"I have missed that cake. I usually only get it on special occasions." I clinch my eyes closed as I realize this is a special occasion. It's just an unwanted, unwelcome special occasion. "What have I missed on..." I do my fingers as little quotation marks. "The stories?"

The rest of the short stroll is spent with Papa telling me about the plot twists as if the people involved are our neighbors or best friends. It's funny how invested people become in fictional characters.

"ALEX." I FEEL someone shaking my shoulders.

"Hmm." I can barely open my eyes because I'm so tired.

"C'mon, sweet girl. Come on to bed," Papa whispers as I groan putting the pillow over my head. "This 'ole couch'll break your neck if you sleep here."

I must have fallen asleep watching the soaps. He nudges me again. "Alex. Won't you go on to bed?"

His presence is palpable. I just want to go back to sleep, but guilt consumes me for worrying him. "I'd carry you if I wasn't an old man. I don't want your neck to hurt tomorrow."

I love my Papa. He's always more concerned with other people than himself. He'd do anything, I believe, for the people he loves. There's actually no doubt in my mind. I swing my legs around and sit up for a minute to let the dizziness subside. "Okay," I grumble.

"Thank you. And you'll thank me in the morning when you're able to move your neck," he chuckles.

"Mhmm." When I stand, I can see the fatigue on his face. Hooded, tired eyes that are bloodshot with bags under them. His face is splotchy. "Papa?"

"Yes'um?"

"I love you."

He cocks his head to the side. "Well I love you, too. Where did that come from?"

I put my hand over my chest. "My heart." I can feel my voice quivering. I'm not sure if it's from being half asleep, or from impending tears.

He does something I've been yearning for. He smiles the biggest, toothiest grin ever. It's a smile that can light up any room. It used to be rare to not see it. I used to think his mouth wasn't capable of closing or frowning. Lately, his smile has become rare. But not now. He's smiling now, which makes me do the same. "Alex, you know you are Memaw and Papa's heart. You're our reason for living. You make all of this a little bearable. Without you..."

The smile fades and he chokes as he shakes his head. "Ahem. Well. Let's not think about that. I love you, too." He places his hand over his heart. "It's all yours. Now, let me tuck you in snug as a bug in a rug in a comfy bed instead of that old couch."

_Snug as a bug in a rug._ He's been saying that to me for as long as I can remember. My dad always said it, too. I can still hear him saying it. In fact, it's like I can hear him whispering it in my ear. I close my eyes and nod. "Okay."

Then I wonder at what point will I not be able to hear my parents' voices in my head? Will I always hear them? Or will I eventually forget what they sounded like? Will I forget what they looked like without the aid of a picture? My chest starts to get heavy. It's the bricks. They're coming back.

There are only two things that help the bricks go away. The first is the medicine. It's not time for another dose. The other is Drew. And I don't think my grandparents would appreciate me sneaking out in the middle of the night to go toss our stones at windows trying to find him.

I turn to Papa. "I'm awake now. I can't go back to sleep."

"Why don't you at least try to lie down and get some rest," he insists.

I haven't told them about the nightmares. "Every time I close my eyes..." I cringe. "I...I -"

"Me, too," he whispers as he brushes away one of my tears. "I hate that I can't fix it for you. I wish I could take away the pain."

I shake my head. "It's not your fault. I don't know how to fix me, how could you?"

He walks to his recliner and pats his leg after he sits. I follow and curl up in his lap, wrapping my arms around his neck like I'm still five instead of fifteen. "They say I'm older and wiser. I should."

I'm unsure of what to say. I feel so guilty that he feels responsible for my reactions, or not being able to make this all better for me. What he doesn't know is that he is making it better. "When you hold me like this..."

"Uh huh?"

"It makes it a little better. I love sitting on your lap. It makes me feel like I'm still five. Like nothing else in this world matters. Like I'm safe."

He wraps his arms around me and squeezes. "I'll do everything in my power to make you feel that way for as long as I'm living, Alex."

"I know."

"Tickle?" I call it tickling. It's not really fast tickling. It's more like a very specific way to rub my back. My mom's mom knows how to do it, too. For as long as I can remember, they've always done it when they wanted to get me to go to sleep.

"Sure."

He starts to lightly strum his fingers across my back. I get goosebumps. Some people have comfort food for times like these, but I have comfort tickling. It's as soothing as any lullaby. My eyes start to get heavier, despite my fighting them. The time between blinks gets longer and longer until my lids are finally too heavy to lift again.

THERE IS MOVEMENT beneath me, and then a grunt follows. I pry my eyes open, not sure of where I am or who I am with. "Humph, we slept all night like this?" I ask while looking to the windows where the early morning sun is starting to peek through.

"Would appear so."

"That was the best sleep I've had since..." I can't say it. Nightmare has been the word of choice.

He nods. "I'm glad. I felt bad for waking you up the first time. I refused to do it again."

"I'm surprised you could even breathe." I giggle.

"It was fine."

I stretch, and then get up to head to the bathroom. "You want some Corn Flakes?" he asks.

"Yuck. Corn Flakes."

"They're good for ya."

"Let me guess...they'll make me pretty?"

"No, that's just vegetables. These make ya smart." He chuckles. "I'll even slice up a banana for you. What do you say?"

"No thanks."

He raises his voice a little as my distance grows and I enter the bathroom. "Alright. Well, you need to eat something this morning."

Eating. I haven't really had much of anything since this accident. I don't have an appetite. It's killing my grandparents to see me not eat. I can't help it. That's what people in the south do: they feed you. My grandparents take immense pleasure in being able to cook great meals. I think it's partially because they are on the poorer side of the middle class. Their budget is really tight. It's not like they have a bunch of money to go out to eat or buy lavish gifts. Instead they love to give their gift of cooking. It kills two birds with one stone.

After I've finished my business in the bathroom I hear, "Alex is -"

I open the door to find my grandmother. We nearly bump into each other. "Morning. How'd you sleep?"

I smile. "How? Surprisingly well. Where? On Papa's lap."

"I saw. I took a picture. I wasn't going to wake either of you. I'm surprised you could sleep through those logs he cuts."

We laugh. "Me, too!"

Papa chimes in, "I don't snore."

"Oh Lee. You most certainly do." She looks back to me. "Let me go to the bathroom and then I'll fix you some breakfast. What do you want?"

"Not hungry."

"Oh Alex. You have to eat."

I don't have it in me to fight with her about it right now. It hurts me so badly to hurt them. Maybe I'll try this morning. Maybe that will help with the nagging. Maybe it will help with the overwhelming guilt I have for being stubborn. "What about biscuits and sausage gravy?"

"I'll even make the biscuits from scratch if you'll promise you'll eat two."

I raise my eyebrows. That makes my stomach start to rumble. The hunger slowly creeping into the pit of my empty stomach. "I love your homemade biscuits, and when you make homemade dumplings."

"I'll make you both if you'll just eat."

I nod. "I'll try."

"That's a good girl." We switch spots in the area. This bathroom faces the back door that leads to the carport. The foyer is especially tight. "You should probably go get dressed. I'm sure it's going to be a long day."

Frowning, I'm reminded of what the day will entail. They are activities I'm becoming far too familiar with. It consists of obituary writing, shopping for last outfits, gathering photos for the memory board, way too many visitors...and it all adds up to a ton of bricks.

#

I WAS ABLE to eat two of those made-from-scratch biscuits with homemade sausage and milk gravy. I don't think I knew just how hungry I was. Most meals since the accident have been spent with me using utensils to play with my food. Instead, this time I was using my fork to scrape up every last drop of that gravy.

"Alex, you can have more than two. You don't have to scrape the plate."

"I don't want to make myself sick."

"You haven't eaten in days. I must say it's a sight for sore eyes."

I smile as I turn my fork backwards and lick. "That was delicious. Just what I needed." I get up from my chair and head to put my stuff in the sink. Papa spends a lot of his day slaving over the dishes Memaw dirties while she cooks. They have an old green dishwasher, but I don't think I've ever seen them use it. They hate having the house out of order, and they were raised to do everything by hand.

"Here, Pop. Want me to rinse while you wash?"

"No, sweetheart. I got this," he says as he looks out the window. You can see the hill that I love to run down. Some summers when we were little, my cousin and I would make a homemade slip and slide out of these industrial strength long trash bags Papa would bring home from work. Then one year at Christmas it actually snowed. We rarely get 'White Christmases' here in South Carolina. We used the tops to those Rubbermaid containers to sled down the hill. Mom and Dad were out videotaping us. I wonder where that video is?

My blood starts to boil because I've been robbed of the future I had planned. There won't be any more memories with my parents. There will be no wedding dress shopping with my mother. My father will never walk me down the aisle. They missed getting to watch me go to the prom. They will not be cheering me on at my graduation. Most of all, the anger that _every single thought_ seems to lead back to them consumes me. There is no way to escape the pain. I need a way to escape the pain.

"Papa?"

"Yes'um," he replies, glancing over to me.

"Can I go for a walk?"

"Are you going to see that boy...what was his name?"

"Drew. I don't know." I don't know if I'll see him, but I know I'm going to go look for him.

"I told you. We don't know nothing 'bout that boy. You need to be careful." He's stern. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard him be so stern with me before.

"I will." I lean over and give him a kiss on his round cheek. "Is there a time I need to be back by?"

"We'll holler for you. Be listening."

"Okay," I cheerfully reply. Cheerful. That's a new emotion these days. I know it's only cheerful at the thought of Drew. I skip to my back bedroom where I usually stay in the summer. I guess it's my new room. I swallow. So many changes happening so fast. It's so overwhelming.

I slip on my flip flops and head back through the house to the back door. Memaw stops me right as I am about to make my escape. "Alex."

I halt myself in my tracks, glancing over my shoulder at her. "Yes, Ma'am?"

"You're wearing that out?"

I glance down. It's summer. I have on cut off blue jeans and a white ribbed tank top. "Um. I had planned on it."

"Those shorts are so short. You need to go change. It's one thing to wear those around the house, but not out," she mutters disapprovingly.

I sigh and look over to Papa. He gives me a hopeless shrug. "What's the difference between me wearing these and a bathing suit?" I don't want to be mean, but I'm frustrated. She's holding me up, and causing me to waste time that I could be with the one person on this earth who doesn't make me want to go jump off of a bridge. "In fact, I think they probably cover more than my bikini."

"When you wear stuff like that, you're just askin' for trouble."

"No, I'm _asking_ to stay cool in this hot, humid weather," I huff. "Besides, it's not like I bought them myself. Mom bought them for me."

Papa speaks up, "Alex, don't talk back to Memaw like that."

I hate being scolded, especially by him. It happens very rarely. "Yes, sir."

"Now go change those shorts into something a little less...revealing," he demands.

I hang my head. I don't have the energy to fight with them. The truth is I don't have a lot that is any better. It's almost impossible to find shorts that are long enough for my tall, lean body. I pick out a pair of white dress shorts. They are still short but they at least look nicer.

When I walk back through the living room, Memaw starts again, "Those are still short, but I guess they're better."

I glance to Papa, almost begging him with my eyes to help me. We have a way of speaking without saying a word. "Awe, Elizabeth. Give her a break."

She glares at him, and he winks at me. I know that's my chance to make my break. I've never really heard them fight before. Like ever. I suspect that when I'm out of their presence, they might have words, but maybe not. I scurry down the street hoping they won't change their mind on letting me leave.

I'm disappointed when I see the creek, and he's not there. My chest goes from feeling like the bricks are stacked against it to empty, lost. I'm not sure what I should do. I glance at the big rocks we had sat on yesterday. The stirring at my core is intense. I don't know how I've become so dependent on someone I barely know.

I slow my pace now that there's no incentive to get there any faster. Visions of my father and Papa swinging me down the street to the creek flash before my eyes. I visualize me unsuccessfully trying to skip stones with them. The lump in my throat is growing. I hear Dad's laughter. There's a sparkle in his eyes from the water as he watches me try with all my might to do what they do with those rocks. Pure amusement.

He never complained about having a girl, and not a boy. He was completely content with just me. He was determined to teach me everything he would have taught a boy. He had always said he wanted me as independent as possible. Never depending on a boy. Ironic, since right now all I can think about is how I want to throw myself into that creek and sink to the bottom, letting the water replace the air in my lungs, and the two main people saving me are Papa and Drew - Drew - nearly a complete stranger. Both men. Completely dependent.

Stranger, or not, he is hope. He's hope for me that I may be able to find some resemblance of happiness in the future. He's a ray of sunshine seeping in an empty otherwise black hole that sucks me in with each tear shed and every memory remembered.

When I get to the rock, I ease onto it. I rest my head in my hands, releasing the stampede of despair as I'm overcome with emotion. I don't even attempt to hold back the wails that are escaping me. I pull my knees to my chest, hugging them as I rock back and forth.

I wonder what I can do to get this crying to go away. To make this pain stop. Is the answer to completely close my heart off, and allow no one in so that when they leave, I no longer ache? Is the solution to find something that hurts worse to help ease this hurt? Is there relief in pouring everything in me into something positive? What do I have that's positive?

I have nothing. I am nothing. I mean, I have my family, but my life as I otherwise knew is gone. Friends, home, plans for the future. I don't know who I am anymore. These thoughts do nothing but make me mourn the losses I've experienced in an even more dramatic effect.

When I finally lift my head and open my eyes, big brown ones captivate me. I don't know how long he's been sitting there. He doesn't say a word; he just turns his head slightly to the side. He brushes away my tears before handing me a stone.

My eyes never leave his as I drop it the rock between us. I realize in this moment, that the pain eases when he's near me. So I decide to pour everything I have in me into him. I lean forward, biting my lip, hoping he'll know that I am begging him to kiss me. He doesn't move. He doesn't speak. He leans back on his palms, distancing us.

I sigh.

As I'm about to look away, disappointed, he lunges forward and takes my head into his hands. Our lips crush together, and as his kiss consumes me, he breathes oxygen into my lungs. My heart starts to race. I feel alive. This is living.

#

INHALING THROUGH MY nose, I breathe in this moment, fresh air. I don't want it to end. The taste of mint, his soft smooth tongue, and the ability to completely submit to him brings a peace to me that I haven't felt in days. In this moment, it is clear that he's quickly becoming my medicine.

I take his head in my hands, hoping to deepen our kiss. With each twirl of our tongues, it's like we're connecting in a deeper way. With each flick, a brick shatters on my chest. With each second that passes, I realize that as long as I'm in his arms, I might be able to survive this anguish.

He slowly pulls back, rubbing my nose with his. "Don't stop," I beg, needing him, needing more.

He reaches down and picks up the stone I dropped, and he hands it back to me. "How about we play a game?"

"I'm not up for games." I lean in closer. "I _am_ up for more kissing."

He chuckles and tosses the stone in the air, only to catch it. "What if I told you there was more of that, too?"

My eyes follow the stone up and then back again. The last time when he catches it, he brings it to the side of his face. I follow until I'm back to his amused, chocolate gaze. Everything about him is hypnotizing. I swallow. "I'd say that you've clearly got my attention."

He nods and gives me a playful wink. "Smart girl," he says as he gets up from his rock and takes a couple steps closer to the creek.

I shrug my shoulders, rolling my eyes, as I mimic his movements. I mutter, "I don't think this has a thing to do with my brain."

He turns back, flashing a perfect smile. It's one that I don't think I'll ever forget. The way the sunlight is bouncing off the water creates a glow around him. He's my angel. I smile only able to think about the kiss. I need more of that. I need more of him and that kiss so I can forget that I'm an orphan. I need more of him so I don't feel guilty for existing.

"The game," he whispers.

I nod. _Focus on him, Alex. Focus on the moment._ "The game..."

"I'm going to teach you to skip stones."

"That's not a game," I counter. "That's a lesson -" He causes me to stutter as he moves in closer. "That's...that's..."

He puts his finger over my lips. "A kiss for each time you do something right." He tilts his head. "It's your reward, your prize." He moves his finger and takes my lips gently into his as he whispers, "It's incentive."

My heart is pounding in my chest. I glance down and see the movement of my shirt. There is no better sign of living than the movement of a chest, the evidence of blood being pumped through the body. I'm alive when I'm with him, and I don't feel like I'm dying.

"Okay."

"Okay." He grins. He drops the stone into the pocket of his swim trunks. Then he puts his hands on my hips like he did the last time and turns me. I hear the rustling of the fabric of his trunks. He picks up my arm, prying open my clenched fist, and positions it just right.

I feel his head in the crook of my neck. "You want your pointer finger on the edge of the rock. Your thumb on the flat part on one side. The rest of your fingers like this."

Inhaling a deep breath, I try to focus, try to commit this to memory. I want another kiss, so this has to work. "Okay."

"You want to throw it so the flat side is parallel to the water at about a twenty degree angle."

I'm amazed. "There's a science to this? Down to the angle, huh?"

"Yup."

"Guess it's a good thing I was excellent at Geometry, huh?" I turn and meet his eyes.

"From what I've seen I hope your grades were better than your stone throwing."

"Humph." I pout. "Top of my class, I'll have you know."

"Of course you are." He smiles. "Plant your feet this time. Don't let me move your body like last time." He laughs. "You almost knocked me out."

I can't help but let out a small giggle. I nod. "Uh huh. See, last time I turned three hundred sixty degrees. This time, turn zero degrees?" I shake my head. "See if we make this into math...schoolwork...I'll ace it."

He is definitely amused. "We're about to find out."

"Yeah...how many kisses you have."

"Ha. The rest is in the flick of your wrist. Almost like throwing a frisbee. Can you do that?"

I roll my eyes and cock my head to the side. "You're serious?"

"Sure."

I push my behind back to nudge him. "Of course I can throw a freakin' frisbee."

He grunts. "Don't be doin' all that." Then he clears his throat. "I'll just have to reposition you."

"Right." Yeah right. Reposition me. "That would be a travesty."

"You ready?"

"When you are."

He makes sure my arm, wrist, and fingers are all in the right places. Then he whispers, "Trust me. I have a mutual interest in seeing you succeed the first try."

When he does, that he makes my legs wobbly. He makes me forget what I'm doing. He makes me forget everything. "You keep doing that and I'm never going to be able to do it."

"Doing what?"

"Whispering stuff like that to me."

"Well, then by all means." He puts his hands up and backs away. "Give it your best shot. Forget I'm here."

I nod, close my eyes, and say a silent prayer begging God to help me ace this test. I need the distraction. When I let this stone fly out of my fingers, I need to be able to release some of this aching. I need this: him and skipping stones, to be my therapy. When I open them, I study the water for a moment. It's calm, peaceful, and serene. I start to move my arm, feet planted firmly into the ground. I watch as my rock skims across the water, leaving three splashes in its wake.

I let the momentum of my arm twirl my body back around. My feet leave the ground as I start to jump up and down. Except he catches me mid-air.

I wrap my arms around his neck, "I think you owe me."

"I wonder if it was just a fluke?"

I shake my head. "Doesn't matter. You owe me."

He starts to walk me down the shore a little bit. "Where are you taking me?"

"To a special place."

"What if -"

"What if what?"

"What if someone tries to find me?"

"That's the point, Alex. I don't want us to get busted again in a compromising position." He puts me down and takes my hand into his. Then he points. "Watch out for that poison oak right there." I jump, which causes him to laugh. "You do stuff like that and you're sure to land in it."

A few seconds later we're in a small open field. I turn myself around, taking in the beauty of this place. "All these years, and I never knew this existed."

He wraps his arms around my waist. "Maybe there's a reason for that."

"Like what?" I ask.

"Maybe it was meant to be our special place."

I smile. "Maybe." I wonder if my dad knew about this place, if he brought my mom here. As the feeling of bricks resumes its familiar place, I beg, "Kiss me. Take me away. Take me somewhere else -"

He pulls me closer to his body, squeezing me so tight that I can't breathe. I close my eyes, partially waiting, and partially forbidding the tears to escape. He lifts my chin, bringing my lips to his.

I'M NOT SURE how much time has passed. We've been talking, skipping stones, and kissing. Blissful kissing. I'm not sure he had any idea of what he'd gotten himself into when he came up with his cute little game. Or maybe he did?

At any rate, I've found myself wishing the time wouldn't come to an end. It's that feeling the last night of a vacation. The bittersweet realization that time is almost up, but despite that, doing everything to fully enjoy the time left without spoiling it because of said realization.

There's one last stone in our pile. I glance down at it. "Want it?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "No."

I glance into his brown eyes. "Ya want me to do this one?"

"Yup."

"What if I mess this one up?" I reach down and pick it up. "Like the whole bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, full count, two outs..."

Drew smiles. "I guess we're about to find out how you do under pressure."

I don't care about the stone. I don't care if I can skip it, or not. I just want to kiss him again. "You made the game up..."

"I did," he quips proudly.

"Then you can change the rules."

"I'm listening."

"No matter what, I get another kiss. Either way it's a prize." I shrug.

"Ha. A prize either way. What's your reasoning?" He chuckles.

"Either the prize for winning...skipping a stone, or a consolation prize for choking."

"Deal." He moves back and plops into the overgrown weeds. I'd call it grass, but I'm not sure I see any blades of grass. It's mainly clover, wild onions, and dandelions. "How about if I give you a bigger kiss if you do it? That way you still have some incentive to do your best."

I glance back over my shoulder. "Deal."

Replaying the instructions he gave me earlier, I turn so that my side is facing the water. Then, putting the stone just right in my fingers, I glance back to him, holding my hand out. "Like this?"

When I look back, I freeze because it's not Drew sitting in the field. It's my father. So I stand still as if freezing and not moving will make this real. It has to be a figment of my imagination. Our eyes are locked and he smiles as he gives me a thumbs up.

#

A TEAR TRICKLES down my face. I'm paralyzed, unable to move. My body is trembling. He gets up and moves closer towards me. "Daddy?" I whisper.

"Alex?"

"Daddy!" I exclaim and run into his arms.

"Alex, it's Drew."

I push back. No. I saw him. He was as vivid as ever. He said my name. It was his voice. Not Drew. I look up into familiar, chocolate eyes. I see Drew. "No. I saw him."

"I believe you."

"I _saw_ him," I sob. "I know it was him."

He rubs my back. "Shh, it's okay. I've got you."

My wails are muffled by his chest. He pulls us down to the ground. "Let it out, Alex. Just let it out." He positions me onto his lap, cradling me like a baby.

I cry, and cry, and cry until there are no tears left. The cries are replaced with whimpers. My throat is dry. My face is chapped from all the rubbing over the past few days. It literally hurts to have my swollen eyes open. Yet, when I close them all I see are unpleasant, frightening images of the nightmare that has become my reality.

Drew never says a word. He just rocks us back and forth, caresses my hair, and rubs my back the way I like. Finally, he picks one of the yellow flowers and puts it in my hair. He whispers, "I know you probably feel like there's no color left in this world. Like there's no light, instead all darkness. But there's sunshine. There are colorful flowers all around us." He swallows. Where's he going with this? "And for me, you're the only thing...the only one I see. The only one I've seen in a long time." He touches my nose with the pad of his finger. "I know it's hard to imagine, but one day you'll see the colors again."

That has to be one of the sweetest things anyone has ever said to me. I think for a moment that I could love him, but my realistic side reminds me that I just saw my dead father and my heart aches. "Thank you."

He kisses my head.

"I wonder if my dad ever brought my mom here?" The words are out before I have a moment to filter or hold them back. I don't know what I expect him to say in response to this. It's not like he knew them or would know the answer. I just realized that I need to talk about them. And for the first time since the accident, I feel like I can...with him. "I think that's why I thought you were him."

"I've heard it's normal for you to see people like that. You know, people you've lost that you love."

I swallow. "He used to take me to the creek with Papa. No matter how horribly I threw the stone, he'd always give me a thumbs up and a smile."

"I gave you a thumbs up." He brushes the tear from my cheek. "And it's hard for me to do anything other than smile when I'm around you."

This helps. The long lost smile emerges. "You're smooth."

"No." He shakes his head. "It's just the truth. I just wish I could do something to help you."

"You are helping me." I look into his eyes. "More than you could ever possibly know. Talking to you." I take a deep breath. "Talking to you about them just now. It's the first time I've been able to do that. It actually felt good."

He nods. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. My dad would probably have thanked you for finally teaching me how to skip stones." Laughter has been rare for me, except when I'm with Drew. A small chuckle escapes. "I'm pretty sure he would have had his shotgun ready had he known how you did it."

"Ha. I'm sure your grandpa has one ready for me."

"He just worries." I climb off of his lap and lie down on the overgrown weeds. "This neighborhood isn't what it used to be."

"Yeah. Your grandparents have the nicest place around here."

"How'd you know which one was theirs?" I ask as I furrow my brows.

"Not hard to figure that out." He shrugs. "The flowers on the door. The cars constantly coming and going."

Of course. I'd not even thought about all of the town gossip that is probably making its rounds about the accident. I stare at the water, willing myself to not go there, to avoid that subject. "They've been here my entire life. They bought this house when they married. Added on to it a little bit as their family grew." I start to pick at the ground, breaking the pieces of green into smaller ones. "They had a little girl, but she died after only a few days. They said she had Spina Bifida." With each pluck, it occurs to me that is how my heart has felt the last several days. It's like pieces have been broken off of it that will never be able to be put back. I'm irreversibly changed. It's surprisingly relaxing to be here, doing this. Being with him is turning out to be the best form of therapy ever. So as much as I hate to say the words I'm about to, I know it's necessary. I mutter, "I should probably be gettin' back. I know we have a lot to do today."

"Like what?" he asks.

If I thought I knew what guilt had felt like before, I didn't. This is guilt. How could I have been skipping rocks and making out with a boy when my mother just died? What's worse is it felt so good. It felt so good to forget. Should I even be experiencing anything good right now? I don't deserve to feel happiness. I don't deserve to feel anything other than this anguish. My chin starts to quiver. I was just able to talk about them. No, him. I was able to talk about my dad, but not really my mom. How do I do this? I gulp. "Funeral things."

"Oh. I shouldn't have asked." He lies back and rolls onto his side. He picks another flower, and he brushes it up against my cheek. "Um."

I glance over to him. "Um what?"

"Well...I don't want to invite myself. I mean...I've never done anything like this." He bites his lip. "Do you want to see if I can come with you?"

"Oh." I doubt the grandparents will go for that, but it would make me feel so much better.

"I shouldn't have asked. Sorry. I just thought if I am able to make you feel better, that I'd try to be there for you in every way I can."

Putting my finger up to his lips, I silence his rambles, then lean in and replace it with my lips. "You're so sweet to me, and you barely know me."

"Yeah. It's strange." He taps my nose with that same flimsy flower. "I feel like I've known you forever."

When I turn my head, he drops the flower and cups my face. I lean into his touch. It's warm, electrifying, comforting. "I'll ask," I whisper.

"Okay, me, too." He pulls me in and kisses me again. "If they say no, I'll just hang out here until dark."

"I don't know how long it'll take, though."

"I'll find you, Alex. I think you've got enough to worry about. I'll find you."

What is it about the way he spoke that sentence, the look in his eyes? It sends shivers through my entire body. He means it. He's genuine, caring, and compassionate. It's like God knew I needed him. I am convinced he's here to get me through this. He's a reason for living.

Slowly I blink, realizing I need to get up, but leaving him is proving to be more and more difficult. I stand, brushing off the remnants of grass and dirt. "You could just walk back with me. I'd love for you to meet my Memaw."

I am about to offer my hand to help him up, but he shakes his head, and he bounces up in an instant. "I don't want to impose."

"I don't think you'll be imposing. I know Papa seemed...stern, but they literally have never met a stranger."

It's the first time I've really felt awkward around him. I wait for him to reply, "Okay."

He holds his hand out to me. I place mine in his, and he leads the way out of the field and back onto the short road that leads to my grandparents' yard. We don't say anything during the walk back. I take a deep breath, but I'm panting. It's not like it's that far of a walk.

"Are you all right?" He asks concerned.

It's the bricks. I shake my head. Everything gets blurry from the tears that begin freely flowing from my eyes. "No." I thought that being with him made them go away, but I think it's a combination of him and the place. The creek is my solace. It's my peace.

He squeezes my hand. "Deep breaths, Alex. You can do this."

The memories flood back into my mind. The visions of the police car, Papa dropping to his knees, my grandmother's wail, and it's all too much. I feel my breathing becoming more and more labored. I think I'm going to pass out.

#

"ALEX!" I'M NOT sure where I am, or what's going on. "Alex, wake up!"

I open my eyes, which are met with his...with Drew's. "What happened?"

"Alex, thank God."

"Put me down."

"No way." He shakes his head as he slows his pace. "No. I'll carry you the rest of the way."

"I'm fine," I mumble, completely humiliated.

"Clearly, you're not."

I completely relax in his arms, completely exhausted. He's right. I'm not. Who would be?

When we come to the top of the hill, I hear Papa, and the sound of the wooden rocker moving back and forth against the tiled bricks on the front porch. That's where Papa sits when he needs to think. "Oh my. Is she okay?" I hear him ask.

"Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I think she passed out, but she's awake now," Drew speaks fairly calmly. I'm embarrassed he's still carrying me. Part of me wants him to just put me down, and the other part of me wants to go crawl into my bed and never get back out of it again.

"Why do you suppose she went and did that for?" Papa quizzes him.

"I'm not sure. She was fine at the creek. As we started walking back, I noticed she was having a hard time breathing." Poor Drew. He seems so concerned. I am numb, or something. Because I feel like I'm watching all of this from afar. Aloof? I don't know. It's like I almost don't even care. How can I continue to do this? I can't handle this.

"Well son, I'm glad you were with her."

I can barely keep my eyes open. I'm so tired. I just want sleep, but I don't want Papa to worry. "Papa. I'm okay," I manage.

Papa ignores me. "Drew, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Why don't you bring her on in and put her to bed, if you don't mind." I've never heard Papa talk like this before, and I'm not sure if he's angry or just worried. I'm not sure that any of us really know each other at this point. We've been hit with more tragedy than most in a lifetime. I'm not sure we even know ourselves. I know I don't know who I am. I don't have the slightest clue.

Drew shakes his head, and I feel his grip get tighter around my body. "No, sir. I don't mind. Anything to help."

"Papa, I'm okay." I reassure him because I can see and hear the concern. "Drew put me down," I insist.

He squeezes tighter. "Nope."

I look to Papa. He's leading the way, and he doesn't turn back as he speaks to me, "Alex, baby. I'm gonna call Dr. White to come see after you. You need some rest."

"Okay." I know he's not to be argued with.

Drew places me in my bed. Papa tells him, "Come on outta here. Let's let her rest."

Glancing over to Drew, our eyes meet as he is leaving the room. I don't want him to go. I put my hand out, but he doesn't take it. "Don't go."

He hesitates. "Remember...I'll find you." He smiles, and I nod. He continues. "Take a nap. I'll be around. I'm not going anywhere."

I look to Papa to try to read his expression. It's softened from the last time he saw Drew. I'm not sure if it's worry for me, or what. "Thank you," I whisper.

"Anything for you, Alex."

#

# Drew

I'VE NEVER REALLY cared what anyone thought about me in the past. I've always kept myself closed off to feeling anything, but Alex has changed all of that. Now I'm stuck in a situation with her grandfather that I'm not sure how to get out of. I knew I should have never volunteered to stay with her today, but being with her is so much easier.

When I'm away from her, she's all I can think about. If I'm going to be completely whipped, I might as well be whipped with her, rather than away from her. It kills me to see how badly she's hurting, and there's not a darn thing I can do about it.

I know what it's like to lose a parent, but not two. Not like this. I have no idea what to say to her grandparents. I didn't expect to be with them alone, without her. I walk down the hall looking at the wallpaper, and practice a couple of different lines. _Mr. and Mrs. Hart, I'm so sorry for your loss._ That sounds generic and insincere. _There are no words that are adequate for your loss. Please know you're in my thoughts and prayers._ If there are no words that are adequate, why even bother to speak in the first place?

My thoughts are interrupted as we enter the living room. It's old, outdated, but still nice. You can tell they take care of what they have. There are tin foil covered dishes on the stove. There's a bunch of two liter drinks on the freezer beside one of the couches. Flowers and plants are everywhere. The mantle by the fireplace, the coffee table, the television, and the bar that separates the kitchen from the living room.

"Elizabeth, call Dr. White. Something's going on with Alex. We need him to come see about her."

"Is she okay?" She asks.

It's as though I'm not even here. It's like I'm completely invisible. I'm not sure if I should say anything, or not.

He nudges me. "This fine fella here was with her when she passed out in the street. He carried her home. Literally."

I extend my hand out to her. "Hi, I'm Drew. Drew Foster." I think for a moment if I should continue, and I decide that I have to. "I've thought of a lot of things to say to you. I don't think there are any words that are adequate to express my deepest sympathies. Your family, Alex, have been in my prayers constantly."

She places her rough, calloused hand in mine. I imagine she's spent many years in those textile mills by the feel of her hand. "Thank you, Drew. That is so nice of you. Can I get you something to eat?"

"No thank you. I'm good." I _am_ good. This is awkward enough. The last thing I need to do is eat, and stir the uneasy feelings in my gut.

"You sure, sug?" She motions to the spread on the stove and counter. "We've only got enough to feed a small army. You have to be hungry. It's gettin' close to lunch."

I forgot how these people in the south are. They insist on feeding you. No matter how much you plead you're not even hungry. "Well, I suppose I could eat a little something." This will make her quit nagging me. It seems there's something comforting to people here to be able to offer you food. If it means so much to her, then I'll eat. I don't want her to worry about me. Just like I don't want Alex to worry about me, or us.

"Here's a plate. You just help yourself to whatever you want." She points to the freezer. I'd not even noticed all the cakes on top of it when we came in. "There's just about every kind of homemade cake you can think of over there, if you have room for dessert. My favorite is Miss Shirley's chocolate cake."

Taking the plate from her I admit, "I love chocolate. I'll have to make sure to save some room."

She smiles. "Yes, you do that." Now there's awkward silence as I pile on scoops of homemade vegetables, cornbread, and fried chicken. I wish my mom could cook like this. I don't think I had any idea until I started fixing my plate how hungry I am. And thirsty. It's like Mrs. Hart read my mind. "There's a gallon of sweet tea by the refrigerator. I didn't make that. The tea in the blue pitcher is mine. You'll want that one."

I furrow my brows as I contemplate why I would want her tea more than someone else's. I take one of the red Solo cups, scoop some ice from the cooler on the floor, and pour _her_ tea. As soon as I put the pitcher down, I take my first sip. She puts new meaning to sweet tea. She must put two cups of sugar in that stuff. It's so sweet it's almost like syrup. The smooth liquid slides down the back of my throat, and just makes me even thirstier. "Mmm, that's good sweet tea." What I don't say is it's also good enough to put any one human being in a diabetic coma. Is she trying to kill us all?

I swallow. Kill us all. _Not funny, Drew. Not funny._

They go into an adjoining room and begin to talk about all the things they need to do. He's insistent that Alex needs to rest. She's equally as pushy that they need to shop for clothing, run errands, make arrangements so they can start to put this all behind her. I'm not trying to listen, but they aren't exactly whispering. The feeling of eavesdropping isn't one that sits well with me. Since they've made it no secret, I can't help myself. The delicious food I am trying to swallow seems to get stuck in my dry throat. I quickly drag a sip of that too sweet tea to help it down, clear my throat, and speak my mind. "Um, Mr. and Mrs. Hart?" The talking stops, and they come back into the room. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

"It's okay, sug. What can I get for you?" She offers.

"Oh, I'm good. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop or anything like that...but I heard you talking." They both look at me expectantly so I continue. "I agree that Alex needs to rest. I'm happy to stay and look after her while you do what you need to do." I'm not sure how they'll take that. My mom has always told me to never put myself in a position to be alone with a girl. Only trouble comes from that. Her words go in one ear and out the other. "I promise I'll take good care of her...let her sleep...try to feed her." I figure that should make them happy.

Mrs. Hart's face lights up as much as one's face can shine given what she's been through. She looks to Mr. Hart. "I think that's a fine idea."

He gives me a stern look, and then turns to her and gives her a less stern look, but it's still not a welcome one. He grumbles, "Okay." He glances up to me. "I don't know you, but you have a way with her right now that no one else does."

I nod.

"If you can get her to eat and sleep, then we might just have to invite you over more," she laughs.

I smile because I'm pretty sure I know exactly how to get her to do both of those things.

"Thank you for trusting me with her," I say. "I know I haven't known her for long, but I can tell she's special."

He smiles. "That she is."

THE DOCTOR CAME by before they left. He assured everyone that Alex is fine. The episode of fainting was probably due to the heat and exhaustion coupled with a panic attack and the fact she refuses to eat lately. While her grandparents were still here, I didn't feel like I could be near or around her. They left a few minutes ago, and the first thing I did was go to her room and pull up a chair.

I've been watching her chest move up and down while she sleeps. She's easy to watch. Taking care of her is effortless for me. Talking to her is natural. My heart hurts when I allow my thoughts to roam to what has just happened to her. I wish I could make it better. When she asked me earlier not to leave her, I knew in that moment that the way I could make it better was to stay as close to her as possible. To just be with her.

She moves around and I freeze, even holding my breath. I don't want to be the reason she wakes up. I'm too late. She turns her head towards me, "Hey. You're here," she whispers.

_Didn't I say I'd stay?_ Maybe I should remind her, "I said I would be."

"And you're still alive, which means Papa didn't get a shotgun to ya." She winks.

I chuckle. "Well thank goodness for that. I made a promise to them, so you need to help me make good on that so he doesn't shoot me when he comes home."

She furrows her brows, "They're gone?"

"They had to run some errands," I reply as I nod my head. "The first thing I promised was to let you rest."

She smiles. "But I've been resting."

I roll my eyes. "Not nearly long enough, but the other thing was that I'd get you to eat."

Her smile is beautiful, breathtakingly so. Her frown, not so much. She mumbles so quietly I can barely make out the, "Not hungry."

"You have to eat," I plead with her. If I've not learned anything in the past couple of days, it's that she is stubborn as a mule. "Just a little something."

"Drew -"

I throw my finger up to intercept her rebuttal. "Drew nothing. You want to skip stones with me?"

She nods.

"You want to spend time with me?" I ask to further bring home my point.

"I do," she admits.

Now I'll confess that there is plenty of reward in that statement for me. She's the first thing that came to my mind this morning, and she was the last thing I saw before I closed my eyes last night. "Then you have to eat a piece of that delicious Red Velvet cake in there with me."

"Ha. Or else?"

"Or else I'll have to find something else to do other than spend my days at the creek."

"That's not fair." She closes her eyes and shakes her head. "Not fair."

This is breaking my heart, but I refuse to watch her waste away. "I promised them. Don't make me break a promise."

I watch as her eyes close again. She sighs like I've placed a huge burden on her. "I'll try," she mutters.

My elation is obvious, even though I try to contain it. It's like I just won the first half of a football game. Just because she agreed to try doesn't mean she'll do it, but half the battle is won, and I'm not good at losing. When I get up from the chair, I lean over and kiss her forehead. "Thank you."

"I said I'd try."

I smile. "I know you did. Thank you for that," I say as I leave the room to get us a piece of cake. The house isn't that big, so it doesn't take me long to get there and prepare the slices. Before I pick them up to take them back to her room, I realize I probably need to get some sort of healthy nutrition into her. So I pick up one of the plastic Solo cups from the counter. The blue pitcher of that sweet tea catches my eye. That combined with this cake would probably kill her. I chuckle. Not that it's funny.

The refrigerator is right next to me. I swing the door open, and pull the jug of whole milk. _Of course they drink whole milk_ , I think to myself. I pour it and then put it back on the shelf, using my foot to give the door a nudge. I pick up the two plates and two plastic forks that are sitting in a small vase. Nestling the milk in the crook of my arm, I head back to the room.

She's propped herself up in the bed on some pillows. I put my plate on the dresser in the corner of the small room. I then take the milk and put it in my free hand and turn towards her. "They say milk does a body good."

I love her smile; I love her laugh.

She mumbles, "I don't like milk."

"What's that you said?" I tease.

Her head drops, as if she's all the suddenly shy. "Well, except in cereal. I don't like milk." When she looks up, she almost looks sad again. "But thank you."

"You don't even like milk with your cake?"

She shakes her head. "Nope."

"Okay." I offer the plate with the larger slice and a fork. After she takes it, I pull the folding chair I'd been sitting in before closer to the bed. "Here's the cake that might not do a body good, but sure does do a soul good."

She scoots over and pats the mattress, "That chair can't be comfortable. Come sit with me here."

Everything in me knows that would look so bad. That I shouldn't do that, but I want to. Then my brain and logical reasoning wins. I shake my head. "No, I promised about being honorable, too."

Laughter erupts, and it suits her. "Like what? Like Scout's Honor? I'm not asking you to have sex with me. I asked you to come sit with me to have a slice of cake."

I hang my head low, partially to try to hide my amusement and the redness I feel on my cheeks. "Temptations. If they came back, it wouldn't look good." I lift my butt off the chair and scoot it over so that it's flush with the bed. "How about this?" I ask. "You scoot back over here. Then we'll be just as close as we'd be, but I'm still keeping myself away from shotguns and things." I chuckle.

Her body moves in. "I like that idea." She nudges my nose with hers, and just before I kiss her, an idea comes to me. "Ah. You want me to kiss you?"

"Uh huh."

"How badly?" I ask as I use my fork to break away a piece of the moist cake. "Enough to have a bite of this?" I bring it between our faces, right in front of her mouth. "Mmm. Better hurry before I take it...and that'd be no kiss for you." I stare at her, refusing to break our gaze. "Five. Four. Three -"

She quickly opens her mouth and guides the fork in. "Mmm," she moans as she chews. To say that doesn't have any kind of effect on me would be lying. I swallow, and slice another bite, but before I can eat it she stops me, still chewing. "Kiss," she giggles.

"Ah, yes." I take her lips into mine. Delicious, red velvet, sweet lips. "That has to be the most delicious kiss I've ever had," I mumble, "and not just because of the cake."

#

# Three Weeks Later

# Alex

THE SOUND OF the morning train, the sun rising, the light seeping through the curtains, and the smell of coffee bring me out of a medicine-induced state of sleep. In fact, it's the only way I've been able to sleep. It's rare that I get a full night's sleep, a night where I don't wake from a nightmare that's a reminder of what I've lost. Then there are the good nights. The nights where I dream about what I've gained. A person who is as beautiful on the inside as he is on the outside. My first real boyfriend. My first kiss. My first love.

I wish he could go with us today. Today is going to be the third hardest day of my life. We're moving me out of my house. Except it's not my house anymore. _This_ is my house. I miss my room, my things, my friends. It's more than just moving. It's saying goodbye yet again to people I love, accepting that I'll probably never see them again. It's almost like them dying. Sure we might be able to send letters and stay in touch, but eventually that stops. Contact is lost, and then we're left to wonder about them for the rest of our lives. What would they be like, are they happy, are they healthy?

Maybe in a way, it's worse than someone dying. The only closure is the last goodbye. The fact we can hug them, tell them how we feel, and wish them well. I didn't get that opportunity with my parents. Not really. I didn't know when I told them bye that it would be my last one. The moral of that story is to make every second count as if it's the last. I always thought that seemed so cliché. Not anymore.

Sitting up, I let the blood distribute throughout my body before attempting to stand. I throw on an outfit that I've learned is acceptable, take my meds, and head towards the front door. I don't need food or coffee to fill my veins before I go. I need Drew.

Before I even enter the living room, I can hear Memaw and Papa talking. "I think I hear that Alex," Papa says.

I love how he says that before my name, like I'm more than a person to him. For as long as I can remember he has told me that I am his heart.

"It's me." I answer as I enter the room.

"You're already dressed?" Memaw asks confused from the kitchen.

"Yeah, I wanted to go to the creek before we left."

"You don't want to go to the creek." Papa chuckles and peeks above the newspaper. "You want to go see Drew."

I shrug, then nod. "I won't be long. I promise."

Memaw has her apron on, and the stove is filled with pots and pans. She ridicules me, "Alex, you need to eat before you go. You've gotten so thin in the last three weeks."

She's right. My clothes hang to my hips. I'm not doing it on purpose. I have no appetite. When I do try to eat, I get full so quickly. Maybe it's because every time I eat I feel like I'm going to be sick. Maybe it's because every food I put in my mouth has a memory. It's too painful to eat. "Not hungry."

There's silence. Awkward silence. I expect for her to continue to fuss at me, but she doesn't. Papa clears his throat and tells me, "Be back in an hour. Take one of those Little Debbie cakes with you." He folds the newspaper, puts it on the freezer beside his recliner, stands up, and then takes his mug of coffee that is beside the paper.

"Yes, sir." I know I can't argue with him. I'm just glad I'm not being nagged extensively about eating. I hang my head low, pushing the swinging door in the kitchen that leads to the small formal dining room. There isn't a lot of storage space in this house. They have a wooden cabinet in that room, out of sight from most guests, that house the snacks and other non-perishable items. I open it and take one of the Little Debbie Swiss Rolls and close the cabinet.

The living areas connect in a circle. So instead of walking back through the kitchen, then the den to get to the back door, I decide to just walk straight through to the formal living room and go out of the front door. It gives them less of a chance to change their mind. I holler, "Be back soon." The bells hanging from the knob jingle as I twist to open and then close the old wooden door behind me.

I ALL BUT run to the creek. I don't want to waste time that I could be spending with him. We've spent every day here. Some days, we've spent all our time here. In our special field, on these rocks. Some days we talk, and other days we just kiss for hours. It's amazing how I can talk to him, share stories of my life with him. Yet, I can't do it around people I've known for years.

As soon as the creek comes into view, so does he. He must have heard me because he's turned, looking at me with the biggest grin. He watches me, amused, as my pace speeds up. I dash into his arms, and he lifts me as he pulls my lips into a kiss.

Everything in my being relaxes into his arms. His tongue is smooth, his breath is fresh, and his air is warm as our mouths collide. Our tongues dance and frolic in perfect harmony. He sucks on my bottom lip as he pulls back, and makes sure that I'm steady on my feet before he releases me.

"What's this?" He takes my Swiss Roll that's already started to melt in the southern heat. I'm sure our heat has helped that process along, too.

"Oh." I hand it to him. "Breakfast."

He chuckles. "You brought me breakfast?"

I smile and shrug. "Sure."

He winks. "You've forgotten I've spent the last three weeks around your family, or do you think I'm stupid?"

He sits on one of the big rocks, and I sit on the one across from it. Reaching down to the pile of stones he's already assembled, I confess, "I don't think you're stupid."

"So let's start over then." He teases. "What's this?" He holds up the cake.

"A Little Debbie cake." I laugh.

"And whose breakfast is it, Alex?" His smile causes my heart to send pings throughout my entire body.

I exhale, exasperated already. "Mine."

He hands it back to me. "Eat."

"Not hungry," I confess.

He narrows his eyes. "Is that right?"

"Yep." I nod.

"I love you, Alex."

_Whoa, where did that come from?_ I smile. I don't care where it came from. I've been dying to hear those words out of his mouth for three weeks now. "I love you, too."

"Please eat. We're all worried about you," he pleads.

"I promise, I'm really not hungry."

His grin turns to an evil smirk. "Then I promise, I'm really not in the mood to kiss you."

My head jerks to the side. "You wouldn't."

"You wouldn't." He turns my words back on me.

Pinching the two sides of the plastic wrapper, I rip it open. It's not worth the fight since there's only an hour to be with him. We can spend it bickering about food, but heck, I don't want to spend it bickering at all. Or talking. Or skipping stones. Or doing anything other than making out.

"Good girl," he says as he offers his hand. I place mine in his.

"I've only got an hour before we leave," I say as he leads me into the field. There's no need to remind me where poisonous plants are anymore. I know them all. Before we get to our special spot, I mumble. "I wish you were coming with us."

He glances back, his eyes sear my soul. "I know, me too."

Our spot is obvious and easy to recognize. The flowers around where we hang out have all been picked. He sits, and then I situate myself in between his legs so that his chest is like a seat back for me. He nuzzles my neck as I eat, whispering things we're going to do this week, things to look forward to. Promises. And so far, he's yet to break a single one.

IN WHAT SEEMS like a blink of an eye, an hour has nearly passed. "Hey, it's almost time for you to go," he whispers.

My arm is resting over his taut stomach, and I can feel his heart beating. "You're sure you can't come."

"Yeah. It's just a day, Alex," he says as he smoothes my hair, then kisses my head.

"I know." And I do. "It's just that you make everything easier." I glance up and into his eyes.

He lifts my chin and kisses me. "You make everything easier, too." He taps my nose. "You better go. You don't want to get in trouble. That'd be three long hours of uncomfortable."

I laugh. "Yeah."

He wiggles out from underneath my embrace and stands, holding his hand out to mine. I place it in his palm and he pulls me up and into his arms. "I love you," he whispers.

Will hearing that ever get old? No. I don't think it will. "Love you."

"See you later, then."

I nod. "Later."

Dragging myself away is like trying to break a magnetic field. With each step, I feel pulled back. Except, I feel his grip on my arm, and I am pulled back into his arms. He kisses me one more time. "You better go." He smiles.

"Then you have to actually let me go." I giggle.

He puts his hands up to surrender. "Letting you go now...for real this time."

I sigh as I turn. I glance back over my shoulder and give him a wave. "Bye."

He puts his hand up as his lips curve into the best smile I've ever seen. "Later."

#

AS WE APPROACH our street, I feel knots forming in my stomach, bricks pressing down on my chest, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I wasn't supposed to be returning without them. The familiar house no longer feels like home. It's a structure. What made it a home was the fact that it was filled with the people I loved.

My dad always did the yard before we left to go on a trip. I expected that the lawn would be a mess when we got here, but it's not. It's freshly mowed. I suppose the neighbors have been maintaining our yard. That thought makes my heart warm slightly.

A few moments later, the van is parked and we are walking up the steps and into the house. Everything is just as we left it. It's only been weeks, yet it feels like it's been an eternity. My mom was always obsessed with making sure that we left the house clean. She always said the last thing she wanted to come home to after a vacation was a dirty house. It would be bad enough with all the laundry.

I can hear my heart racing. Boom ba boom. Boom ba boom. It speeds up with each step I take into the foyer. Pictures line the table beside the staircase. Pictures of me with my parents. The way I remember them, us. Dad was usually telling a joke. With each picture, there's a memory.

For a moment, I feel like it's not real. For a moment, I feel like they are just on vacation. I can hear their voices, their laughter filling the other room. It draws me in, but the closer I think I get to it, the more it fades. I don't want their voices to fade. I don't want their memories to go away.

Papa places his hand on my shoulder. "Alex."

When I try to speak, nothing comes out. I clear my throat. "Mmm..."

"You okay?" He asks softly.

I nod. The bass in my ear that is my heart tells me I'm alive. The aching in my chest makes me wish I wasn't. Am I okay? _Am I really okay_? I'm not sure because nothing about this is right. Strumming my fingers on the handrail to the stairs, I reply, "I'm gonna go to my room for a minute." The sound of feet pattering behind me makes me glance over my shoulder. Memaw is right behind me. "I need to be alone for a few minutes."

Her brows are furrowed, her lips pursed, and tears are filling her eyes. She opens her mouth like she's about to speak, but Papa puts his hand on her arm. "Elizabeth, let's give her space."

She gives a nod of affirmation.

With each step climbed, it's like one more shovelful of sand is being thrown on me, burying me alive. When my foot touches the top one, my breathing is fast. It's as if I've been sprinting in gym. Except I've barely done anything. My room is directly in front of the stairs. The door is open. Everything is just the way it was left a few weeks ago. Bulletin boards with pictures of my best friends. Those make me sad. My friends. My heart aches from missing them.

What makes me the most upset is seeing the quilt that Mom and I made together. The memories of easily making the curtains, but the headache of hanging them. The old joke about how many people does it take to change a light bulb? For us, it was more like 'How many Harts does it take to hang curtains?'

There's a smile hidden somewhere in me, a small laugh, but neither is able to escape. Instead my chin is quivering and my throat's closing up. It takes everything in me to fight back the impending flood gates that are inevitably about to break. Taking a few more steps and picking up one of the photo albums on my bookshelf, I clench it to my chest.

My friends never understood how my mom and I could be such good friends. We did so much together. We both loved to craft. She taught me everything she knew. Well, except how to hang curtains. But that doesn't count since she wasn't very good at that either.

We scrapbooked together, quilted together, we painted together. She wasn't just good at one particular thing. She was good at _everything_. And it's not like she had someone to teach her. She was self-taught. If she didn't know how to do it, she'd just go to the library and find a book. She'd read the first half, then get bored and wing the rest.

I take the album to my bed and sit. Boom ba boom. Boom ba boom. It's getting louder and louder. I'm not sure I have the strength to do this right now. _Why Alex? Why are you torturing yourself? Because that's what this is. You're torturing yourself. You know this stuff is going to make you bawl like a baby, yet you're doing it anyway._

No. I shake my head, take a deep breath, and open the cover. _1994 Mother Daughter Scrapbooking Retreat_. I stroke the photo of us below the title. Our matching t-shirts, arms around each other, smiling for the camera.

There's a splatter of wetness on the page. I wipe it away, then swipe the other tears before they have a chance to damage the only tangible reminders of our memories. What made me think I could do this? _I can't do this_.

Collapsing down onto the bed beside the album, the tears fall as my body starts to tremble. I draw my knees into my chest and rest my head on the page...pretending that it's her and not a picture, not a memory.

So many days I've fought the sob, the tears. My chin trembles and all it does is make the constricting in my neck hurt so badly. Using the backs of my hands, I wipe them away before they have time to fall onto the album. A moment later, there's no holding any of it back. Soon, the emotion takes over, grabbing a pillow to muffle my bawling.

FOR A FEW minutes, thinking isn't possible. I just exist. Then thoughts re-enter my mind for what seems like the millionth time in the last three weeks. Each instance, I've told myself there is no rewind button. Why can't my mind seem to understand that? There are no second chances. They aren't coming back to this house ever again. Neither am I for that matter. This is it.

The pit in my stomach, the lump in my throat, makes me feel like I'm literally going to sick from the crying, from the emotion. If only we could go back to the day we left. To my last day with them. I'd beg them to stay, to just hold me. The new version of the afternoon plays in my mind on repeat. We're all standing at the door with our luggage.

"Mom, I know this is crazy, but can we just call it all off. Can we just stay?"

"Stay?" She laughs.

"Yeah, just call it all off. I have a bad feeling. Can we just hang out here for a few weeks?" I shrug. "It can be a staycation."

"Oh sweetie," she says as she brushes my hair behind my ears. "There's no reason to be worried."

"No. I promise. Just please..." I trail off frustrated. I need them to understand this. "Just please entertain me."

"We've spent a lot of money on this trip."

"More money can be earned. Please. It just doesn't feel right," I plead.

Dad steps in, and I think he's going to side with my mom, but he surprises me. "She's right."

My eyes bulge. "You, too?"

He nods. "Yeah, there's just something that I can't place my finger on about it. It just doesn't feel right. I think we should stay."

Mom turns her head. "Well, it would appear as though I'm outnumbered." She puts her bags down. "I've never been on a staycation, Alex. Tell me what it involves."

Reality interrupts the fantasy that I'd rather be living through. Memaw's voice is quiet when she says my name, "Alex..."

I clench my eyes closed as tightly as I can and hold my breath. Don't go. Don't leave me, Momma and Daddy. Stay with me.

Then Memaw's voice fades, "Shh. I think she's asleep," as the door to my room closes.

I take a deep breath, and it's like unpausing the mental movie I've been daydreaming.

I say, "A staycation consists of lots of junk food." I bounce into the kitchen. "And late nights watching movies, playing basketball in the driveway at midnight..." Dad laughs, and Mom starts to interject, but I throw my finger up to cut her off. "Crafting until my fingers feel like they're gonna fall off."

They glance at each other. Dad replies, "What about Memaw and Papa?"

The worst part of a staycation ever. "Maybe they'd like to take a vacation to join our staycation?"

Laughter erupts. "You've got it all planned out, don't you?"

I nod. "Mhmm."

He turns on the music and brings her into his arms. I watch as they dance, smooch, and waltz out of the room. I follow them, but they're gone. It's like they've waltzed right out of my life again. I know it was a daydream, but it feels so real. I can see and hear them like they are right beside me. And this time was different. It was stronger here.

I begin to weep again because I know that in leaving this house today, one more thread holding my life together will be ripped with the flick of a wrist and a blue seam ripper.

#

I PUT THE last few things into my bags. A few of my best friends have come by to tell me goodbye. We promise to write, to keep in touch. But let's face it. The reality is that I've lost more than my parents. My life is no longer what it was.

All I can think about is that I can't wait to get back to Drew. If I haven't learned anything else...the one thing I have learned is that when I'm with him, the pain is so much less intense. He makes all of this manageable. When I'm with him, I can forget for a few minutes. He reminds me that there's hope for healing.

"Alex," Memaw says.

Her green eyes are bloodshot. I know this has been equally as hard on them as it has been for me. Yet, I rarely see them cry anymore. "Yes Ma'am?"

"You 'bout ready?"

I nod. From a packing standpoint I'm ready. From a heart standpoint I'm not. "Just a minute alone, please, before we leave."

"Mhmm," she murmurs as she turns and walks down the stairs.

Waiting, standing motionless until I hear the door to the house close, I realize I've been in all the living areas and my room today. The one room I haven't is theirs. Unsure if I could do it at first, now that the time has come to leave this house, I'm not sure that I can just leave without going in there.

Tossing the last few things into my bag, I pull the zipper and place it beside my door as I make my way down the hall to their room. It's not like it will be the same. Memaw and Papa have moved a lot of their belongings to storage. It's mainly just the furniture. The realtor came today and put it up for sale. She wanted us to leave enough to help with staging.

I've known that the house is being sold for a week now. At first I was really angry, but I understand now why it has to happen. My parents had some life insurance, but not enough to get rich. My grandparents can't afford this mortgage. It's so much change for me so fast. It's hard enough to move to another house in the same city, but this entire ordeal has happened so suddenly. I'm not just going to a new school. I'm going to a new town. New friends. New everything. And I hate it.

Papa decided we could hire movers for the rest of the stuff. We just took valuables and things we wanted to move to Graniteville today. I needed to pack up my room. They think that if I have my stuff at their house, it will help me move on because it will feel more permanent.

Right now, I'm not sure anything can help me move on. Partly because I don't want to. I want to live in daydreams where my parents are still real to me. When I get to my parents' room, it looks so bare. There are no pictures on the nightstands. Mom had one of Dad and me. Dad had one of Mom and me. The framed picture above the bed that said, "Because two people fell in love," is gone. It's just an empty room with furniture.

Empty. That's how I feel. I feel empty. Like there's nothing left in me other than anger, denial, and such sadness. I'm no longer the happy, perky teen I had been just weeks ago. I make my way to their bed and plop down. Taking a deep breath, I try so hard to inhale their scent, but instead my nostrils are filled with the smell of Tide and Downy. Of course Memaw washed the linens today.

Tears trickle down my cheek at yet another loss, at yet another stitch being ripped from my heart. I clench the duvet, letting the bed absorb and muffle my wails.

Minutes later, I compose myself to leave this house. Grabbing my duffel and backpack on the way down, I stop myself as I go to put them on the same way I had done just a month before. Something about doing things in the same fashion as I had done them that fateful day feels so incredibly wrong. I decide to put one in one hand, and the other bag in another. Holding my head high, I walk with the little bit of dignity I have left down the stairs, and out of the house that is no longer my home.

THE FATIGUE QUICKLY sets in on the ride home, and I napped most of the way. The eerie familiarity of the trip causes a pit to form in my stomach. The urge to use the bathroom is what woke me. The scenery is similar to the scenery I saw that day, except I think we're closer than we had been. I'm pretty sure I know exactly where we are. Within a few seconds a green mile marker confirms. Fifteen. We're four miles from our exit.

Something about asking to go to the bathroom at this point feels so wrong. Fear, I guess. Fear that if I do things exactly the way I had that day, that history will repeat itself. It's all a bit too deja vu for me.

"Did you have a nice nap, Alex dear?" Memaw asks.

My voice cracks. My throat is dry, but I don't want anything to drink at this point. "I did. Interesting how well you can sleep when you're emotionally and physically exhausted," I admit.

"No nightmares?" Papa interjects.

I shake my head. "Not this time."

He nods. "Good girl." I can see his lips curve into a smile. "Therapy seems to be helping you."

Glancing out the window, I'm not sure that it's the therapy as much as it is Drew Foster. The few times there has been respite from the nightmares were replaced with dreams of white horses, carriages, glass slippers, and a certain prince charming. That thought makes me smile. "Sure," I acknowledge. Maybe it's the combo. They can believe what they want. I'll believe what I want, which is that the true therapy is Drew.

Soon, we're off the exit. There aren't really any gas stations off this one. I know there won't be a place to stop until we're home. Thankfully, they don't live that far away from here. I stop my thoughts, and correct myself. Thankfully _we_ don't live that far away from here. I think of how much easier it is to hold my bladder this go around. The pain of having to go to the bathroom is nothing compared to the memories. The ones that cut at my heart. The only reminders of the last time I traveled these roads.

I put in the ear buds to my Discman, and try to go to a different place through music. A place that's happy, where teenage girls don't know the agony that I know. My mind drifts to Drew. Just a few minutes until I get to see him again.

He'll certainly take my mind to happier places. The minutes that it takes to get home seem to be some of the longest minutes of my life. I don't know what it is about coming back from a trip. It always seems ten times longer than the trip to wherever.

Drew burned me a CD of songs that he thought I would like. The nice thing about this CD is that it doesn't remind me of my parents. The memories are new. They are of good times. Maybe I'll make him one. Ha. I would if I had any idea of how to do that. Oh well. I smile as I look out of the window. It's the thought that counts anyway, right?

We are two turns from the house. We have to drive by Drew's on the way home. I take my headphones out and ask, "Hey. Can you just drop me off at Drew's on the way home?"

"No. We're going to have supper here in a few minutes," Papa answers so quickly, it's almost like he knew I'd ask and had already thought of the answer.

"Well, can he come over for dinner then?" They call it supper, but we've always called it dinner. I refuse to switch.

"Yes'um I suppose so," he responds.

"Yes!" I put my headphones down and turn the Discman off. When we approach his house, I notice something new. Something unwelcome. That can't be in front of his house. With each moment, it becomes more and more clear that it is. "Is that a For Rent sign in his front yard?"

#

"I BELIEVE IT is," Memaw continues. "Surely there's an explanation."

"He didn't say a word about this to me this morning. I don't understand." I rattle that out at a super-fast speed. The same speed I feel my heart pulsating inside of me. When was he going to tell me this? How could he tell me that he loved me this morning when he knew this?

As soon as Papa stops the van, I swing the door open and make my way through the yard. He yells something about springing the hinges. Not caring at this point about some stupid van, just wanting to know what the heck is going on, my mind races out of control with each step taking me closer to his house. Then it becomes more and more obvious.

_No_. I shake my head as my pace increases. There's nothing on the front porch. Looking through the windows, it's clear that every room is empty. There's no trace of Drew Foster to be seen. Like he never existed in the first place. Have I lost my mind? Was he just a dream this entire time? No. He was real. He had to have been real. My knees weaken, and I catch myself in time to make it to the steps. Burying my head in my hands, my body shakes and shudders.

My mind starts playing rewind to all of the things he told me. He made promises, and he doesn't break them. He told me he wouldn't leave me. He promised to help me. We had plans for this week. How could he do this to me? How could he leave me right now?

My brain can't fathom the loss it's experienced. I want to take the seam ripper that keeps ripping threads from my heart and just stab myself. I don't want to be here anymore. I can't do this without him, without them, without my friends, without my house. How do I do this? How do I survive?

When I told him bye earlier, it was temporary. This isn't temporary. This has no closure. He might as well be dead to me. I know I'm hyperventilating. I gasp for air in between sobs, and I feel my head getting fuzzy. Soon, I feel a hand on my shoulder. Please let it be him. Please let this be just a dream.

I glance up, and it's not him. It's Papa. He sits beside me, and pulls me into his chest. "Breathe with me, Alex," he instructs me. "In." I breathe in and then he reminds me to exhale. "Out." He waits a second, "In."

"I can't. I can't do this. I can't breathe. I can't do this," I sob.

"Yes you can. Switch your breathing. Less in and more out."

I nod. It wasn't the breathing I was talking about.

He rubs my back. In time it helps me slow my breathing. "I don't understand," I manage past my wails.

"I don't know either, Alex."

Using the backs of my hands to wipe away the tears, I try to make sense out of this. "I mean how could he have been here this morning, and gone in a matter of a day?"

"We just packed your entire house. It's possible." He kisses my temple. "I'm not sure why he left. Maybe he'll call or write you."

I shake my head as the anger sets in. "If he had any intention of communicating with me, he would have said so before I left today." I stand up, completely furious, realizing what just happened. "He played me, and I let him." Papa starts to talk, but I continue, pacing back and forth in front of Drew's now vacant home. "I made it so easy for him. I was easy. And Daddy taught me to never be dependent on a man...on a boy." I throw my hands up. "And I did just that. I was completely dependent on him."

Papa grunts as he tries to get up from the step. I feel bad and offer to help, but he waves me off. "I agree you were too dependent on him."

My eyes widen. Even though I know it's true, it's hard to hear, and from Papa, who usually sides with me on everything. "But -"

"But God gives us the people we need in our lives for the amount of time he sees fit." He puts his arm around my shoulder and walks me back to the car. "We'll never understand God's timing."

Swallowing, I know he's talking about more than just Drew. "Okay."

"Did you enjoy your time with him?"

"I love him, Papa." I cry. "I loved him."

"Did he make these last three weeks easier?" I know it's somewhat of a rhetorical question.

"You know he did."

"Then I think everything happens for a reason." He stops us and turns me to where I'm facing him. I look down, but he lifts my chin. "And I'm sorry that you're mending a broken heart on top of a shattered one."

I clench my eyes closed to fight the tears. "I'm hurt. I'm so mad. I hate him."

"Hate's an awfully strong word. Especially since you just said you loved him." Papa holds his hand out, as if to help support me the rest of the way. I place mine in his as we start to walk. Poor Memaw has been waiting in the van all this time.

"I don't know what I feel. I'm just angry, frustrated, hurt. I'm a million different things right now. I don't want to talk about it anymore."

"Okay," Papa concedes.

We both get back in the van, and drive the short distance to the house. Part of me wonders for a moment if maybe he left a note. That makes me feel bad for all the nasty things I just said about him. I hope he left a note. Some kind of redemption. Otherwise, he's dead to me, too. The thought makes my throat constrict. My blood pumps through my body. I know I need to calm down before I blow a gasket.

A few seconds later, we pull into the gravel driveway. I run to the back door, looking for a note. Nothing. Then I think to go check the front. Nothing. The creek. "I'll be right back," I yell.

I rush to the water. Even though my mind tells me he isn't there, my heart wants him to be there, like in the movies. My wild imagination hopes when the creek becomes visible he'll be standing there. I hadn't even noticed the afternoon thunderstorm, but suddenly there's a loud rumble of thunder as the bottom falls out of the sky. I'm completely drenched. I get to where I can see the water, and there's nothing. He's not there. I continue to run, disregarding anything poisonous in the brush to our spot. Nothing.

It's like he never existed to me. Like we were nothing. When I go back to my stone, I see our pile. It's the only thing that lets me know it was all real. I pick them up and start throwing them. I don't care if I ever skip a stone again in my life. It means nothing.

How could he do this to me? Who plays a teenage girl who's just lost everything? I loved him. As the downpour increases, the thunder gets louder. They drown out the grunts, sobs, and yells that come from my body as I release this anger that has suddenly consumed me. Much like the anger I had the first day I met him.

"Alex!" Echoes through the neighborhood. I'm sure they're worried about me. I roll my eyes. The last thing I need them to do is come after me. I'm angry enough to run laps, but instead I sprint back to the house. When I'm under the shelter of the carport, Memaw brings me some towels.

"What were you thinking runnin' off like that right before a storm?" She scolds me. I've always been a pretty good girl, and I don't like being in trouble. Trouble makes me think of Drew. _Three hours of uncomfortable_. I hope he has three hundred years of uncomfortable for what he just did. I forget for a minute she asked a question I've yet to answer. She continues to lecture me. "Dry off out here. You're not going to romp around the house soaking wet like that."

Nodding, I feel sad that I've disappointed them. "Thanks."

She stomps back inside. The storm is easing up. These pop up summer thunderstorms can be scary. I know God isn't an angry God, but sometimes I feel like storms are his way of just screaming at us. They are much like us. Our tears are the rain, our cries are the thunder, and the lightning is the sword stabbing us right where it hurts the most, setting us on fire. Nothing good comes from lightning other than the magical facade of it. It's intriguing. It draws us in like a magnet. It excites us, yet scares us. It's dangerous, yet entertaining. It's all the things he was for me.

#

# Four Years Later

I DIDN'T HAVE any photographs of Drew. We never had time to actually take pictures. But when I would come home, on the nights I couldn't sleep, I'd sketch his face. Even in smudged pencil he was beautiful. No one really knows about these. I don't share my drawings with anyone.

Pulling them out from the drawer in my bedside table, I run my finger over them. Remembering what it was like to touch his skin, how his lips felt against mine. Usually, when I revisit him, it's when I'm sad. It's when I need a reminder that if I made it through those initial weeks, I can make it through anything.

Looking at those sketches makes me want him back. He made everything so much easier. I flip it to the next page. This one is my favorite. I close my eyes as I recall this moment. We were both lying in the field. He had his arm curved, and his hand was in his hair. I sat up on my elbow because I wanted to see him. He had just been listening to me talk about my life, about my parents. I could see the pain he felt for me on his face. So I committed it to my memory until I could make it into something permanent.

One day, I thought that I would be able to show it to him. I shake my head. As much as I shared with him, I never got to share these. Putting the images back in the portfolio, I stash them back in the drawer. Then I sit up and decide that I'll try again to see if I can find any information on him.

While I wait for the computer to boot up, I think about how it seems that each day technology becomes more and more advanced. There are more and more tools available for finding people. I'm convinced that one day, I'll be able to find him.

The modem starts to dial, and when I have a connection, I immediately start to type his name into the search engine. It's such a common name. Sometimes I feel like I know these other people because I've read so much on them, hoping they were _my_ Drew.

Nothing. Every search starts the same way, and ultimately ends the same way. It starts just like this one. With me remembering all that he was, what he meant to me. Reminding myself that he was real, not a figment of my imagination...because I have these sketches. Every search makes me want him to come back. Every search leaves me empty.

So instead of him being here to get me through the unbearable times, it's the hope that one day he'll live outside my memories, outside my dreams. That helps me through the dark tunnel and brings me closer to the light.

#

# 2011

INSTEAD OF DRIVING straight to the house, I stop at the creek and park here first. Knowing them all too well, I know if they saw me come down the hill through that kitchen window, they'd be outside before the car was in the driveway to greet me. I need some time alone first to soak in the scenery, to remember how this became my life.

Standing at this place is like being fifteen all over again. Except the pain then wasn't bearable and now I'm almost thirty. It's still painful, but different. It's hard to believe that so much time has passed, and yet it still feels so fresh. Not a day goes by where I don't think about my parents, or Drew for that matter. You'd think that after all of these years I'd be over him, but when he left that summer day, he walked away with a piece of my crumbling heart. I've never been able to repair it.

Humpty Dumpty comes to mind. The king's horses could attempt to put me back together, but no matter how hard they'd try, it just doesn't seem possible. When I really think about Humpty Dumpty, I wonder why people tell kids that story. It's so sad. Maybe it's because they want to teach them at a young age that every action has a consequence. It may be good, but it may also be life altering, so much so, that the after effects of said action may even be irreversible.

If there was a way for me to learn that lesson in any other way, I'd wish for it, but it's not possible. What's done is done. It's definitely irreversible. There's no getting my parents back. _And Drew_. I don't know that we'd even recognize each other if we were to be lucky enough to be in each other's presence again. I do know that scenario runs through my mind every now and again.

Deciding to just leave my car here for a little bit, I walk around these streets...back to the house. It makes me sad to see how the homes have become old, tattered. Every one of them except ours. It's like it's always been. The yard is still beautifully maintained, but it's the same. The outside is the same. The vehicle is the same. I think we all tried to maintain what we had because the rate of change was too much for our hearts to take at the time. So we formed routines. We tried really hard to keep things simple. When what we were actually doing was surviving, not living.

It's why I had to go away after high school. I needed to find myself outside of this place. The summer of 1996 was not just the death of Tony and Felicia Hart. It was the death of Alex Hart as I knew her. When I had Drew, I thought I would recover, but when he left, it was like the final nail in my coffin.

So I have literally been putting one foot in front of the other. Taking it day-by-day. No, breath by breath, moment by moment. When I graduated, I had the grades to go anywhere for college, so I did. The hardest part of being away hasn't been the studying. It's been being away from Memaw and Papa.

Like my mother, I've always been pretty good at doing whatever I put my mind to, and so the way to continue my survival was by studying all the time. Applying for medical school was easier for me than it was my peers. More than my grades, my personality and story to helped.

As I get closer to the bottom of the hill, to the house I've called home since that tragic accident, the deciding factors for me to become a doctor flash before me. To have the ability to save lives as a profession was a no brainer. My family has been so proud and supportive of my career choice. The one choice they have not been supportive of was the decision to join the military to fund my education.

The conversation telling Memaw and Papa was one of the hardest I've ever had in my life. When the Army recruiter came to school one day for an assembly, he told us about the ROTC program. No matter how hard I tried to talk myself out of it, it just kept screaming at me _. This is your chance, take it._

Knowing that if I had talked to Memaw or Papa about it first, that they'd talk me out of it, I went one day after school and signed up on my own. My heart speeds up, my hands begin to sweat at just the thought of that day.

Later that night, at dinner, I waited until there was a break in conversation. "Several weeks ago a recruiting officer came to talk to us about signing up for the Army." I never looked up, afraid of their reaction. "He told us about this ROTC program. By committing, they pay for your education. When you graduate you're commissioned as a 2nd Lieutenant.

"Where are you goin' with this Alex?" Papa asked.

"You know I want to go to medical school. There's no way we have the money. I'd be guaranteed a job and have no student loans when I got finished with school. There's a lot to be said for that." Rather than actually eating my food, I used my fork to swirl around the baby English peas on my plate. "Mom and Dad always told me that I should try to stay as debt free as I could."

"Alex, please tell me you didn't agree to do that without talkin' to us?" Memaw pleaded.

A lump formed in my throat as she spoke those words. "I did." Immediately feeling remorse, I apologized. "I didn't want to upset you. I thought it was the right thing to do for everyone."

The sound of silverware dropping, like the day my parents died, rang out into an otherwise silent home. Papa grumbled something I couldn't understand. Suddenly it was as if the world stopped turning for a minute.

Papa's eyes were droopy, with what I now know was worry and fear. "My baby girl. What have you done?"

"Oh Alex. Why?" Tears filled Memaw's eyes and her voice trembled. "Why would you put us through this?"

Pity settled into my stomach. "It's not like we're at war. That ended a long time ago. It'll be fine."

Papa threw his napkin into his plate. "You have no way of knowing when another one will happen."

"I can't even think about that. Do you know what it'd do to us to lose you, Alex? You're all we have left." She glanced over at a picture of my dad on the mantle. "You're everything to us."

We sat at the table for several minutes, none of us saying anything. There was nothing else left to say. Then September 11 happened.

Again, it was never spoken about. It's as if we all knew what was coming next, but maybe if we were all silent about it, then it would go away. _Ignorance is bliss_.

Even though I've been away from home a lot going to college, then medical school, then internships and residencies, I'm here doing something that I never imagined would happen. Something they've been dreading and fearing since the dinner when they found out what I'd done.

And I hate it. The reality is that there's no way to get around it. It's scary to think that the last impression I could have of Papa's face in my mind may be one of disappointment. That could haunt me for the rest of my life. Maybe this is why I've been dreading going to the house.

Finally, after climbing those few steps to the house, I tap on the back storm door. "Knock, knock," I say.

"Alex!" Memaw cheers. "You know knocking isn't allowed 'round here."

I knew she would react just like that, which is why I said it to begin with. It's nice to be home. Walking foot over foot on the brick ledges, a small pace through the small foyer, and I'm in the living room. Papa is sitting in his chair watching Fox News. I've tried to tell him he needs to watch CNN, but he's positive the people on Fox have a better grasp on the situation. "Hey, Pop." I smile. My heart flutters. It's warm and fuzzy, filled with a special comfort he brings to me.

He pats his knee. "There's Papa's Girl. Come hug my neck, and fill me in."

I laugh because I know that I'll never outgrow his lap. "Sure I won't break those little bird legs of yours?"

He shakes his head. "How many times do I have to tell you? You'll never outgrow this old man's lap."

"I'm glad." Bending my legs, I gently sit down and wrap my arms around him. I whisper, "I've missed you, Papa."

He pats my back. "You, too, Alex"

"Papa, I don't want to leave you again," I begin to cry as I squeeze hard. I know he understands. He served in the Korean War. "I'm scared."

"You're tough, though. So strong." He continues to rub soothing circles. "You've always been a fighter."

Nodding, I swallow the lump in my throat. "Not this kind of fighter." I pull back and look into his brown, tired eyes. The dialysis has taken its toll on him the last few years. The expression on his face is the one I had dreaded. "Pop?" I ask.

"Yes'um?"

"Please don't be upset with me for leaving," I plead.

His head moves slightly from side-to-side. "I'm not upset with you. I just know what war is like, and I wish I could shelter you from what I know you're about to see. I'd take your place if I could."

I squeeze my eyes closed as the tears drip down my cheeks. "I know you would. Do you think Mom and Dad would be proud of me? Right now I'm not sure for putting you through more."

His eyes bulge. "There is no doubt in my mind that they would be proud. We're proud." He glances over his shoulder to Memaw, who I've barely even acknowledged. She's got a tissue and she's dabbing her green eyes. It only makes me more of an emotional wreck. I bury my head into Papa's chest. They both say, nearly in unison, "We love you, Alex." Then Papa murmurs ever so quietly in my ear, "Praying for God to keep you safe. To bring you back to us whole and well. You have our blessings."

A few hours later, I've been fed and given my first letter to be opened on the long flight to Afghanistan. Papa and I took a walk to the creek to get my car before it was dark. We're now standing outside, and I don't want to leave. We hug one final time. I refuse to say the word 'goodbye'. I quit saying that word a long time ago. I wave and say, "See you later." I blow a kiss to both and mouth 'I love you' as I pull out of the gravel driveway.

They stand in the yard with their arms around each other, still as in love as they've ever been sixty years later. Whatever was left of my heart since Drew Foster and my parents' death...I just left it in that house with the two people I love more than anything else. They will be the way I get through this. I will fight to come home to them. I will live to be able to see them again.

#

THE FLIGHT TO Afghanistan is the longest one I've ever taken. I already hate flying as it is. Every bump makes me feel like we're going to fall out of the sky. Then I laugh at myself. If I am scared of a plane ride, what in the heck am I going to do when I get there?

Pulling the letter from my camouflage duffle bag that Memaw and Papa gave me, I realize that this might be the best way for me to get my mind off the scary stuff. Really, the anticipation has been killing me. I've almost opened it early several times.

I run my finger through the small opening where the flap folds on the envelope to open it, then pull the notes out and unwrap them. It's not written on fancy stationery. Come to think of it, I don't think they own any. Every Christmas I wonder what to buy them. Maybe I'll get them some so they can write me on it.

Memaw's is on top. I smile. It's the perfect medicine for homesickness.

_Dearest Alex,_

_The first thing I want to say is that Memaw is so proud of you. I know that we've been hard on you about your decision, but it's only because we love you so much. The thought of something happening to you is too much for our hearts to take, but we have faith in the Lord that he'll bring you home to us. I know that he doesn't give us more than we can handle in this life. There's no way your Papa or I could deal with another loss._

_You've become a very selfless person. You grew up too fast. I hope that during this adventure, you'll be able to make the best of it. It's hard to imagine, but in every situation there is good. Even when we're unable to see what that good is, even when that situation may seem like the scariest and hardest thing we've ever had to face. Sometimes it isn't necessarily for your good, but the good of someone else._

_We'll write you every chance we get. I'll send you food because I know you aren't going to eat like you should. And I'm sure that the stuff they have for you isn't fittin' to eat anyway. The things I can't send, I'll save for you for when you get back. You make yourself a menu of all the things you want Memaw to cook you when you come home._

_Most of all, Alex, take care of yourself. Know that we love you, and you will always have our support._

_I love you,_

_Memaw_

I smile as big as I can. It's exactly what I needed to hear, to read. Even though she said it, I wasn't convinced. This lets me know that what I'm doing is right. It's all going to be okay. I hold the letter against my chest because it makes me feel closer to her.

I carefully put it back the way it came and tuck it into the envelope. Then I focus on Papa's letter.

_My Ali-Lou,_

_I wish I could shelter you from what you're about to see. All I've ever tried to do is keep you from the evil in this world. I've tried to outweigh it with love. Love conquers all, always. My heart already hurts thinking about the things you're going to witness. It hurts because of the loss of innocence you're about to experience. The evil you've seen in this world doesn't compare to what is happening over there._

_I don't have too much to say other than to keep yourself safe. Watch your back. Watch your front. Listen to your gut. Always do what you think is right. Your instincts are strong. Use them. Pray when you're lonely. Write us often, we already miss you. Know that you're never alone. There are always arms wrapped around you. If there are tears, know I'd have a bucket to catch them all if I could. I know you think crying is a sign of weakness, but it's not. Tears have a way of flushing the system. They are as essential to life as water._

_There's not a day that you don't make me proud. There's not a moment that I'm not thankful you were chosen to be my granddaughter. You are a fighter, and you're strong. I don't mean physically. Your heart and your faith are strong. Alexandria Hart, you're going to do great things in this world, in this life. You already have._

_Call when you can, write if you're able. Take care of yourself, baby girl. We'll see you soon._

_I love you,_

_Papa_

Closing my eyes, I picture his smile. For a minute, I can feel his legs beneath me, his fingers strumming my back. His laughter echoes in my ear. As far as goals go, making them proud has always been at the top. I just hope I can continue to do so without worrying them. He says I'm strong. I think I got that from him.

Folding them up, I put them back into the envelope. Then tuck it into my bag. These letters will definitely cheer my spirits up when I'm feeling down. I now have new letters to look forward to receiving to keep me moving, motivating me to stay alive.

WHILE I'M PACKAGING my patient for the helicopter that is on its way to pick him up, I hear that there is an incoming casualty. "Probable IED explosion with casualties and severe injuries. ETA five minutes." I hate to hear there are casualties, but I knew that would be part of this ordeal. The part that I thrive on is the severe injuries. I was born to treat traumas. For some reason, I've always worked well under pressure. I've always loved beating the odds. Trauma affords me both of those rushes...to know that I saved someone against all odds in a time crunch.

That's why I love being in the Forward Surgical Team. I'm the first doctor to treat patients who are injured on the front lines. It's been great experience for my future career choice, which is to become a burn specialist. That was my path before I was deployed. Certainly, my experience here should only help, not hurt. Yeah, it will take me a little longer to get to that point in my career, but I will get there.

My thoughts wander to skin. It seems superficial and cosmetic. If we don't like it, we cover it with makeup. We spend our summers trying to make it darker. We take it for granted. We think skin and we automatically think cosmetics and summer.

Not me. Not anymore. After my mother's accident, it has been impossible to forget or get used to the smell of charred human beings. There aren't many experiences that are worse than that. There aren't many injuries more difficult to fix, either. This patient has a long road of recovery because of burns.

Anytime I hear the word 'explosion,' my nostrils are filled with the memory of that scent. My heart starts thumping in my chest. I thought eventually I would get used to this, but I haven't. I don't think I will ever get used to seeing the horrific images of people mangled and hanging on for dear life. I never get used to people's lives being in my hands.

Before I was deployed, one of the hardest things I've ever had to do in my life was tell someone their loved one hadn't made it. Telling a parent that they have outlived their child causes an indescribable emotion. Holding it together and being the strong one for those people takes its toll on you. I have had to detach myself somehow, or the pain and anguish would eat me alive.

I just know that I can't think of what is going on when I deliver the news. It's almost like I go into some kind of robot form. I know that sounds insensitive, but it's the only way I can deal with the loss of a patient. Sometimes it's the only way I can deal with the reality of my life.

My point is that no matter how many times I've been the bearer of bad news, it never prepares me for being on the receiving end. For as many times as I've comforted families and dealt with my own grief, it has never prepared me more for the next time. It never gets easier. Death is one of those things that no matter how hard I try to think about it, I just can't grasp it. It's beyond my comprehension.

Maybe that's part of the reason I decided to be a doctor; I wanted to help prevent death in any way possible. I wanted to know that I had done my part to help avoid it for someone - for them to have a second chance - because I know what it's like to not get a second chance with the people I love.

Compartmentalization has become essential doing this job in theater. There isn't time for me to think about what's just happened because it seems as soon as we get one patient stabilized, another one arrives. I literally have to put it in some internal box deep in my soul. Maybe one day I'll have the chance to deal with the horrors I've seen.

The nurses are carrying the litter, which is just another word for a gurney, with my patient while I trail behind filling out the MIST Casualty Treatment Card with what I've done to treat him. The helicopter has landed, and I see the other patient coming in. The _Battle Buddy_ isn't recognizable. He's covered in dirt, grime, and blood. I can't tell you the color of his skin. I'm sure it's been weeks since they've showered or brushed their teeth.

It's always noisy here, especially when we have incoming helicopters. They are easy targets for the enemy, who want to be able to say they caused the next Blackhawk down. I know they fire mortars off a lot. We've been lucky that their aim hasn't been good.

This time the noises are different. There's a high pitched whistling. It's unique, and it's something I've never heard before. Like the smell of burnt skin, I know it's not a sound I'll ever forget. In an instant, the battle buddy who is bringing in the latest casualty yells while lunging at me. For a brief moment, I recognize those milk chocolate eyes. "Incoming! Cover!" I hear right as everything goes blank. It goes black.

#

"COVER," ECHOES IN my ear as I get a glimpse of his large body tackling me. We're both blown back. I'm alive, I think. I hear, "I'm not gonna leave you. Stay with me, Alex. Stay with me." I can't see him because I can't keep my eyes open, but I know that voice. I've tried to banish it from my memory, but to no avail.

"Dr. Hart," a woman's voice asks.

I open my eyes. "Drew," I say.

The pity on her face is obvious. I recognize that look because I've used it before with my own patients. "There's no one here named Drew."

My head hurts so badly. Actually my entire body feels like it's been put through a meat grinder. Even taking a breath causes the ache to worsen. "I saw him. He saved me," I mutter.

"You got hit. You're on a lot of pain medication," she explains.

She thinks I'm crazy. This nurse actually thinks I don't know what I saw. "It's not the meds. I saw Drew," I insist.

"Drew who? I'll check for you."

"Foster. His name is Drew Foster," my voice cracks.

She smiles politely. "Okay, I'll be back. Just try to rest."

While I wait, I clench my eyes closed. I see the explosion. I see him. It's as real as anything I've ever known.

When she returns momentarily, she confirms. "I'm sorry, Dr. Hart. There's no Drew Foster in your company."

"I'm not crazy. I know it was him at the explosion. I recognized his voice!" I yell, completely frustrated.

She nods. "Why don't I call in someone to come talk with you? Maybe that would help."

I shake my head. "No. I don't understand why you're keeping him from me."

"We're not keeping him from you. There is no one deployed that would have been in the same area by that name," she insists.

"Surely he would have been hurt with me. He'd be here with me." Then my thoughts wander into uncharted territory. It's not a place I can fathom being. Maybe he's dead. What if I was on the brink of death and saw him? Like in the movies. I've had patients tell me that they saw loved ones when they were in critical condition and we weren't sure they'd make it. I swallow the large lump in my throat. The familiar feeling of bricks taking occupancy on my chest resumes. It's been a long time since I felt this kind of pain, this kind of pressure. "Fatalities?"

"None," she smiles proudly as she puts medication through my IV. "This is just another dose for pain."

I gasp for air, like I've been holding my breath underwater for hours. "Thank goodness for that." That still doesn't explain my situation. I know I saw him. "Thank you for your help," I offer.

In my experience as a physician, if I don't cool it, they will think I've completely lost my mind. Maybe I have. Fatigue sets in from whatever she just gave me, and I drift back into the phase of sleep where I can hear what's going on around me, but I really couldn't care less.

This is when I hear what I had feared. "I think she has Acute Stress Disorder. She keeps asking for someone named Drew Foster. Talking about the explosion."

I DON'T KNOW how long it's been, or where I am for that matter since I've been in and out of consciousness, but mostly out. My entire body aches. My right leg is in traction. It only takes me a second to realize it's my knee that hurts. I reach over and press the nurse call button. The intercom comes on, "How can we help you?"

"Send my nurse, please," I manage to mutter.

The voice comes back with, "Anything she can bring to you?"

"Can I get something for pain?" I ask, trying to hold my breath to manage the pain.

"I'll ask her. She'll be in soon."

"Thanks," I mumble, then try to doze back off to sleep. Except the pain is too much for me to do anything other than grimace, wondering what my prognosis will be.

The door opens and a nurse appears. "Hi there, Dr. Hart."

"Hi." I nod.

"I've got some pain medication that will go through your IV."

I glance down to my hands, and I see bruises. That's not surprising, since I've never had the best veins. The IV is actually now in my forearm. I offer it to her. "Where am I? What about Drew? Have you been able to find him?"

"Oh. You're in Germany." Her pleasant demeanor changes. "I heard you might ask about him."

I roll my eyes. "I saw him. This _isn't_ Acute Stress Disorder," I plead. "I'm a doctor for cryin' out loud." The more I talk, the more I hurt. My heart and my body. "I know what I saw. It was real, he was real."

She shakes her head. "I'm sure he was. It's just we haven't been able to locate anyone by that name." She disposes of the syringe into the red sharps container, pulls the trigger of the foam hand sanitizer, and then leans up against the wall. "This must be so hard for you. When you're feeling better, we can get a psych consult. It might help to just talk to someone. Sort through what you saw, experienced."

"Sure,"I sigh. The medicine is making the lids of my eyes heavy. "Whatever."

# Three Months Later

IT'S BELIEVED THAT I have Acute Stress Disorder, so I was transferred to a rehab facility. It's a known fact that when people are told something enough times, they start to believe it. So it's been difficult to wrap my mind around my own situation. Am I absolutely sure it was Drew? There was that one time at the creek when I saw my dad, but it was really Drew. What if it wasn't either one of them? What if all this time, I dreamed him? My own little coping mechanism.

My time is spent trying to figure out if hearing his voice was some sort of a vision, or if it was real. Even though every other part of him was unidentifiable, those eyes were so familiar. The most unique milk chocolaty brown I've ever seen. When I looked into them, it was like I was looking into my soul, my inner home.

The evidence certainly points to me being crazy. They've looked for him. The facts can't be denied that there is and was no Drew Foster deployed with me. So for that, I can't blame the medical professionals for believing the explosion triggered memories of my parent's death...of Drew, but I know myself. It's not something I'm ready to believe or accept.

The physical injuries I've sustained are nothing compared to the mental blows. At this point, I almost wish I hadn't survived. Every sight or sound triggers a compartmentalized box of horrific images I stored while deployed.

Even the most gruesome Hollywood movie can't do justice for what I just experienced. Maybe that's because in movies we only experience the visual. Touching the blood is impossible. Smelling the stench of death can't be captured on a film roll. Watching the death of a main character can't compare to losing the people I have lived with and loved as if they are my brother or sister over and over again.

Thankfully, my phone rings and distracts me from this dark path my thoughts were headed down. "Hello."

"Alex?" Memaw asks, her voice quivering.

My mind starts to race, and thoughts immediately go to my Papa. I dread getting phone calls like these. Immediately, I can tell something is wrong and that my life will forever be changed, usually for the worst. I don't want to say anything. I just sit here hoping that maybe if I hold my breath, if I don't say a word, my dreaded fears won't be confirmed.

"Alex?" She asks again.

I mumble a weak, "Yeah."

The pit in my stomach, the aching in my soul, it's familiar. Bricks start piling on my chest. Breathing becomes challenging. I know what she's going to say, but it doesn't prepare my heart. "It's your Papa."

Wetness streams down the sides of my face. There's a small ounce of hope that resides in a tiny box deep within my being. "Okay," I mutter, begging, praying, and pleading with God to please not let this be the worst case scenario. "What about him?" I ask.

"It was his heart, Alex," she cries. _Was_. It _was_ his heart. My chest begins to pound, and there is no containing the wails that quickly follow. This pain, this hurt, has been such a mainstay of my life, yet I will never be used to it. The thought that I didn't get to say goodbye plays on repeat in my mind. _Not this kind of goodbye._

Papa said every year, "This might be my last Christmas, ya know." No matter how many times he said it, I would always roll my eyes and swat his arm as I said, "Nonsense. Don't talk like that." And all I can think about right now is that he was right. There will be no more Christmases, no more birthdays, no more sitting on his lap. He was my strength in every tragedy I've ever experienced. I don't know how I'll survive this. I wasn't ready. It can't be his time. I can't deal with this right now.

#

# One Day Later

SINCE MEMAW AND Papa had custody of me they are, at this point, considered my next of kin. That meant I was granted emergency leave. The rehab facility for my knee injury and the Acute Stress Disorder is in Bethesda, Maryland, which meant that I had to fly home. I'm thankful for this time on the plane.

The thing about flights in the military is there are no posh seats, refreshments, Wi-Fi, or movies to entertain me. There might be a Private First Class, but there won't be a first class section. This time, I'm thankful for the hours to just think and reflect.

Everything happens for a reason, and I know it's all in good time, even if it's not in my time. I just don't understand. I can't grasp my head around it. I'm not sure I'll ever understand why it happened now, losing Papa. People used to always tell me after my parents passed away that God doesn't give us more than we can handle. I'm still alive, so there must be some truth to that, but sometimes I wonder if he thinks I'm super woman or something.

The only good that could come from this is that I might get some time to clear my head, do some extensive research, and figure out the mess that is my life. I am determined to use these few days to find Drew Foster. I need closure on that part of my life once and for all.

Maybe if I can get answers where he is concerned, I can accept my fate...whatever that may be? I've searched for him in the past. Everything I find is a dead end. I don't understand it. It's like he never even existed, and yet I know he did. I know he was real.

So I've decided to hire a professional when I get home after everything is sorted. It will give me a welcome distraction from the fact that I've lost three of the most important people in my life. _Papa_. Just when I was so close to getting home to see him again.

I wish I had been given the opportunity to say goodbye to him, to tell him how much I loved him. Not that there is any doubt in my mind that he knew, but because I want to tell him just one more time. Mom's smiling face is clear in my mind. Clenching my eyes closed, I inhale as I remember the conversation she had with me after my great grandmother passed away.

She'd mailed me a birthday card, knowing that because of the holiday the day before my birthday, it'd be late if she didn't send it two days ahead. She passed away on that very holiday. The day after she mailed my card, the day before I actually got it.

As the postal carrier brought our mail, we all knew what was awaiting me. Bricks began piling on my chest as she handed it to me. "This is for you, Boo Boo. You'll want to keep this forever. It was probably the last thing she ever wrote."

Even though I squeezed my eyes as tight as I could, it wasn't enough to keep my tears contained. "I wish I could have told her thank you one more time. That I loved her one more time."

Mom pulled me into an embrace. "You can't live life like that. No matter how much time you spent with someone, you'll always wish that you had done more." She kissed my hair as she rubbed my back. "When the people you love leave you, it will always feel like you could have done more."

My chest heaved up and down as my cries turned into full blown sobs.

"Let it out, Alex. Cry. It's okay. She knew you loved her, and she loved you so much. So much that she left you stuff before she even passed away. She knew she was dying, and she wanted to see the joy in you receiving her gifts. She wanted to know you had the things she wanted you to have."

"Uh huh," I muttered between sobs, my voice cracking from the tightness in my throat.

"I love you, Alex. If I could take your pain, I would. Just remember in life that you can't over say I love you."

Laughter snuck into my wails. "Papa always tells me that, too."

"See. If I'd told it to you, you wouldn't believe me because I'm your mother. Kids never think their mother's know anything. But because he told you, you know it's true. Your Papa is one wise man."

The giggles began to win against the sobs. She wiped my tears, and I swiped the gunk coming from my nose. We spent the rest of the afternoon eating ice cream and sharing our favorite stories about my Greatmama.

Ever since that conversation I did what I could to make the time count with the people I love, but the thing I regret the most is my decision to spend so much time away at school and then joining the military. If I'd not done those two things, I would have had so much more time with him. Maybe I could have even been there to save him.

Bringing my legs to my chest, knees bent, I wrap my arms around them, and bury my head into my skin as the familiar emotions of loss and grief consume me. It's something I'm well versed in...guilt, grief. Even though my mind knows from a textbook that the anger and bargaining are normal stages, it's still hard for me to accept that he's gone, that my time with him is over. There's another hole of emptiness. So many in my heart have been left vacant, I can't help but feeling slightly robbed. The funny thing is that even if I had been able to have five hundred years with him, I'd still feel the same way.

#

SCURRYING THROUGH THE back door, my body freezes in its tracks the moment our eyes meet. He's sitting on the couch facing the door. He jumps up, but then hesitates. Probably after he saw the look on my face. My eyes blink. Is this real, or is this my mind playing tricks on me? Am I dreaming on the plane or am I really here? "What are you doing here?" Wasting no time before drilling into him.

He swallows. "I came back for you."

My eyes bulge. "For me?" I ask incredulously.

He nods. "Thank God you're okay. You are okay, aren't you?" he asks.

Those eyes. Those beautiful chocolate eyes. All of these years later, it's like I can see my own soul looking into them. There is no mistaking them. Taking a deep breath, realizing that I could never forget them. It makes me angry. So angry. Unless he's just a figment of my imagination. "You're really here?" I question him as he starts to make his way closer to me, smiling that dazzling smile that has never changed. He looks exactly like he did before, he's just finally grown into a man. "It was you, wasn't it...in Afghanistan?"

His head bobs up and down. "Yeah, it was me."

Reaching my hand out in protest because this is all too much, I warn him, "Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Don't do this right now." Dropping my bag, I continue. "I can't do this with you right now." I'm trying to be strong, but it's so hard. I don't want my chin to quiver. I don't want my eyes to pool with tears, but my body is betraying me.

He doesn't move, he's frozen in place in my living room. I can't even begin to count the number of times I've prayed for this scenario. Here he is, in my house, but today of all days? He hangs his head a little low and gives me a look that nearly makes me melt. "Please let me explain," he pleads.

I throw my hands up in frustration. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever. Start here. How come no one knew who you were? You were with T737. You were there when we got hit, yet when I woke up no one knew a Drew Foster?"

He closes his eyes for a moment, and I see his fists clench by his sides. When he opens them, the look on his face is intense. It's a look that I've never seen before. He's different. He should be, though. I barely knew him all those years ago. I can't possibly know him now. He calmly speaks, "That's because my name is Stone Wilder."

Just when I didn't think my life could get any worse, he tells me I didn't even know his name! My first love, all of this Acute Stress Disorder and PTSD crap is just what I thought it was. He was real, and I did see him. I lost my job for nothing, have spent weeks in rehab for a condition I was adamant I didn't have. He's made me question my own sanity, my ability to do my job. I can feel my face reddening; my blood starting to boil as it gushes through my veins. I narrow my eyes. "Your name is what?"

"Stone Wilder is my legal name," he nods.

"Get out," I shout as I point to the door. He stares me down. I think I know his looks, but in this moment it occurs to me that I know nothing, and I mean zero about this stranger standing in my living room. "I. Said. Get. Out."

His eyelids droop, and I can see the disappointment. For a moment I feel terrible, but I can't. How dare he do this to me right now? He knows how much Papa meant to me. How could he come back now and spring this information on me now of all times?

He runs his hands through his hair. "Okay." When he gets to my side to leave, he hesitates before he leans in and kisses my forehead. "I'm sorry for your loss, but you aren't getting rid of me that easily or quickly this time."

"I didn't get rid of you either of the two times before. You seem to be really great at skipping out, _Stone_ ," I growl. My body is telling me one thing, and my mind is telling me another. It would be so easy to fall into his arms. He helped me through the most difficult time in my life, and it'd be easy to think he could support me through the second most difficult. Yeah, if only he had not lied to me and been my third and fourth most difficult losses.

He purses his lips together. I can tell that my words hurt him. "Later," he says as he walks the few extra steps to the door, and out of my house...out of my life once again.

AFTER I GET myself settled I decide I need to take a walk, so I head to the creek. "Memaw," I call as I head towards the back of the house, towards their room. I hear movement. "You don't have to get up. I just wanted to tell you I am headed for a walk."

She meets me in the doorway. Her eyes are red. She's not wearing her big round glasses. She's holding one of his shirts. It breaks my heart. My parents were in love. I was fortunate to get to grow up around people who were happy with each other. Yet even their love seems small compared to the love of my grandparents. Both, my mom's and dad's parents, have been married for over 60 years. Even though, I know that is so rare, my hope is to one day have that. Even though I try, I can't imagine what it's like for my grandmother to have lost the love of her life after so many years. She whispers, "I need to pick out an outfit for him."

Taking the shirt from her, I pull her into an embrace. "I'll do it."

She nods. "He always loved the ties you bought him. He wore them every Sunday to church."

The memory brings a smile to my face. "I think that first tie I bought him was his favorite. He wore it all the time." Then it occurs to me that I don't have it in me to have that tie buried with him. "Is it okay if I buy him a new tie?"

Memaw pulls back and we wipe tears from each other's faces. "I think he'd like that."

I swallow the lump in my throat. "I'm going to the creek for a few minutes, and then I'll go buy the tie. You should probably stay. I'm sure people will be dropping by to visit you."

She takes the shirt back from me. "I'll make you a list of things I think he needs."

I nod. This is a drill we're all too familiar with. It doesn't make it any easier. Taking her hand in mine, I squeeze it. Then I turn on my heel, trying to process what has just transpired in the last 24 hours.

For the first time in my life, I dread walking to the creek. This time he may be there. It doesn't take long before I see that he's not. I sit on my rock, and fiddle with stones. _Stone_. His name is Stone.

Now that I know, it suits him. There's just something about that name that is so masculine, but to me, he'll always be Drew. I don't know that I can call him Stone. It doesn't matter what I call him, it's not like I plan on ever seeing him again.

My mind is circling around. His lie about his name meant I didn't know the right name to ask for when I was recovering. People actually thought I was crazy. This stirs the rage within me. I pick the rocks up, and start throwing them as hard as I can into the water. Skipping stones isn't appealing because all it does is remind me of him.

My credibility was questioned because he couldn't be honest with me. I told him stuff I had told no one else. I bared everything to him, and he gave me nothing in return. Worst of all, he said he loved me. It seems to me that all he's doing is playing with my heart and my emotions. I may seem weak, but I'm not. He will never have the power to hurt me ever again.

I walk to the field. It's the same as it's always been. Our spot isn't as easily recognizable because he hasn't picked all of the flowers for me this time. The spring air is much more refreshing than the steamy heat we had that summer. Sitting down, I thought I'd cry more when Papa died. Maybe it's because I've already cried so many tears. Maybe it's because I'm stronger than I thought.

Reclining back, I close my eyes, remembering times spent at the creek with him. It's like a movie playing in my mind. Papa chuckles at me trying to skip a stone. Watching my dad so easily making the rocks dance across the top of the water. Then I see Drew. I feel him, and he's holding me like he used to.

When I open my eyes, he's not here. Being disappointed that he's not only furthers my frustration. It only angers me further that he makes me feel the way he does, even when I'm upset. Seeing him has only made me come to the conclusion I wasn't as over him as I'd fooled myself into thinking.

I MUST ADMIT that my head feels clear, like I'm my old self. The tears come when least expected. They have become a part of me. I'm convinced that my fate is to be a cry baby. If only life would stop dishing out so many crappy cards, then maybe I wouldn't be. At least seeing him was confirmation that I hadn't lost my mind. It solidified what I had thought all along.

It was nice to be able to go shopping, get out of the confines of a house, hospital, or rehab facility. What made it less enjoyable was what I was doing. Picking out a final tie. Picking out underwear for my grandfather. That thought makes me shake my head. _No, that wasn't awkward at all_.

After I was done, I went back to the house to show my purchases to Memaw. She gave me final approval. We cried together. Then we went through the keepsake drawer in the side tables in the living room. There were so many pictures and programs shoved into those drawers that I wasn't sure how she'd manage to close them.

I made a mental note in those few minutes to buy some photo albums for Christmas and put all the pictures in as close to chronological order as I could. Maybe we could even do it together. Planning for the future. That was certainly progress. Up until a few days ago, I wasn't sure I had one. I smile as tears form in my eyes. If it hadn't been for Papa, for Drew...er Stone being here...I might not have had this opportunity.

As if I wasn't confused already, this just makes my head spin more. Should I be thankful to him? I push the thoughts of him out of my mind. I don't have time to focus on him, or what we were or weren't fifteen years ago.

I gather all the pictures, the things I bought while shopping, and put them into a small cardboard box. The suit is hanging on the door in a garment bag. I situate the box on my hip and hook the hangers onto my fingers. "Memaw, can you grab the door for me?" I ask.

She nods. "Sure."

As I'm leaving, I'm almost knocked over by a body of steel. And a calmness floods my body, just before anger consumes me...like the calm before the storm.

"What are you doing here?" I growl.

#

GLANCING DOWN, I see he's holding a Rubbermaid cake plate. Curiosity wins. "What's that?" I shift my hands in an effort to point, but they are full, so I nod.

He grins the most dazzling smile ever. "This is Memaw's Red Velvet cake," he says as he proudly holds it. "I'd hand it to you and leave, but I see you've got your hands full."

_How'd he get her recipe?_ The tension mounting between us is nearly palpable, but so is my heart rate. My chest is pounding like a drum roll. I wish I was immune to the smile, to the kind gestures, but I'm not. Thankfully, there are things to do. "That's nice. Thanks. I'm sure _Memaw_ will appreciate that." Nudging him out of the way with my shoulders, an explanation gushes from my mouth. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I have to take this stuff to the funeral home before they close."

"Alex..." he trails.

I glance back over my shoulder. "Yeah?"

"It's a peace offering. We need to talk."

Biting my lower lip and closing my eyes, I pray for resolve and strength. "Not now I said. I can't do it now."

He interjects, "I only have a couple of weeks. I don't wanna waste time."

"Are you on leave, too?" I ask.

He nods. "We were only a few months away from our deployment being over when we got hit."

I swallow. "You were hurt, too?" My chest starts to feel heavy, and so does all of the stuff I'm holding. I shake my head from side-to-side. "Drew...Stone...er whatever your name is," I sigh. "I've gotta go." I hold up the garment bag. "Can you leave the cake with Memaw, and let's agree to do this once I have the next couple of days behind me?"

There's a slight sparkle in his eyes, but also disappointment...I think. "Sure. Later, Alex."

"Bye." I roll my eyes as I walk to my car. I mutter under my breath, "Drew, or Stone."

WHEN I ARRIVE at the funeral home, I walk slowly with my box of things, dreading what I'm about to have to do. The bricks are piling onto my chest again. I know that we can't see Papa yet, he's not ready. That's why I'm here...to give them what they need for the visitation. Just knowing he's in this building, and not being able to see him is about enough to kill me. My eyes become so blurry I can barely see where I'm going.

Taking a deep breath, I push through the side door, which leads straight into the chapel. I've attended many a funeral in this chapel. It's a nice place, but I'm glad that my Papa's won't be here. He wouldn't have it. St. Paul's Episcopal has and will forever be his church home. There was no decision to be made about where to have his service.

In a moment, Mr. Knapp comes through the doors. "Alex. Good to see you, but not like this."

My face tightens as the emotions get the best of me. As I open my mouth to try to speak, my throat tightens. Shaking my head, I offer the box.

He takes it and puts it on the floor, then pulls me into an embrace. "I've known you for your entire life, and I knew him for all of mine." I squeeze my eyes closed and my chest starts to heave as I wrap my arms around his stout body. He continues, "Alex, he loved you so much."

I nod. "I know. Thank you."

He holds me while I cry some more, feeling for the first time since I got home like I don't need to be strong. "It's not just a loss for your family. This town is small; it's tight knit. And I can assure you that our community has suffered a tremendous loss in losing your Papa."

Despite the tears falling from my eyes, the tightness in my chest, I am able to form my lips into a small smile. "He loved this place."

He chuckles. "He sure did."

I push back. "Thank you."

Handing me a box of tissues, he asks, "For what, sug?"

"For letting me get your nice suit all wet." I laugh. "For letting me feel like I could finally just break down, that it was okay to cry." I blot my eyes with one of the white soft squares. "I feel like I need to be strong for Memaw."

"She's a tough cookie. A spitfire. I'm sure she feels the same way about you." He picks up the box of things. "I need to go ahead and get started so y'all can see him soon. Just know that during times like these, it's okay to not be strong."

I nibble on my lower lip trying to calm myself down, regain my composure. "You'll call us when he's ready?"

"As soon as I have him ready, I'll call you. Absolutely."

I nod, then look down. I'm not ready to say goodbye to him, to see him lifeless. "Thanks," I mumble.

"See you soon, Alex. Let us know if we can do anything at all for you and your family."

"I will," I say as I turn to leave, then I remember that I put the photos in the box. "Oh, Mr. Knapp."

He takes a step back and peeks his head around the corner. "Uh huh?"

"I put the photos in the box for the slide show. I was wondering if you still have the photo board thing?"

"Sure, no one really likes to use that anymore, though."

I smile. "He always loved that photo board when we attended other visitations. I'd like to use it, if that's okay."

He winks. "Anything you want, Alex. My job is to make this easier for you. You know that. If you want a memory board, you'll have a memory board."

I take a deep breath. "And that's why we love you. You take care of us during times like these. You go above and beyond every single time." I mean what I'm saying. Yes, he's getting paid to do this, but he always does more than we pay for.

"It's my job, and I need to make a living, but I didn't choose this profession for the money. This has been our family business for generations because we care. You know that."

The lump forms in my throat again. "Just know we appreciate it."

"I do," he says.

"Well, I better let you get to work." I point to the exit. "I think that's everything."

"We've got this under control. I know those Episcopal Church Women are going to shower you with food. You go be with your family, eat that delicious goodness, and let us handle this."

"Will do." I walk out of the building, thankful for his ability to make me grin. The ECW have been so good to my family over the years. It's getting sad, though. Most of the women that were a part of that group when I was growing up are getting so old they aren't able to participate, or they've passed. My grandmother is still as active as she can be with them.

The younger ladies have all been trained and they take care of the congregation just as well, but it's not quite the same. These ladies were like extended family when I was a kid. They were like great aunts; the cool aunts that spoiled you rotten.

I glance across the street as I walk to my car and see the home of the Burkes. It's another reminder of how the generation of my grandparents are slowly becoming a thing of the past. I loved Mr. Burke like another grandpa. He was one of the tallest men I knew. He was so quiet, but he always had a smile. A heart of gold. Just like my Papa. They were best friends. He's been gone for several years now. Mrs. Burke taught me how to play the piano. She's the church pianist. I make a mental note to make sure I tell her hello while I'm home.

As I get back into my car, my thoughts turn to Drew...Stone. I really wish I knew what to call him. He's Drew to me. He's being so persistent, and even though emotionally I can't handle him being back, I'm relieved he's here. It saves me the money from having to hire someone to find him. Instead of trying to fish for closure or answers, he should be able to give them to me when I'm ready.

So now that I've gotten the cry out of my system and delivered Papa's things. I have my first ounce of regret where Drew's concerned. I hope and pray he's still at the house when I get back. Maybe it would be good to talk to him for a few minutes. Find out what he has to say for himself. Maybe he can finally help me deal with the tears.

Minutes later, I've parked the car in the gravel driveway. There are several cars that I recognize. A few family members, a few people from the church. I watch the door, hoping that he'll come through it, but he doesn't. Walking through the carport, I wipe my tear-stained cheeks. When I get inside, it's like a Christmas party, except it's not. Everyone hushes when they see me, as if I'm fragile, or something.

"Hi there," I say.

They rush to me like it's a race, offering hugs and compliments. "You look fantastic...you know for everything you've been through," Ms. Clarkston says.

Ms. Rudy nudges her. "Janis!"

I laugh. "No, Ms. Rudy, Ms. Clarkston. Thank you. You don't have to tiptoe around it. It's okay. I've been through the ringer, and I'm still here. And believe it, or not, I'm not going to shatter if you hug my neck."

Memaw glares at me. I'm just picking, though. I think they know me well enough to know that. They look at each other and giggle. It's the cutest thing ever. "You've always been such a good, fun loving girl, Alex."

"When life gives you lemons, might as well make lemonade, right?"

They make nodding look sophisticated. "That's exactly right."

Once everyone's greeted me, I make my way through to the kitchen. I see several cake plates. "You know what else hasn't changed?" I ask.

They all say, "What?" in unison.

"My sweet tooth." I glance back over my shoulder as I approach the top of the freezer where all the cakes and pies are covered with foil, Tupperware, and Rubbermaid lids. "Tell me what goodies have you ladies brought?"

"You know, the usual. There's a little bit of everything over there," Ms. Rudy says.

Then Ms. Clarkston chimes in, "There's enough food to feed a small army." I shake my head, then close my eyes in an effort to not laugh at her social awkwardness. When I do, the word 'army' triggers flashbacks of explosions, times of despair. I hear Ms. Rudy whisper, "Janis, would you just shush your mouth until we get outta here."

Ms. Clarkston inhales sharply. "Oh goodness, I didn't even think about what I was sayin'. You know. We just always use that phrase down here in the South."

I open the tops of the different desserts. When I find the Rubbermaid one that he brought earlier, I open it. Red Velvet cake. My heart flutters as I cut a slice, then glance over my shoulder. "Ms. Clarkston, I'm fine. Please don't worry another second about it."

She looks hopeful and relieved. "Are you sure, Alex?" She asks it in such a way that I know she's just wanting more reassurance that I'm fine, so I oblige.

"Absolutely." I smile. "Totally fine." But I'm not. I'm dying inside.

SEVERAL HOURS LATER the phone rings, and while I'm hopeful it's the funeral home, the sound of it causes my stomach to stir to a nauseating level. There have been visitors non-stop all afternoon. I guess it's nice that people care and want to be with us. It's just been exhausting.

"Hello," I say as I pick up the receiver.

"Alex?" I'm pretty sure it's Mr. Knapp, but I've never really spoken to him over the phone.

"Speaking."

"It's Mr. Knapp. Just wanted to let you know that if you'd like to come for a private viewing anytime, we're here."

I'm not sure of how to describe what emotion those words evoke. "Thank you," I whisper. Disappointment, sadness, and a tinge of relief? Is it relief? Shaking my head, I hang up. There's no way to know what it is that I feel at this point.

I glance over to Memaw. "Can I have a word with you?" I nod towards the back of the house.

"Sure. Ladies, excuse me a minute," she says as she gets up from one of the chairs at the bar. She doesn't sit down often. In fact, I think she sits in those particular ones because they are uncomfortable and she knows that will provoke her to get back up and start working again.

When we arrive to a quiet place, I ask, "Would you like to go see Pop?"

She covers her mouth. Her eyes are wide and immediately fill with tears, as if there was a faucet that turned on immediately. I pull her into an embrace, and we both cry for a few minutes together. Then she pushes back. "I'll let our company know that we need to go."

Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I hope that it will relieve the ache in my chest, but it just makes it worse. "Okay," I mutter as I wipe my eyes, then hers.

WITHIN FIFTEEN MINUTES, we're walking inside the funeral home. The nice thing about living in a small town is that there's no traffic and everything is so close. I always liked that growing up here. I could sleep longer on Sunday mornings. It took me ten minutes to get dressed, and it only took us about five to get to the church.

Sunday is the one day where Memaw doesn't push a big breakfast. She usually offers an assortment of doughnuts and sweet cakes. I smile at the memories, then stop myself. Part of what makes, I mean _made_ , Sundays so special was that Papa would be dressed in one of his suits, usually with a tie I bought him. He'd be reading the newspaper and drinking a cup of coffee. He'd wear that suit all day, even if we went to the store later, as if it was the respectful thing to do because it was Sunday.

I purse my lips together in an effort to be strong because I know that Memaw needs me right now. I loop my arm into hers as we walk up the handicap ramp into the chapel. Within a few seconds, Mr. Knapp is greeting us.

"Elizabeth," he says as he hugs her. "Alex." He nods and offers another embrace to me.

I smile, knowing that if I attempt to speak words my body will fail me.

He starts to walk. "This way," he instructs as he glances over his shoulder.

I practice my breathing, but all it does is make me think back to when Papa helped me with that the day Drew left. Stone. There's a ping in my gut, one that tells me this would be easier if he had his arms wrapped around me as I walked into this room. I keep my focus on putting one foot in front of the other as the water accumulating in my eyes blurs my vision while I'm flooded with memories of my life.

Memaw slowly walks to the beautiful blue casket she picked out for him. It has a cross embroidered on the cloth lining the lid. Mr. Knapp steps back as I step forward and place my hand on her back for support. She leans over and kisses his forehead. She talks to him, but I try not to listen. I want to be here to support her physically, but I just don't feel good about listening to what she says to him. There's just something too intimate about that.

Mr. Knapp gives her a tissue, and then offers me one. I dab my eyes, while trying to constrict my chest to keep the sobs from escaping my body. I remember this pain. It's a unique sensation. I remember when my parents died, I described it as a scalpel cutting my chest open. At least, that's how I imagine it would feel.

Soon, she turns and falls into my arms. My body muffles her wails. Then I'm reminded how things change as we age. The people who once consoled us require the consolation. The roles of responsibility change.

We stand like this for a few minutes. I completely try to disassociate that my Papa is in that wooden box so I can be the rock she needs. Eventually, she looks into my eyes. "I'm sorry. Here." She shoves my body forward. Then it occurs to me why I have been thankful I was behind them. I am glad I have the ability to compartmentalize.

Glancing over to her and Mr. Knapp I whisper, as if I've lost my voice. I guess in a way I have. "May I have a moment alone with him, please?"

Memaw objects, "No, Alex. Are you sure you want to do that alone?"

"I do." I nod. "I need some time by myself, please. I'll call if I need you. I can do this."

"Okay," she says. I can see the helpless look on her face.

"Thanks," I mumble.

They close the door on their way out, and once I'm alone, I stand there for a moment completely emotionless. It's as if I don't know what to do with myself. I remember this, too. It's surreal to see him like this. Lifeless, with his mouth and eyes closed. I mean, they did a good job with him. He looks like he's sleeping. I just didn't see him sleep much. I always saw him smiling, laughing. I miss him so much already.

It only takes a few moments before it sinks deep within my soul that this is it. The tears start to flow, and I try to catch them before they land on him. _If you're going to try to catch all of those, you're going to need a bucket._ I don't know how to do this with him. Part of me wants to talk to him, but I'm not sure what to say. Everything I needed to say was said before I left. It just wasn't supposed to be like this, for the rest of my life. I've never really had the urge to touch a body in a funeral home, but I need to touch him. I'm not sure why.

So I reach my shaking hand down, and try his arm first. It's covered by a navy blue suit. It's hard. It doesn't feel like touching an arm. I quickly pull myself back and shake my head. I clench my eyes closed, trying to contain the impending eruption of wails that are building.

"Papa, I love you so much," I barely whisper. "I don't know how to do this without you." I shake my head. Tears are freely flowing, my chest heaves up and down. My chin is quivering like I'm outside in the frigid cold with no clothes. My soul is exposed and raw. "I know this is temporary. This time away from you." I wipe my face with my forearm. "I knew the day would come. I get it, but it still hurts so badly."

Then I remember when I stood in front of my parents caskets, just like this. I remember Papa wrapping his arms around me, how he kissed my hair, the way he caught my tears. And there is a calmness, a small amount of comfort that envelopes me. It's a reminder that I'm not alone, that he'll always be with me. So I slowly close my eyes, allowing the last of the tears to stream down my face. I sniff and swallow several times; each one reigns in my composure. I say a quick silent prayer, thanking God for my time with him, for choosing me to be his granddaughter. May I always make him proud. May I always make him smile. As I turn to walk away, I whisper, "I can't wait to sit in your lap again. I live for the day when you get to tickle my back. Have all the Red Velvet cake you want...I'll see you later."

I thought I had contained my tears, my emotions, but my body shakes and shudders. Whimpers escape, and the tears increase in frequency and volume. I rush through the door and collapse into the arms of the people who know exactly how much we've all just lost.

#

# Two Days Later

SLEEP WOULD BE nice, but it will have to wait until some of this hoopla is over. The visitation was last night, yielding a steady stream of people bringing more food than we'll ever be able to eat. I laugh as my thoughts wander back to the food. I know my grandmother feeds the stray cats on the sly. They'll be feasting on leftovers for a long time. We'll become the Caesar's Palace Buffet for all of the neighborhood strays. It will be delightful...and great entertainment. I sigh.

When I hear the faint horn blowing signifying the morning train that has been coming through this town at the same time every morning my entire life, it reminds me of the morning he left. That was the morning we moved out of my house in North Carolina.

Squeezing my eyes closed, flashbacks flash before my lids of him. Times from the creek when we were younger, Afghanistan, and the couple of times this week. Opening them causes the visions to stop, which is good because I can't deal with him today. There's no time. Then the worrier in me lets my mind wander to a place where he leaves me again. He just decides that he doesn't want to deal with my moodiness, that putting himself out there wasn't worth the risk, and he just leaves. It makes my stomach feel sick.

The problem is in my anger, frustration, and shock. I never thought to find out where he was staying, to get his phone number, or anything. I could just kick my stubborn self. The only difference this time versus last time is that I finally have his name. That is, if he's being honest with me. That's why they were never able to locate him after the explosion in Afghanistan. No wonder I always hit a dead end. I was looking for an alias.

Saying a quick prayer, I hope that he's still around when this is all over so we can at least gain some closure. Right now, I have a funeral to get ready for, and the emotions I've been holding back while acting strong for everyone and their brother come gushing out of me. I gather my robe and head to the shower, which will hopefully muffle my cries from Memaw.

"THANK YOU ALL for coming today," I whisper into the microphone. My chin is already quivering and I know that speaking is going to be so hard for me. Still, I have to do it.

"Every funeral I have ever attended, I attended with my Papa. He was always there to hold my hand, to allow a shoulder for me to cry on." I pause and let a lone tear escape my eyes. "He was my strength when I had nothing left in me, when I was an empty vessel floating adrift at sea trying to find my way through stormy waters.

"Once I asked him what I'd do when it was his time. I told him there was no way I'd be able to get through it. He squeezed my hand, and he told me he didn't know either. Looking back, how morbid was it of me to ask him what I'd do when he died? I think it was actually at his brother's funeral. All I could think about was the fact that it hurt so badly to lose people that I wasn't even that close to. I'd already lost my parents. I just couldn't fathom losing him. He was my rock, my everything. He was the one solid thing I could always count on without fail." The lump in my throat is growing as I choke back the sobs. I can do this, though. I can do this. He deserves this eulogy. I need to say these things and have them count.

"But after he said he didn't know, he glanced at me with his big brown eyes...my dad got his eyes, which meant I also inherited them. It was like looking in the mirror at my own. He whispered to me, 'When the time comes, you'll get through it.'

"I shook my head. There was no way. And like so many times in my life before, it was something that I couldn't comprehend. 'No, I don't think so, Papa,' I replied." I pause again. This time focusing on the back door, pretending I can see him grinning back at me. It's strange, but I feel his presence.

"He smiled. 'God won't give you more than you can handle. You know that because there have been times when you didn't think you'd make it, but you did.'

"He was a devout Episcopalian. His faith never wavered even in the most difficult times of losing a child. At least not that I could tell.

"So see, I couldn't argue with that statement, and he knew it." I laugh. "He always loved having the final word. I gave him a weak smile, a strong hug, and told him, 'I love you, Papa.'

"'Papa loves you,' he mumbled into my hair.

"Today I stand before you, and as badly as my heart hurts, he was right. I will be okay. We all will be. Not because we didn't love him and we won't miss him every second of every day, but because he instilled in us the strength that made him so special. He is no longer suffering. He's at peace, in a better place. Today, I celebrate his life. All that he was, and I start my countdown until I am able to sit on his lap once more."

I gather my tear-stained notes, and walk back to my pew. Memaw is sobbing, but she has a small smile. "Alex, that was beautiful," she breathes into my ear.

I nod and take the tissue she has offered me. I dab my eyes and cover my mouth to absorb the wails that are escaping my body.

The rest of the service is a blur to me. _Go Rest High on That Mountain_ by Vince Gill is played, which only makes me more of a mess. He loved that song so much. It's followed by _How Great Thou Art_. I glance around as I sit and try to ignore the lyrics. He would have been so flattered to see how many people are here. There is no seating available in St. Paul's Episcopal Church today. There's really not even standing room. It makes me smile slightly, but then I remember how much I miss him, that he'll never walk down the aisle again. He'll never sing in the choir again. I look to the casket and can't believe that My Papa is in that wooden box. I want him back for just one more day. I want to tell him goodbye, but then again, I don't say goodbye. Goodbyes signify something more permanent, and I know that this time apart for us is only temporary. There is a small amount of comfort in that.

Part of me wishes I could use my ability to compartmentalize right now, but I can't completely disassociate. I don't want to. I need to grieve his death. So I clench my eyes closed, holding my chest to feel the beat of my heart, hoping that the pressure of my hands will alleviate the weight of the bricks that I've become all too familiar with.

Soon the service is over. I watch the ushers walk to wheel his flag draped coffin out of the church and onto the Graniteville Cemetery. Visitation is hard. Funerals are even harder, but nothing compares to the graveside service. Memaw grasps my shoulders and helps walk me out of the building and into the family car. _I can do this. I can do this._

The bad thing about being in the family car is that we're directly behind the hearse. So for the entire ride to the cemetery, I'm watching a car carrying the body of my Papa. It's unreal. Mr. Knapp hands me another tissue. I got into the front so that Memaw's sister could sit with her. With my knee injury, it is also hard for me to even imagine climbing into the back. "Thank you," I sniff.

He glances towards me and gives me a sympathetic smile. "You're welcome," is all he says.

Soon we're at the burial plot. Mr. Knapp parks the car and comes to the side to help me out of the vehicle. "Watch your step right there, Alex."

I nod. "Thanks."

Then he ushers me and my family to the first row of seats. Just as I thought I had calmed down, looking at the hole in the ground, the grave, that has been dug for My Papa causes the tears to freely flow from my eyes. Everything is a blur.

The service starts. Thank goodness it's quick. The typical 'dust to dust, ashes to ashes' spiel. I see a car in the distance with its lights on, but the person is still inside. It's too far away for me to see who is in it, but it seems odd...out of place. Soon, I am distracted from it when I hear commands and guns being cocked.

With each round shot, my body jumps. The memories of the war flood my mind. Images of mangled bodies flash before my eyes. Grown, strong men covered in soot, dirt, and grime, carrying their beloved buddies. Guys that they would give their own life for.

Then I think of something I hadn't really ever thought about before. My Papa was once one of those men once. We never talked about his time in the war. I'm sure it was partially in an effort for him to shelter me as much as he could, but he knew. He had to have known what I was about to witness. Now for the first time, I really understand why he wanted to spare me that.

The thoughts just make my chest constrict tighter. Even though I've tried to compartmentalize what I'm experiencing right now, my cries grow into wails. I bury my face into the moist wad of tissues I've accumulated today.

Moments later, a fellow soldier brings a folded flag to my grandmother. She is holding it together surprisingly well. "On behalf of the President of the United States and the people of a grateful nation, may I present this flag as a token of appreciation for the honorable and faithful service your loved one rendered this nation."

The rest of the service is a blur. I'm far too familiar with the routine of a funeral. I sit in the folding chairs as people come by and tell me how sorry they are with the mournful look of pity and regret on their face, which is funny because I have never wanted pity. I've never wanted to be looked at differently.

The movement of the car in the distance catches my attention for a moment. There are multiple exits to this cemetery, and I watch as the car leaves the one furthest from us. It renders me speechless. I don't know what it is about that car, but seeing it leave stirs something deep within my soul. For some strange reason it has been a comfort to me through this part of the ceremony. Maybe the feeling is loss. I'm losing something that soothed my inner being, even if only slightly, and like everything else, I'm losing it. I shake my head realizing I have no relationship with that car or the person in it.

GLANCING AROUND, I realize everyone has left. Mr. Knapp is waiting for us beside the family car. Placing my hand on the small of Memaw's back, I open my mouth to speak. My voice is raw and hoarse from the crying. "We need to go. I'm sure they're waiting on us back at the church." She brings her tissue to her face, blotting each eye and then her nose. She places her hand on the casket, and tears pour down her face. I can't bring myself to say anything, to break this moment. So I just wait patiently, hoping a reminder won't be necessary.

"I love you, Lee," she whispers. Trying to be strong, the tears that are on the verge of escape from my eyes are quickly swiped away. She turns just as my arm is back by my side. "Okay." She looks me in the eyes for a brief moment before she extends her hand to me. Placing mine in hers, we start our walk to the family car knowing the next time we come here, there won't be a hole. It will just be ground once again. He'll really be gone.

When we reach the car, Mr. Knapp opens the door and we climb into the car. He asks, "We're headed to the church, right?"

"Uh huh." Is all I'm able to mutter.

The sound of the car is magnified by the silence and somber atmosphere inside the car. Every bump that makes the car bounce, every turn causes my body to move with the car. It's almost as if I'm not even here. It's like my soul, my being is drifting afloat somewhere lifelessly.

It only takes a few minutes for us to get back to the church. Mr. Knapp doesn't cut the ignition off, he just puts the car in park. Then he gets out and opens our doors like the gentleman that he is. "I'll be back in a couple of hours to pick you up."

Smiling to the best of my ability, I thank him. "Are you sure you don't want to come inside and have a bite to eat with us?" My smile becomes more genuine. "I'm sure those Episcopal Church Women have prepared a feast in the Parish Hall."

He chuckles. "That is very tempting, and so nice of you to offer, Alex. You know, it's not that I don't want to, but I'm working."

"I know we've paid you, but he was your friend."

Mr. Knapp glances down and his feet shuffle a little. "He was," he says as he glances back up to me. "He's going to certainly be missed. The world lost a little brightness because his smile will never shine again." I swallow back the tears that are threatening again. The lump in my throat growing by the second. Thankfully he must notice because he pulls me into an embrace, and suddenly my face is hidden. "Thank you for the offer. Y'all enjoy your meal. I'll be back later, okay?"

As I push myself away from him, I brush his jacket. "Okay," I sniffle.

In the time I had been hugging him, I guess Memaw had joined me by my side. When our eyes meet, she turns her head slightly to the direction of the ramp leading to the Parish Hall. My lips curve up when it occurs to me that we're both trying to be strong for each other.

We take our time walking to the door. Before we're even there, the scent fills my nostrils. These ladies didn't go to a fine culinary school. No, they were taught by their mothers, who were taught by their mothers on how to make the best food to feed a soul. They call it 'soul food' for a reason. "Mmm. You smell that?"

"I wish I had an appetite." She frowns.

I shrug. "I wish I didn't." It's funny how when I was younger and lost my parents, I couldn't think about eating. I was just too sick with worry and grief, yet I can this time. I feel guilty for that. It's not like I didn't love him as much. I loved him with all of my heart. I loved him hard.

She looks puzzled. "Why would you say something like that?"

"I couldn't think about eating with Mom and Dad. It makes me feel bad that I can with him."

She stops and takes my arm in hers, turning me to face her. "Alex. Don't do that. It's different, and it's okay. He knew how much you loved him."

The burning in my eyes becomes too much so I close them. "I loved him so much. All of them."

"And they knew it," she assures me, rubbing my arms in a soothing motion. "Let's go inside. The only medicine for times like these is family and friends...fellowship."

Nodding, I start to walk again. Then he creeps into my mind. The only person I wanted to fellowship with when they died was him. Pushing him away seemed so easy. The same way it was easy to push away people after Mom and Dad's accident. Except, I never really regretted that. Is that what this is? Regret? No. As my hands push the door open to the Parish Hall, I push him out of my brain.

Ms. Rudy greets us at the door. "Elizabeth, Alex. Help yourself." She motions to the long tables that have been pushed together and covered with white linen table cloths. Seriously, like probably five of those eight foot tables. Completely covered with every type of food you can imagine.

It makes me smile because this brings back so many good memories. They host Sunday covered dish dinners for holidays, when the bishop comes, and special occasions...and times like this. Most everything is homemade. Some people bring chicken from Wifesaver, a local chicken place. They definitely have the best chicken tenders I've ever had in my life.

Making my way down the table, I fill my plate with all the foods I've been longing for. There were times in Afghanistan where I thought I'd never be able to do this again. The thought never crossed my mind that the next time I'd be doing this for Papa.

As much as my heart hurts, I manage to focus on the task at hand - fixing my plate, eating, and fellowship. When I glance back to Memaw, it only takes a second to notice her plate is half empty. _She's gotta eat more than that_. Something about telling my grandmother what to do doesn't sit well with me, so I bite my tongue and keep my thoughts to myself.

We make our way sit at the table we always use for these types of functions. After putting my plate down, I make my way to the drink serving bar, picking up two Solo cups of iced sweet tea. Usually we'd have Memaw's sweet tea here, but when we're on the receiving end of this...benefit? Benefit doesn't seem like the right word. I don't want to benefit if it's like this. Recipient. Yes, when we're the recipient of the wonderful cooking after such a devastating loss, bringing our own tea isn't really an option.

My plate is overflowing, and once again it makes me feel angry and guilty. Only for a second because I reassure myself that the reason why I am probably scarfing food down like there is about to be a ration of the overabundant spread is that I've not had such good cooking in so long. There are a few things I miss, though. Miss Shirley passed away a few years ago. Others try to duplicate her recipe for her layered chocolate fudge cake, but I've yet to put a slice in my mouth that is even a fraction as good as hers.

When I place my drink back on the table, it's like Memaw's having the same thoughts as I am because she leans in and whispers in my ear, "None of this tea is fittin' to drink. They don't put enough sugar in it."

I laugh. "Your sweet tea is enough to put someone in a Diabetic coma." I shake my head as I take another bite of the brown rice that is nowhere close to as good as our family recipe. Oh and brown rice isn't like the brown rice bought in a bag and cooked. This is white rice with a stick of butter and all kinds of broths that make it brown after it's been cooked. Best. Rice. Ever. "Your tea isn't healthy. And combined with everything on this plate, it's like a coronary waiting to happen." My body freezes as I say it. _Not funny, Alex. Not funny._ _"_ Oh my gosh. I'm so sorry," I gush.

She laughs. "Well, I guess we're all gonna die of somethin'. One thing that can't be said is that your Papa didn't eat the very best food while he lived." She picks at her bread. She's barely touched the little bit of food on her plate. Funny how roles reverse as we age. "You know he'd been doing better with his diet the last several years. He cut out all of his salt. Watched his potassium. You would have been proud of him."

I swallow the lump in my throat. My appetite is suddenly gone. "I was always proud of him. Don't you know he could do no harm in my eyes? If there was ever a saint in my life, it was him?"

She glances over to me. "You know he felt the same about you. I'd try to punish you when you were little, and he always got onto me."

I roll my eyes and smile. "I can only really remember once when he was stern with me. It was about Drew." _Drew_. I pushed him away because it was easy. I don't have anything left in me to give to him right now. "Speaking of Drew," I say as I take a swig of my sweet tea. "Did he happen to say where he was staying while he was in town?"

She shakes her head. "Nope."

I toss my napkin in my plate. "You finished?" I ask as I point to hers, stand, and pick up my trash.

Nodding, she replies, "Not much of an appetite."

I kiss her head. "I know that feeling all too well."

#

THE DOORBELL RINGS, startling me. The front door has a distinct sound, much different from the back. It's been ringing a lot the past few days. People who don't know us well use the front door: the postman, the florists, UPS, etc. Friends and family always come to the back door.

It's late, though. So I furrow my brows as I walk to the door trying to figure out who it might be. I peek through the curtains, and I don't see anyone. There are no cars parked on the street. I never felt scared in this house when Papa was here. Even though there had been a break-in when I was really young, I had always felt like I was safe.

Now that he's gone, it feels empty and scary here. It's something I'm definitely going to have to adjust to in the future. Grabbing the key hidden under the candy jar, I use it to unlock the deadbolt. When I open the door, the only thing in front of me is a stack of envelopes sitting on the mat.

When I pick them up, I notice the name in the corner is Stone Wilder, so I immediately know they are from him. They are wrapped in twine. They have dates on them, but no postmarks.

Pushing the door closed, I lock it and replace the key under the candy jar. Then walking back to my room, I contemplate whether or not I want to open this proverbial can of worms tonight. My body is so tired, emotionally and physically. The only thing appealing to me is sleep because when I'm sleeping, the pain from all that I've lost doesn't cut through me like a knife.

Then I sit on my bed. Strumming my fingers across his writing sends a spark of electricity through me. Bringing them to my nose, I inhale a trace of what I've come to recognize as his cologne. It smells divine. _He sent me letters_. Granted fifteen years too late, but he sent me letters. He came back for me. I've been so mean. So cold.

Once more, I trace my fingers across the writing. _Stone Wilder_. Will I ever get used to seeing or hearing that name? I shake my head. He lied to me, though. I didn't even know his real name. Will I ever be able to trust him when I barely knew him?

Dropping them, I collapse backwards onto my bed hugging the body pillow, and close my eyes to recall all the memories. Remembering the times I begged God to bring him back. I swore that if he'd just send him to me again, I'd give him my heart forever. Who am I kidding? I gave him my heart in a month and never got it back. He took it when he left.

This is why when I tried relationships they never worked. It was because no one could or can ever live up to what he was to me, to how he was with me. Memaw and Papa used to tell me that there were so many fish in the sea, that we were young, and it was first love, first heartbreak. For so many fish in the sea, it's funny how he's the only one I've ever wanted. Perhaps it's the grass being greener on the other side? Or maybe it's that he's the one person that was meant for me, and because fate and luck hate me, I was only allowed to have him for a brief period of time?

Then I realize that maybe it was only a brief period of time to make me fully appreciate forever, for the rest of our lives. Face it, fifteen years apart is a long time. I've wondered about him, wanted him. I curse myself for sending him away. The prospect of losing him with no closure for a second, well, really a third if we count the time he saved me in Afghanistan, is more than I can fathom. It literally is an extreme that my mind refuses to accept.

Springing from my bed, I grab the letters knowing they have to be read. They were obviously important enough for him to send them. He came for me. I'm being absolutely ridiculous. Having him back is an answered prayer, even if it's not in my timing.

It startles me when I nearly run into Memaw, her hair in her little fabric hair net. "Oh, sorry," I laugh.

"You look happy," she smiles.

"I think I am." I hold the letters up. "I have to read these. Ask me in the morning if that happiness lasted for more than five minutes."

She looks at the envelopes. "Oh yeah, Stone Wilder. Who is he anyway?"

"Stone Wilder is..." Saying it out loud is so strange. "Stone is Drew. Drew is Stone," I mumble.

She squints her eyes, and I can see the wheels spinning in her mind. "How so?"

"I'm about to find out," I whisper as I brace her shoulders, and give her a kiss goodnight. "I love you."

"I love you, Alex. More than you know."

I can't help but grin. "That's hard to imagine."

"One day you'll understand. When you have children..." She glances to the picture of my dad on the wall. "And grandchildren. You'll understand the power of maternal love. It knows no bounds."

I nod. How did we suddenly take this discussion of Drew...Stone...er whatever his name is and turn it into a sappy sentimental reflection. "I hope to one day know that kind of love."

She hugs me. "You will. I'm glad you're home. It's good to see your beautiful smile again."

When she releases me, I can't help but smile a sad smile because this isn't how I wanted to be back. "Good to be home."

As she steps into her bedroom she glances back over her shoulder. "Alex?"

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Whatever the boy's name is..."

"Drew. Stone. I've not decided what to call him yet." That makes me laugh.

"He loves you...and he makes you smile." Before I can say anything else she continues, "You'd be smart to make sure you don't let him get away this time."

I nod. "I know he does. I know."

Then I watch her walk into her room and close the door. I finish making my way to the kitchen, toss the letters onto the bar, and put a pot of coffee on. One thing about living in the South is the radical change in weather. The days can be really warm, and the nights fairly nippy around this time of year. So I start the gas logs, thinking a fire might be nice. Growing up, my grandparents didn't have a lot of money, but they were one of the first people I ever knew with gas logs. Best. Invention. Ever. Who wants to cut wood, haul it inside, and play around with lighting it when they get inside? _Not me_.

Instead of sitting at the table, I just stand there looking at the pile of notes. It's clear that everything rides on what's inside of these letters. Or does it even matter? _Arg_. Why must everything be so complicated? Why couldn't he be a normal guy? And why does he have to have this extra baggage? I have enough for the both of us.

The gargling noise of the coffee pot stops, and I hear the steam signaling the brewing is complete, and I make my way to the counter. When I open the cabinet to get a mug, I notice all the special ones that people bought for Papa over the years. One says, "World's Best Grandpa." There's another with hearts, no doubt given to him from Memaw. The one that grabs my attention the most is the one a sunshine. It says, "Dad." My hearts starts to race, and if it was possible I'd think it would thump right out of my chest. I push those to the side, and take one of the standard tea cups that go with their set of Corningware and quickly push the door closed.

Papa and Daddy drank their coffee black. When I first started drinking coffee, I would put a bunch of junk in it, but it made me feel closer to home to drink it like them. Smiling, I reach for the pot and listen to the sound of the hot liquid filling the ceramic mug.

When I get back to the table and sit, I notice that I'm not sure of the order. So I decide to just open them start to finish, from top to bottom.

Ripping this open is like taking a scalpel and opening my chest. I'm raw, exposed, and completely vulnerable to him. My life may not ride on what's in these letters, but my heart surely does.

THERE ARE TWO pieces of paper. One has been ripped out of a notebook. The one on top is stationery, so I start with it.

_My Dearest Alex,_

_I knew it was you before you even turned around. I recognized your mannerisms. I'd memorized them so many years ago, and just like your beautiful face, they didn't change._

_I wish I could go back to that day and have been able to talk to you before the mortar exploded. For whatever reason, karma keeps getting in our way. It's for that reason that I had to send you these letters. I have come to the conclusion that fate has a way of beating karma. What were the chances we'd be deployed in the same place? It's a small world, and we both know that life is too short. I've spent as many years away from you as I'm going to. I will find you because I never left, Alex. You held my heart in your hands the moment you picked up that first stone._

_I don't know where you are, so I thought the best way to get these to you is to send them to your house. Please write or call me as soon as you get them. They explain everything. Even fifteen years later, I love you. There have been other women, but none that are you._

There are already tears freely flowing from my eyes. I already want to run to him, to tell him it's all okay, but I can't. Trust is so important to me, and he breached that. So whatever else he's sent needs to fix that for me, if it can even be fixed. Part of me feels like he's the other part of my soul, like he's a missing puzzle piece to me. The other part wonders why he's always felt like a dream...always too good to be true. The only way I knew he was real was when he left. The aching from that was very real.

I put that page behind the one ripped from the notebook. It's funny how even seeing his handwriting soothes me. His smooth, deep voice rings in my ear. It's as if I can hear him speaking these words. It doesn't help my tear problem.

_Andrew Foster. Graniteville, SC. Day 93._

_Today I was at the creek doing what I do every day, skipping stones, when she walked into my life. Well, more like stormed into my life. Alex Hart was able to capture my heart in an instant. I've had crushes on girls before, but nothing compares to what happened today. Maybe it's lust, but I think I already care too much for her to call it that. My feelings aren't sexually based. They are sympathy based._

_I promised to teach her to skip stones. Really it was an excuse to be with her, to help her. Maybe it was also that being with her was therapy for me, too. It's not natural or normal to move around the way we have. What seventeen year old boy has never had a girlfriend, or friends for that matter?_

_I've poured all of this anger and frustration that I have with my life into working out. If that didn't work, I just skipped stones. Just tried to find calmness where I could, in the few things I could. Yet when I'm with her, I feel none of that. I'm happy when I'm with her. I had forgotten what that felt like, but I prefer it. I love it. My heart does these flutters when she's near me._

_So tonight I pray that things work out to make this house a home. To make this town more than a number to me. I'm so tired of running. Most of all, I finally have something worth sticking around for, worth holding onto. The thought of losing it already tears me up._

I drop the paper and bury my head into my hands. What in the world happened to him? Guilt consumes me. He was always there for me. My own grief was so fresh, that I was completely self-absorbed, and I totally missed the fact that he was hurting, too.

My head is pounding from crying. My eyes are hurt and tired. I clench them closed while I massage my temples trying to ease the pain. Remembering that time together, I can picture him at the creek. Now I recognize the sadness in his eyes. If I could only go back to then, I would be there for him just like he was for me.

So I pick the next letter up and carefully open it, knowing that he's not just sent me a letter. Instead, he's opened a window into his soul, making trusting him a little easier.

IT'S ANOTHER SHEET that's been ripped from a spiral bound notebook.

_Matt Torres. Kutztown, PA. Day 1._

_I'm no longer Drew Foster. Today I'm Matt Torres. Where my mom comes up with these names I have no idea. I wish we didn't have to run, more now than ever before. Twenty-two cities later, and amazingly, the moves haven't had an effect on anyone other than me and Mom. This time was different._

_This is precisely why I had made it my mission to be a loner, to not make friends. Or girlfriends for that matter. This time was different. The moment I saw her, I knew I'd have trouble letting her go. I knew I couldn't tell her the truth without putting us in jeopardy, so I kept it from her with the hopes we were safe. And maybe because if I pretended it didn't exist, it'd go away. For the first time in my life, I felt normal._

_What rips my heart from my chest is knowing that she's suffering another loss right now. When she left this morning, I had no idea this would happen, or I would have told her everything. But just a note, just a hint, as to who I am would have put her in jeopardy. She's so innocent. I didn't want her to be burdened with the evil in this world. I would have held her tighter. I would have kissed her deeper. I would have given her everything I had. Even without making love to her, I had already given her the one thing I had guarded the most, my heart. It's like a puzzle with the most important piece in the middle missing, forever lost. It will never be complete or whole again, of that I am sure._

My tears have stained the page. I push it away. What he's been through is unbelievable. While he's answered so many of my questions, for each one that is resolved, another arises. But I'm not finished yet, so maybe when I'm done I won't have any left. Will I even be able to finish them? They are ripping my heart out of my chest. I've been so mean to him. I feel awful.

_STEPHAN LOOMIS. LAKE Isabella, CA. Day 43._

_I thought that each day things would get easier, but they haven't. I can't get her off my mind. I've tried. I don't ask for much, but my mom knows that the one thing I need is to be near water. She's always made sure that our next stop is near a creek, a lake, or a river. So when I go there and look for stones, I can see her face when I glance up. I can hear her call me Drew, and that name seems so long ago. I'm Stephan now._

_When I see a pasture or a field, I hear her laugh. Flowers of any kind make me want to pick them and put them in her hair. I want to be able to watch her inhale their scent, or blow the wispy spores from a dandelion. Poison Ivy and poison oak are even reminders of her innocence._

_Up until now, I've never really resented my father. I was always regretful. A small ounce of me felt sorry for the monster. At the end of the day, he's still my father. He never hurt me. It was always my mother. And even though I hate him for what he did to her, I've mourned the loss of a father._

_I've watched other kids have that relationship. I've seen the dads helping to coach Little League. That's just one more experience I missed out on. Since I didn't have the documents necessary to register, I never played on a team, just with other kids after school._

_So mourning the loss of the things the other kids had that I didn't, and then feeling robbed of any sort of normalcy are the only things I've felt. Until now. Well, I still feel robbed, but now my thoughts turn into a bitter anger of which I'm not familiar._

_Hatred. I hate him. I hate what he did to Mom. I hate that because of him, I have this life of running. Hatred for him making me leave the one girl who gave me something to finally live for._

_I know now that he may very well have not killed either of us, but he ended our lives, our ability to live freely and happily. He took that from us. It's something I'll never be able to regain. The loss is tremendous, and I am not sure what to do with the aggression and rage this revelation provokes._

It's easy for me to hate him, too. Oh how I hate him, and I don't think I've ever loathed someone so much in my life. My heart breaks for him. It's tempting to stop reading and go find him, except there's no address and there's no way for me to find him. So I continue reading. My eyes are tired, from physical exhaustion, but I can't stop. It's like reading a page turning novel. The suspense grips me with need to know what happens next.

_STEPHAN LOOMIS. LAKE Isabella, CA. Day 330._

_This is the longest we've ever been able to stay anywhere. I can't help but wish that we could have stayed this long in Graniteville. My mind wonders often about what my life would be like if I had been able to stay there._

_The fact he hasn't found us yet, has Mom checking the obituaries in his hometown all the time. The town where I was born. The town with the family we left behind for this. Sometimes it makes me sad that we actually pray for the day we see his name on the list. The reality is, that to me, he died a long time ago along with all of the other people that we loved when we left. Except he's still haunting us...chasing us. So today when she ran into my room because she saw his name on the list of deaths, it causes a myriad of emotions._

_Our running has finally come to an end. The fear is gone. The false identities are a thing of the past. Instead of feeling like I have a new beginning, it is now that I can see in this process I've lost myself. I don't know who I am anymore. I've become so many different people, so many different personas, I've forgotten who Stone Wilder really is and how to just be him._

_So I went to the mall because I just needed some time to think. It's more like a hall than it is a mall. Most of the stores have closed. It's one story. There's not even really a food court._

_What caught my attention more than anything ever has was one of those recruiting places for the military. I've seen them thousands of times, but today it stopped me in my tracks._

_I desperately want to escape this past. I want to reconnect with who I am. I've spent the better part of my life helping my mother. Being strong for her. I don't know what to do now that the roles of protector and companion are over._

_The recruiter quickly saw me, and invited me in. Before I knew it I was signing those enlistment papers. It sounded like just what I needed. The Army would give me a way to channel the anger and frustration that had built up inside of me. I wanted to forget the opportunities my father stole from me with every blow, every hit, every hurtful thing he did to us._

_I thought of Alex and Mom for a minute. I knew Mom would be upset initially, but she needs time to find who she is again, too. Ultimately, I felt like it would be good for both of us. Then I thought about Alex. Briefly, I considered going back to find her. It's only been a year. There was a part of me that wants to go back and tell her everything, but I feel like such a coward for leaving the way I did._

_Then, sitting in that chair right before I signed the papers, I thought about the fact that she had probably moved on with someone else. Or the fact that she still is a minor. We really teetered on a dangerous line. Even if I wanted to go back for her, I'd be opening myself up to trouble because I don't know that I have enough self-control to keep my hands off of her. That is if she'd still let me touch her. I couldn't even let my mind think about her for long without feeling like I wanted to punch someone or something for robbing me of loving her._

_So I signed. I made a decision today that I would make my career the military. I need more time to get over Alex. I need friends. I've never even tried to have another girlfriend. So I'm going to live my life, and try to put all of this in the past. Because right now, my heart doesn't know what else to do._

There's only one letter left. I put them down before I read it because I need to catch my breath. It never ever occurred to me that the reason he wouldn't have come back was because of my age, or that he would have joined the military.

He must have felt so alone. I shake my head, feeling so horrible for how I've treated him. I've let my mind wander to all kinds of places about what I thought he was. And I couldn't have been any more wrong.

Turning the last page, I hope that this letter isn't a final goodbye. Praying that he hasn't given up on me. If I'd only known this stuff...I don't know what I would have said or done. I just know that this isn't closure. This is just more 'what-ifs.'

#

_ALEX,_

_I hope these letters are enough to convince you to talk to me. There's more for me to tell you. I know you probably think you didn't know me, but that couldn't be farther from the truth._

_You're the only one in this world who has ever seen into my soul. When I was with you for that month, your presence was better than any pill a doctor could prescribe. Your mere presence was such a rush that you made me feel alive in a way that has been unmatched the last fifteen years._

_I'm waiting for you at the creek. I don't have a plan B if you decide you're still not doing this. I guess at some point, I'll just give up and leave. Please don't make me have a plan B, Alex. Please give me a chance._

_More than anything, I wanted to tell you that I was with Papa before he passed. I want to tell you what he said before the heart attack. I want to share with you what his last moments were. That was a gift he gave to me. Don't rob me of that._

_By the way, I kept my distance at the services, but I wanted to pay my respects. Your eulogy was beautiful. You are so strong, so special. Please come to the creek._

_PAPA_. DROPPING EVERYTHING, I go through the formal living room, grab the key from under that silly candy jar to unlock the door, and hold the bells so they don't wake Memaw. It's been a long time since I pulled an all-nighter like this. It feels good to be awake as the sun is rising, and most of the world is still asleep. My steps are hurried as I try to rush to the creek, hoping he's still there. Ordinarily it would only take me less than a minute, but because of the knee injury, it takes longer.

"Drew!" I yell frantically before recalling it's not even his name. "Stone, Drew..." In moments I see him running towards me, and the next few steps seem to take an eternity for him to reach me.

"Alex, I'm here," he whispers as he wraps his arms around my waist, hauling me gracefully into his arms.

I just want to kiss him as if my life depends on it, but I'm still just not sure I'm ready for that. This is comfortable, though, being in his arms. When he steadies me on my feed, I pull myself away, and my eyes drink his body in like it's the first time we've ever seen each other. In a way, it is. "What did he say to you? What was the gift?"

"You read them?"

I nod, then jump as a loud clash of thunder rings through the summer sky. Seconds later. Rain erupts from the clouds, bouncing off of our hot bodies. He takes my lips into his, and it's as if nothing has changed, when in actuality, everything has changed. He's the comfort my soul needs. I didn't expect to feel that. Then again, he's always been the food my soul craved. Kissing him is as intoxicating as it's always been. I pull back. "What did he say?" I ask, breaking our kiss and pushing back against his hard chest.

"He made me make a promise."

"What kind of promise?"

He smiles, then shrugs. "Well, actually it was more of a commitment."

I pound his chest, then stop myself immediately realizing that I don't want to hurt him, physically or emotionally. "Stop with the games. Promise. Commitment. Whatever it was, just out with it already," I urge.

"Okay. He made me commit... _promise_...to never leave you again."

My eyes widen as they fill with tears. "You can't keep that commitment...promise, though," I say.

He puts me down, making sure my feet are steady. "I may have to go away, but if you'll have me, I'll never ever leave you like I did before." He kisses me. "Ever again."

This is surreal. All of the things I wanted are right in front of me, but it all seems too good to be true. It always has been. "I need some time to think about it. There's still so much I don't know. So many questions I still have."

"I'll answer them all, Alex. Just give me a chance." I can see the begging in his eyes. "Just a chance," he whispers.

Glancing up to the sky, I reach my hand out and let the rain puddle in my palm. "We need to get inside."

He shakes his head. "I'm not going anywhere until you answer me. Just a chance?" He pleads.

A clash of thunder booms. I roll my eyes. "Fine. A chance."

After starting to run, he stops when he glances to his side. He looks over his shoulder back to me. It makes my heart skip a beat, like it's been out of sync, and now it's back on the right pace. "You comin'?" He asks.

Needing to catch my breath, not from running, but from the way he looks with his hair dripping wet, his eyes hopeful and excited, and his sculpted body showing through his wet white T-shirt, I just stand there for a moment.

"Alex?"

"My knee. I can't run," I answer. It's true, my knee injury is hindering my progress, but even if I didn't have an injury, the sight of him would still turn them to jelly.

The expression on his face changes, and I'm not sure how to read it. I've never seen this one before. It's almost like anger, protective instinct, and pity all rolled into one. He dashes back to my side, sweeping me up and into his arms. I expect him to resume running to the house, but he stands there for a second with me in his arms, then kisses me quickly once more. "This is a familiar feeling. I like it."

"Tell me what's familiar? Say it, please."

He smiles. "You being in my arms. Kissing you. Being together."

I close my eyes because in this moment he's exactly right. Storm or not, I'm completely at ease in his embrace. I nod contently. "I like it, too. Now get us inside before karma intervenes again and kills one or both of us in this weather!"

He chuckles. "You read about my opinions of fate and karma, huh?"

"Yeah. I read them all." His eyes light up, and he grins as he effortlessly runs to the house. When we're close I warn him, "Go to the carport."

"Okay," he agrees.

"Memaw is going to get onto us for being soaking wet." I mumble under my breath, "Never too old for a good scolding." My hearts starts to race at this Deja vu moment. Like so many other times I've been with him, I feel like it's all a dream...or a movie. As excited as I am to be able to have this second chance, I can't help but wonder when the other shoe is going to drop - wonder when my world will once again come crashing down on me.

"You sound like you have experience with running around in the rain. And why would you get a scolding?"

I stare into that playful look I had become so familiar with all those years ago. Yet, I'm completely serious. He has no idea. "Put me down, please."

"What happened in the rain?" He asks.

I walk to the short brick ledge that encloses the carport and sit. "That day...the day you left me." I swallow, realizing this is the first time in a long time I've discussed it.

He sits next to me, so close that I can feel him. "What about that day?"

"When we returned, I wanted to see you. We drove by your house, it was empty; I just lost it. I looked everywhere for a note, for something to give me hope that I'd not lost you forever." I roll my eyes trying to keep back the tears because thinking about that day still brings about so many emotions. "Finding nothing, I ran to the creek in one last ditch effort to find you." I look away. "I knew you wouldn't be there. Anyway, it started to storm like this. I came back soaking wet and was in trouble with Memaw and Papa."

He hangs his head low, and I hear a sigh. "I'm sorry, Alex."

"I know. You just hurt me so badly. I mean, my heart was already so raw and broken." I shake my head. "I wasn't sure I could survive one more loss."

Glancing up through his long, dark lashes, I am mesmerized by him. Just like I used to be. "The letters say it all, though. I mean, you weren't the only one with a broken heart."

"I know that now." The rumble of thunder gets louder and my body jumps in reflexively. "We should go inside," I suggest.

When he stands, he offers me his hand. I place mine in his, and we walk to the door. When I turn the knob, it's still locked which means Memaw probably isn't up yet. I'm going to have to go in the front door and get us a few towels. At least I'm not fifteen anymore. It's not like I can be put on restriction, which is a very good thing. Otherwise, she would have my tail for this. "I've got to go around to the front door to get us something to dry ourselves off with. This one is locked. I think Memaw is still asleep."

"You can't run, though." He points to my knee. "I'll go."

I can't help but laugh. "You don't even know where the towels are."

"That's easy enough to fix. Where are the towels, Alex?" The way he says it, so flirty and yet matter-of-factly make it hard for me not to smile.

What is it about him that makes me so happy? Still, it's frustrating to me that he can just waltz back into my life and make me feel this way. If I'm frustrated, why am I also so relieved? I shake my head as I try to snap out of my thoughts. "They're in the closet on the left hand side, right before you get to the room you took me to that day...do you remember?"

His eyes widen. "Alex, I remember everything like it was yesterday. It's been like a dream and a nightmare rolled into one that plays on repeat in my mind." A lump forms in my throat because I don't know that I could describe it any better or differently if I tried. A lone tear falls and he catches it. "I never got to teach you what to do with these," he whispers.

I swallow the lump in my throat, shaking my head. "Don't."

He leans forward and plants a kiss on my forehead. "Don't what?"

"Don't make promises you can't keep again." I don't even know what to call him, and it's irritating me. "What do you want me to call you? Drew, Matt, Stephan, Stone?" I hiss.

"Stone. My name is and always has been Stone." He moves my wet hair back away from my face. "I've only heard you say it in my dreams. Well, except yesterday when you were upset. That's not how I envisioned you saying it," he chuckles. "Anyway, please call me Stone."

I need to break up this moment. It's killing me, teasing and taunting me with all of the things I want and need. "Well then Stone, you better go get us some towels."

His arms drop, and I watch him walk away. I hate the feeling of him skipping out on me. Skipping Stone taught me how to skip stones, what it was like to love, and then what it felt like to have it all taken away. The thought of him leaving me is unsettling and unwelcome. And I wonder if I'll ever get used to calling him Stone? Shaking my head, I think deep down he will always be _my Drew._

Then it occurs to me that he's been given a fresh start. He no longer has to run, or hide. In that, we have also been given the same fresh start. My thoughts are interrupted as he opens the back door and comes out with fresh, clean towels in hand.

He's already dried off, and his short slightly spiked hair awakens parts of my body I had forgotten even exist...like my heart...my soul. He puts one down on the brick ledge, opening the other. He wraps it around me and rubs his hands up and down, drying me off. "There, that better?" he asks.

"Uh huh." His lips are pink, his eyes beautiful, his touch is magic. I glance up. "I'm sorry about earlier."

"Which part?" He stops.

"The part about breaking promises," I whisper.

He nods. "Ah -"

I put my finger up to his mouth to quiet him. "I realized while you were gone that you technically haven't broken any promises."

Bringing his hand to mine, he holds the finger that I used to quiet him, then kisses it. He shakes his head. "No, I haven't."

"You may have left me, even though you told me you wouldn't -"

Taking the towel he's had around me, he wraps it around his neck. He shifts his weight, his body square with mine and so close I can feel his heat. "But I came back. I'll always come back, Alex."

Another tear escapes. "It's been fifteen years, Stone. People change, and we're both kidding ourselves if we think that you can promise you won't leave." I look away. "You've made a career out of the Army."

He hesitantly brushes my cheek before bringing his lips to my forehead. He pulls me into an embrace just like he did so many years ago. It's all familiar, but I wonder if it's enough. "Shh," he soothes me.

I nibble on my lower lip as I contemplate the millions of emotions that are flooding my body. "What if we have nothing in common? What if we're just clinging to this young love? You know..." I shrug and push myself out of his arms. "What if we just made each other more in our minds? The whole grass is greener thing."

Stone shakes his head. "Nah. I don't think so."

I raise my chin as I cross my arms across my chest. "Prove it."

He chuckles. "Okay." A smile spreads across my face. He's older, and it's still weird for me to call him or think of him as this other name, but his mannerisms are all the same. Fifteen years ago, I knew this look on his face. It was one of accepting a challenge, like he knew deep down that he'd win. When he speaks again, his voice is low and quiet. It's as if nothing else in this universe exists except for us. He mirrors my stance, legs slightly spread and arms crossed, then he says, "Come to dinner with me tonight."

I swallow as I glance away. "Where?"

"I'll work out the where. You just promise me you'll come."

The words send a ping straight to my heart. Even though we're talking about a promise to go to dinner, it's like the time at the creek when he said he wanted to teach me everything he knew. There are so many other implications with that very simple statement. At least, I think there are. That's provided he's the same guy I met at the creek, the one I _thought_ I knew so well. Oh how I hope he's the same guy that I've longed for all of these years. For that reason alone, I have to find out. If he's not, then maybe it will give me the closure I've so desperately searched for all this time. "Time?"

He squints his eyes, scrunching his eyebrows. I thought he was cute back then, but we're older now. Every gesture, every word exudes sexiness. "Six," he says, finally.

"How should I dress?"

Stone laughs. "I don't suppose you still have those white shorts with that white shirt, do ya?"

A blush creeps onto my cheeks. "No." I shake my head. "But I might have something similar. So, casual?"

"Casual is perfect. Comfortable casual." There's silence, and usually I hate silence. Except this time, the silence is fine. It's as if just existing in his mere proximity is enough. It's comforting. Then I'm reminded, he always been my comfort. He pulls me back into his arms, kissing my head. "I don't want to leave you even for a second. I just got you back."

I sigh. "I know." I think this emotion is relief. I don't want him to go, either. It's just like the last time we were together, when I was mourning the death of my parents. For the few minutes I've been with him since Papa's passing, I've been able to breathe.

"I have to, though. If we're going to do dinner, I have to leave." He moves my arm until our hands are entwined. "This is right, Alex...can't you feel it?"

I nod. "I just need to be sure."

"Let me show you, then." He takes my chin between his thumb and his finger and pulls my lips into a slow, sensual kiss. Our tongues dance in perfect rhythm. My head becomes fuzzy, and I remember what this feeling felt like, how much I've missed it. I've tried to get it back, but it's been impossible.

When he pulls back, I'm left reeling for my desire to have more of that. I ask, "You promise?"

He furrows his brows. "Ahem. Sorry, promise what?"

I giggle. "Yeah, that kiss had that kind of effect on me, too. Promise to show me that this is right?"

Stone brings his finger to his lips, as if he's thinking. "I think I just did, but if you need more, then sure." Glancing away to hide my grin, he pops his head into my view. "If you need more proof, I'll have plenty more where that came from tonight, I promise."

"The chemistry has always been there." My smile turns into a frown. "What if that's all it is, though?"

"Oh _that_ kind of proof. There's more, Alex. Let me show you that, too."

Even though I have no reason to believe him, I do. I always have, well, until he left. I nod. "I will. In fact, I think everything in my future depends on it." I wink at him remembering how much I had riding on him teaching me how to skip stones. When I thought I was a lost cause, he showed me otherwise. Maybe that's why I believe him. "So how's that for bottom of the ninth, bases loaded, full count pressure?"

Stone throws his head back and does this thing with his eyes that nearly makes me melt. "I've always done well under pressure. It's the story of my life. I thrive on it." He looks down and starts to speak again, "So I hope you're prepared." When he brings his head back up, I'm locked with the most beautiful brown eyes I've ever seen. He continues, "I'm not letting you get away from me this time, Alex."

It's like my mind and heart aren't on the same page, or maybe they are. My head starts to move up and down. I know he means it.

#

TODAY I'VE BEEN through a myriad of emotions. Some are so familiar. I didn't know what they were fifteen years ago, or maybe I did, but I didn't realize they were normal stages of grief. I've felt guilty for having any kind of emotion other than remorse for Papa. I've gone through five million 'what if' questions.

As I wait for Drew, I mean Stone, to pick me up, I glance in the mirror. I decided to go shopping earlier to try to recreate the outfit that was his favorite. It's a more adult version. White hipster shorts, and a sequined white tank top. It sounds fancy, but it's comfortable, yet dressy.

The back doorbell rings, sending zaps through my entire body, zaps of anticipation and _maybe_ hope. Memaw smiles, "I'm glad you came to your senses and you're going to go see that boy."

I laugh. "He's not really a boy anymore, but yeah. I'm gonna try."

She pauses for a moment, her eyes filling with tears. "He reminds me of your Papa when he was younger."

I purse my lips together and squeeze my eyes closed hoping to control my emotions. The last thing I need is to start the night in tears. He needs to see that I've learned how to deal with the tears, even without him. So I try to think happy thoughts. Memaw sees Papa in Stone. "He does?" I ask.

She nods. "From what I can see, he's the kind of guy who will spend his entire life trying to make the rest of yours a fairy tale. They are rare, Alex. So I hope, for your sake, you can find it in your heart to forgive him for the hurt he once caused you."

The doorbell pings again. I point. "I love you. I better go, though."

She opens her arms to give me a hug, we embrace, and then I walk the short distance to where he's waiting, rather impatiently. Yes, it's hope that I'm feeling along with the nervousness in the pit of my stomach. Hope that I'm walking to my future.

When I open it, Stone's face is hidden behind a huge bouquet of wild flowers. He extends them to me and confesses, "I thought you had backed out for a minute."

I laugh, "Sorry to keep you waiting. Ya know, you're not the only one who doesn't break promises." I wink.

He beams. It's infectious. "You have no idea how loud and welcome that music is to my ears."

I take the flowers from his hands. "I'll just go give these to Memaw -"

Before I can finish the sentence I realize she's behind me because she interrupts, "I'll take those and put them in water. You two better be on your way."

I roll my eyes playfully. _Of course she's been listening._ "Thank you," I say as I offer them to her, then turn back to walk through the door, pulling it closed on my way out. Stone immediately threads his fingers through mine, leading me across the concrete steps leading to the road. I look around. There's no car. "How'd you get here and where are we going?" I ask, confused.

"I parked at the creek."

Glancing over to his face, I think for a moment he may very well be just as nervous as me. In a way this is like it's always been, but there's something else in the air that I can't place my finger on that makes it slightly awkward. That scares me. It makes me wonder if we've built those three weeks up in our minds to something that wasn't realistic.

My mind continues to ponder that thought as we walk in silence to the creek. It would have been easy to put him on a pedestal since we never fought and he never hurt me. Did I do that? I shake my head trying to get the negative thoughts out of my mind. Soon we're at the creek, and my eyes are drawn to the car parked on the side of the road. It's familiar. "Is that your car?" I ask.

"It's a rental. Why?"

I swallow hard. "You said in your letter that my eulogy was beautiful." Tears threaten the backs of my eyes.

"It was," he squeezes my hand.

"That was you at the graveside?" The words fumble from my mouth as my brain registers the connection. "You were there..."

We both stop in our tracks, and he turns me to face him. "I wanted to be there, but I wanted to respect your wishes."

I glance away. "I'm not mad." I'm anything and everything but mad. My heart is struck with the fact that even in a vehicle so far away that I couldn't make out who he was, my soul was as attracted to him as it had always been. He was the comfort I craved even when I didn't recognize him. "Thank you for coming. I'm sorry I was so ugly to you."

He starts to walk again. "It's okay. You've been through a lot. I can understand why you'd react the way you did."

"That's the understatement of the century. Sometimes I think God thinks I'm superwoman, or something. Yet, I'm still here. So I guess there's some truth in that whole statement about not giving you more than you can handle."

"I always admired your strength," he whispers.

Then it occurs to me that he was even stronger than I thought. "I was so self-absorbed. Ever since reading your letters all I think about is how much you were hurting, too."

Stone points to the poisonous plants, "Watch out for those." I smile as I step around them. "I wanted to tell you, Alex, but I couldn't. I don't want you to feel like it's your fault that you didn't know about me."

In a few seconds we are in our field. There is a picnic blanket with a basket resting on it. There are Tiki torches securing the four corners of the blanket. I draw in a breath. "This is beautiful, it's perfect." I watch as he pulls an iPod from his pocket. He presses a button, and a familiar song starts to play. "Is that _The Promise_ by Tracy Chapman?"

He kisses my cheek, then pulls me into our hidden oasis. "It is, and I'm glad you like this." When he made that CD for me that summer, _The Promise_ was the first song on it. It became my favorite. It makes me recall our time together. I've always thought of him. He reaches down and picks up the bottle of white wine, pulling the cork. "I hope you like Moscato?"

Nodding, I reply, "It's my favorite, but I'm not a big drinker. I've actually never been drunk or had a buzz."

The smile on his face broadens. "I'm not surprised."

"Oh."

He picks up two wine glasses, pours, and then hands me one. "So for dinner, we have..." He pulls out several containers. "Salmon patties with mustard."

My eyes widen. "Wait...how'd you know?"

"How do you think I ended up with Memaw's cake recipe? She and I are..." he crosses his fingers. "We're tight."

Laughter erupts. "Sorry, but picturing Memaw tight with you is just funny, like she's in your posse, or something."

His eyes glow with humor. "Posse," he smirks. He unwraps the aluminum foil from something round. He glances up. "Fried cornbread." He breaks a piece and holds it in front of my mouth, and I open immediately.

"Yum." I close my eyes savoring the taste. "You made this?"

"Uh huh. I did have help, though."

I furrow my brows. "Really?"

"Yeah, you know the phone call earlier from Memaw where she told you she needed to run out while you were shopping for this sexy little outfit?"

"Yeah."

"Well, she offered to help me make dinner." He pops a piece in his mouth. "And man, can that woman cook."

"So you two are in on this together?" I start to put the proverbial puzzle together in my mind.

Stone shrugs. "I suppose. Do you object?"

My heart feels so full. There is no way I can complain, so I shake my head. "No. I love everything. It's very thoughtful."

He feeds me another bite, this time of the salmon patty. I cover my mouth as I dive head first into some of my questions. "So I get that you joined the military as soon as you were free from your father. I understand the age thing." I take a sip of my wine. "But why didn't you write me a few years later when age wasn't an issue?"

Staring straight ahead, his expression is stiff. "Every time I was in a position to come look for you, I was in a relationship. I always felt so guilty for comparing people to what I had once felt for you. I convinced myself that it was all in my head, and I did my best to fill the void leaving you put in my heart. It just never worked.

"Then when I got off that helicopter in Afghanistan, I saw you. I knew it was you, but before I could say anything..." He turns towards me, and his eyes speak a language I understand. "I knew I had to protect you first."

"Thank you," I whisper. "You have a way of saving me, over and over again." I pause recalling the times I'd spent searching the internet for him, sketching our scenes wondering if they were ever real. "I tried to find you. So many times."

He hangs his head and stares down at the ground. "I'm sorry. I don't know how many times I can say it to make it enough."

"I thought I was losing my mind. I knew I had seen you. Everyone thought I was crazy...it was because I never really knew you."

He whips his head so that our eyes are locked. "You did know me, you just didn't know my real name. That's not the same, Alex. I've never been able to really be me, except when I was with you."

"I just wonder if that's enough. I mean, did we really know each other?" Breaking our gaze, I look away. "It's been so long. I don't know how this is going to work."

"Alex, I don't have all the answers. I just want to be with you as much as I can. I want to get to know you. I want to be able to be honest with you." Stone grasps my chin, turning my face back to where our eyes meet again. He brushes his fingers gently caressing my lips. "Which is why I need to tell you something."

"Uh huh," I mutter. There's a pause. It's not like the silence earlier where it wasn't awkward. This is the most uncomfortable I've ever been around him, which is really unsettling. My brows furrow. "What is it?" I ask, as I feel fear and worry overshadow the bliss I've been enveloped in all night.

He glances away. This isn't good. He mumbles, "I have to leave in the morning. My leave is over."

Just like that the bad bricks that always seem to vanish when I'm with him return. These aren't bricks. These are those concrete blocks. I inhale. "I thought you were here for two weeks?"

"We got called back early. You know how it works, Alex."

I nod, looking away. "How long have you known?" That's the only thing I can think about. Did he know earlier? Trust isn't something that's freely given. It's earned. "Did you know this morning?" I turn back and glare into his soulful eyes.

I see him swallow as he blinks. It's like he's apologizing without even speaking a word. He shakes his head as his voice cracks. "No."

"When?"

"Around noon." He doesn't break eye contact with me except to blink, which is rare. "I found out around lunch time."

"This is why you can't make promises." I can't go through another loss, not right now. It's like deja vu, but we're older and more mature. I might know that he's leaving, but I'm still being robbed. What if something happens to him? The breeze blows a strand of hair in my face, and I reach to move it. My hand is trembling, and I hate that I'm giving away a sign of weakness. He grabs my arm, then brushes the stray piece away. It makes me hurt so much more. I turn my head in the other direction, pulling my arm out of his grasp. "You're not in a position to keep them, Stone. You never have been."

We sit in silence, and it only takes a fraction of a second for me to realize what a cheap shot that was. Instantly, I feel horrible. The tears I've tried to keep back, force themselves a little closer to the breaking point. They say time heals all wounds, but this one where Stone is concerned feels just as raw as it did then. With each moment that passes, no matter how much training and education I have experienced, the silence cuts the carefully sewn stitches of my heart as smoothly as a scalpel. Now I know that he's the only one capable of mending me. He's always been my medicine, my therapy.

Stone finally breaks the torture of the quiet when he calmly says, "We're wasting time, Alex." He strums his fingers across my back, sending shivers across my dewy skin. It reminds me of how Papa used to do it, of what he promised Papa. He interrupts my thoughts. "It's different this time, and you know it. I don't want to waste the time we have like this."

I turn towards him. "How do you want to spend the time we have left?" I ask as my voice quivers, fighting back the tears.

"I want to hold you all night. Watch the last star disappear in the sky. I want to talk, laugh, and show you that I'm in this." He pulls my forehead to his lips. "We were apart for fifteen years, Alex. We can make this work. This is nothing. Fate gave us a second chance. I want to take it, but I can't by myself. Tell me you'll do it with me," he pleads, "I know I only knew you for a short period of time, but I know you're strong. To have gone through what you did, what you have, you have to be. You're a fighter." I smile remembering the last time I sat on Papa's lap, he used the same words to describe me. I feel the tears filling my eyes. As soon as I try to open my mouth, he hushes me. "Shh." He places a finger over my lips. "Let me finish."

I nod.

"Fight for us, Alex. For me. Don't try to fight our destiny -"

This time instead of him hushing me, I silence him with my lips on his. "Okay," I breathe, inhaling the air he's always offered to my lungs. He pulls me closer with both of his hands wrapped gently behind my neck, thumbing through my hair. For the first time ever, I think I realize he's already taken me to a happy place. Instead of bricks being piled on my chest, I think I feel building blocks. "Take me to another place, to a happy place."

"Is that a yes?" He asks barely pulling his lips away from mine.

Grinning like a fool, all I can think is _yes_. "Yes, a million times and fifteen years' worth of yeses."

I'M RESTING IN between Stone's legs. His arms are wrapped over my shoulders. I whisper, "I think I just saw the last star disappear." I swallow the growing lump in my throat. "I had said a silent prayer begging for time to halt, for the night to not end."

His lips brush my ear as his voice causes my body to come to attention. "If the night never ends, then there's never a new day...and with a new day comes renewed hope, light."

Turning my head so I can look into his eyes, I strum my fingers across his cheek. "You're right. I think we've both had enough darkness. I want to live in light."

Stone's lips brush mine. "That's what you've always been to me. A ray of sunshine." He kisses me. "You know we'll be able to talk. I've even heard sometimes distance makes the heart grow fonder." He squeezes his arms around me. "I've learned through the years that it's not where you live, it's the people who surround you that make you feel at home."

I figured that out after my parents passed away. "Uh huh."

"It's the people in your heart, Alex. As cliché as it sounds, home is where the heart is." He moves his hand over my heart. "What I've realized the past couple of days is that no place has ever felt like home, except here. I thought that was because we moved around so much, but I know now it wasn't that." He shifts under my body. "We need to start cleaning up, I have a flight to catch shortly."

Even though I'm scared of being let down, a smile still forms on my face. "This isn't like last time."

"No." He shakes his head. "It's not. You know me, you know my name, and you will most certainly know how to reach me."

"While I'm not looking forward to missing you, I am excited."

Stone stands, offering his hand. When I take it, he pulls me into his arms. "This is going to be great. You'll see. And it will be a piece of cake. The hard stuff is behind us, Alex. I can feel it."

Me too. I know he's right. Nodding. "So are you going to just leave from here, or what?" I ask.

He cocks his head to the side. "You think I'm just going to make you walk back all by yourself? That wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me."

"I wasn't sure."

His arms relax, releasing me. He starts to gather his things. "When I left last time, I didn't get a say as to how it went down. It was so fast. Literally, in a matter of an hour we were out of this town. We knew how to pack lightly, we always had an exit plan." He continues to work getting everything cleaned up, almost as if it's a distraction from what he's having to tell me. There is a large part of me that wants to stop him, to spare him from that pain. There is a small part of me that is so curious. So I listen quietly as he continues, "While I only knew your grandparents for a brief time, they were so important to me." Stone glances up. "This time, I want the hugs, kisses, and love that comes with a farewell...even if it's a temporary one." He takes a step and cups my head in his hands. "I want to say 'see ya later' and know that it's not a final goodbye. I want to memorize every line," he strums his finger across my face, " _every_ line of your face, Alex. When I walk away, I want to know that I've made every last second I had with you count."

I close my eyes and focus all of my senses on the sensations of his touch, the comfort of his words, allowing them to soak into a part of my heart and my brain that is reserved for him. The scripture Papa used to tell Memaw comes to my mind, and I recognize that I think I have found _the one whom my soul loves_. Stone rests his forehead on mine, and whispers, "Say something."

Everything has always been about me it seems. So here's my chance to do something for him. As much as it hurts to know he's leaving me again, it's an opportunity to make new memories. "Walk me home and let me give you that farewell."

He smiles and points. "Let me put this stuff in the car."

"Okay." I admit I have bricks. I already wish I could run inside to the house and sit in Papa's lap. I wish I could tell him about what's happening, about my happy news. I swallow back the lump that is growing in my throat because he wouldn't want today to be a sad day. His smiles and memories of the times when he was proud of me flash before my eyes. It's as if I can hear him saying, " _Papa's so proud of you. You're Papa's heart._ " Every day for the rest of my life, I'll miss him. There won't be a single thing that I am able to do on this planet that doesn't remind me of him, but in this same manner, I know that he'll always be with me.

Stone walks back over to me and threads his fingers with mine. "Before we go, let's see if you've still got your touch." He hands me a rock.

I giggle. "I admit there was a time when I hated rocks and stones."

He raises an eyebrow. "We can't have you hating _stones_."

"Past tense. And I had the best teacher, so I can still skip _them_ just fine."

He turns my body to the side, brushes my hair away, and whispers, "Prove it."

Goosebumps erupt all over my body. I turn around and kiss him the way he did me earlier under the carport. It's a needy, passionate kiss. Our tongues twist and explore each other's mouths. When I release, his eyes are still closed. "You might wanna watch," I tease as I methodically go through the steps, and send it dancing across the water.

"I think you've mastered that skill. Much better than the day I met you."

Thinking of the day he met me reminds me of my parents. I remember the day like it was yesterday, and wondering if it would ever feel like anything other than an open wound in salt water. I take one last glance at the area, seeing my life fifteen years ago and how far I've come. _They'd be so proud_. "Ready?" I ask.

Stone nods, then takes my hand again. We walk the rest of the way in blissful silence, at least it is for me. The silence doesn't cut like a knife because just being in his proximity is enough. While I'm scared, I'm also excited and hopeful. For the first time in my life, or maybe the second, I feel like I'm sufficient just as I am.

When we reach the door of Memaw's house, he pulls my body into his arms. "I'll see you soon...later."

A tear escapes from my eye. He catches it with the pad of his thumb, and kisses it. "Do you think Memaw is awake?"

Laughter helps my tears. "Why I hope so. I didn't bring any keys with me last night."

"I want to tell her that I'll see her later, too."

Smiling, I turn to ring the bell. It only takes a few seconds before I can hear the lock being manipulated on the other side. Bells jingle as the door opens. "Well look what the cat dragged in," she says playfully.

"Good morning to you, too," I tease.

Memaw clears the door and holds her arm out, as if to invite us in. She winks, "Stone."

We step into the living room. He opens his arms to embrace her. "I have to go. I just wanted to say that I'll see you soon." When he releases her he holds her at arm's length, and his face grows serious. "My life was hard. There were only a handful of places we were safe for longer than a month. This was one of them." He closes his eyes for a moment. I can feel the growing lump in my throat. Watching him be so good to the people I love is like an added bonus. He clears his throat and continues, "I never had grandparents. When we left, we left everyone and everything...you and Papa for those three weeks were the closest I ever had."

Memaw brings a hand to her mouth and her eyes fill with water. "Come here," she breathes pulling him closer, into a warm hug. "I'm so sorry for what you went through, but as far as I'm concerned, you're the grandson I never had for as long as you treat my Alex like she's precious gold."

I watch them silently, almost like it's a movie playing before my very eyes. I don't feel like I belong in the scene, and it's so touching. Stone swallows hard and blinks. I know that he's a soldier, it takes a lot to make us cry because of what we've seen, but I think he might be as close to tears as I've ever seen him. He says, "That means the world to me. I have every intention of doing just that." He glances towards me and smiles. "I need to go," he mutters. Memaw wraps her arms around him one more time, then releases him.

Stone uses his pointer finger in that come hither motion, and it makes me giggle. _So sexy_. His kiss is electrifying. I know my face is turning a million different shades of red. I've never kissed a boy or a man, and Stone is most definitely every bit of a man, in front of my family. There is no holding back. I savor the way his stubble feels on my cheeks, the taste of his sweet breath, and the air he feeds to my lungs. He makes me feel so alive. When he breaks the kiss, I have renewed hope that this is right. Even with the distance. "I'll see you later," I whisper.

He smiles. "Later."

A few seconds later, and we're all standing on the front porch. Memaw and I put one arm around each other as we watch him start to make his way back to the creek. A minute later, he looks back one more time and we both wave. The way my heart feels can't be expressed with words, at least I don't think so. It's not breaking. Maybe it's bending. It hurts, it could potentially break, but it's too strong.

#

# Stone

# Three Months Later

I'M LYING IN our spot in the field deep in thought about how I got into this position. Sometimes I just need to be alone, outside, and let my thoughts run wild. So I am letting the sun seep its rays into my pores because it relaxes me. Everything is in place. Now I'm just waiting. Waiting for the love of my life to come back to me.

I thought when I joined the military that it would be a career for the rest of my life, until I was medically retired. What I didn't count on was Alex being placed in my life for a second time. I never thought I'd want to settle down in one place. It never occurred to me that I might actually want a family of my own...a boy to play ball with, or a little girl who I could give my heart to so she could wrap it around her little finger, but here I am. Now the one thing that has been so important to me and my life the last decade and a half is over. I'm a civilian, no longer commissioned in the United States Army. I'm free to live where I want, be with who I want, love who I want.

For the first time in my life that I can remember...I'm free. I open my eyes and stare into the sun, even though my mother told me it was a great way to go blind. I do it because I want to feel the brightness make me squint. I want to know this is real. It only takes a second for me to feel that it is.

This isn't a dream. If things go the way I want, very soon, I'll have everything my dreams have been made of in arms' reach.

#

# Alex

DRIVING HOME FROM my shift at the hospital, I think back on the last three months. They've been the best of my life. Initially, there were a lot of questions. I was also scared having seen the effects of war first hand. The thought of finally having him back in my life, and then having him leave again to only lose him for forever was enough to nearly make me not take the risk, but I knew I couldn't be without him anymore. Even if we only had one more month to be together, one more month to love each other, I knew that it would be worth it. The memories, like the one we had before, would last me a lifetime.

A few weeks ago I bought my first home. It's across the street from Memaw. I wanted to be close, but I also needed my own space. When I pull into the driveway, there is a bouquet of fresh cut flowers on my front porch. Curious if they're from Stone, I quickly cut the engine to the car, get out, and walk up the short driveway. Curiosity peaks while climbing the stairs, anxious to read what's in the card.

_Go across the street._

Hmm. That tells me nothing as to who they're from. A smile creeps onto my face as I turn towards Memaw's house seeing more flowers. This time they are wild ones, like we used to pick in the field, and I know they are from Stone. As I approach them, another card becomes visible. _What in the world is he up to?_ Reaching down, I carefully slide my thumb across the small opening, then pull the card.

_Go inside._

My heart is beating so fast I can feel it in my throat. My entire body is consumed with heat. Turning the door knob, I cross the threshold, bells jingling, and walk into the formal living room. There are smooth stones, perfect for skipping, in a straight line leading to my old room. With each step taken, my heart beats louder and faster not knowing what this little scavenger hunt is all about. There's an old metal folding chair by the bed. Of course, there's a notecard propped up on it.

_No more chairs needed. Stop by that closet in the hall with the towels on your way to the kitchen._

Grinning like a fool, there's no doubt in my mind that this is Stone. He's not supposed to be here. Furrowing my brows, I play through all of the conversations we've had over the past several months via Skype, phone, and email. Sure, those have only confirmed what we both already knew, which is that we are the missing piece to each other's puzzle. We share the same interests, and we want the same things out of life. The only thing that has been holding us back from fully living that life is the fact that we've been separated. We'd not talked about our future, promising to only take it day by day.

When I open the closet with the towels, there are two that are new. Reaching to pull them out, it's hard to miss they have something embroidered on them. _His_ and _Hers_.

Tears swell in my eyes as I see he's spelled out what he clearly wants for our future. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I proceed to the kitchen. My heart's beating like a drum, and my stomach is swirling with butterflies. As soon as I cross the threshold to the kitchen, there is a Rubbermaid cake plate. A sticky note is attached.

_Bring this with you to the creek. No forks or other eating utensils needed._

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes to keep the wetness from spilling down my cheeks. _The Creek_...h _e's here_. I _know_ he's here. Continuing to fight back the tears that are forming, my hands are tremble as I carefully place the cake plate in my arms, assuming it could only be Memaw's Red Velvet cake. Glancing around the house, I recognize the silence that my heart has been drowning out _. Where is she?_ She'd usually be home and cooking. Before opening the back door, I see there's another piece of paper taped to the door.

_Don't worry about Memaw. She went out with The Episcopal Church Women for dinner._

Naturally he'd know I'd be worried about her. It's now clear she's definitely a part of this little game. The smiley face makes me giggle. Adorable. I love this man. Pushing the door open with my side, my feet slowly step down the few steps while trying to balance all of the goodies that have been left for me to tote to the creek. _He should have left me basket._ A laugh escapes. _Or something_.

Unable to run to the creek because of the cake, I carefully walk at the briskest pace possible. My mind continues to race wondering what he's up to with this scavenger hunt. The questions stir as to how he's even here. _How could he have kept this from me?_

The water becomes visible, yet he's not there. Instead, my eyes are drawn to more rocks in the formation of an arrow pointing to the direction of our field. Glancing down, I make sure to avoid anything that would result in red itchiness. Briefly there flashes of him from when we were kids. He's smiling at me as I nearly walk straight into the pesky plant. "Watch out for that poison oak right there," plays in my mind as if it were seared into memory like the CD he burnt for me all those years ago.

My heart pounds so fast in my chest that I can hear the vibrations in my ears. Approaching the open pasture, _Home_ by Ry Cuming is playing. Inhaling a deep cleansing breath while my stomach flips, I take a step closer to a big heart made out of wild flowers. In the middle of it, is Stone. _In the flesh_. He's here lying back watching...waiting. Unable to hold back the tears from earlier, they begin to stream down my face in a steady flow as I read the message below his crossed feet.

_Marry Me_ in red roses.

My Drew, my Stone. Forever mine. My hands tremble causing me to nearly drop the cake plate. My eyes are fixated on him as he gets up and takes several long strides to me. The smile on his face is infectious.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, my voice strained.

"I'm out. I'm done with the military. I wanted to surprise you. I didn't re-enlist. I've known for some time I'd be home earlier than I told you."

Turning my head, breaking our gaze, I continue to try to inhale and fight the sobs. I shake my head because this is just so much to take in at one time. When will it sink in for me?

He reaches out and takes the cake plate from me, "This is for later."

"Red Velvet?" I whisper.

He winks. "Of course."

Then, he grasps my empty hand, walking us to the flower heart. He leans over and puts the cake down onto a picnic blanket that is being anchored by a basket. When he turns around, he wraps his arms around my waist and pulls me close and everything I'd been holding falls to the ground. Stone rubs his nose against mine, inhales and moans. "I have missed holding you so much."

"Me, too," I murmur into his neck, running my fingers through his hair. Words aren't freely flowing for me. He has a way of making me speechless.

He pulls away and brushes my hair back, caressing my cheeks. "Someone wise once told me that when I found a girl who made me want to love her for _always_ and in _all ways_ , I'd found the one. It was after I'd had to leave you during my first deployment. I knew even then that you were that person for me. So when I saw you before the explosion, that brief moment, I knew that I'd been given another chance. Except, this time, the only way I will ever leave you is when death do us part."

Nodding, I try to swallow, but my mouth feels like it's been stuffed full of cotton. The bricks that always seemed to occupy my chest during the most horrible times in my life are there once more, but this time, instead of crushing me, there's a feeling a of fullness. _My cup runneth over_.

He continues. "Diamonds are rare, beautiful, and precious stones. Let me explain how this one is different from all the rest." He opens the Tiffany blue box. "This is a heart shaped diamond, but it almost looks like a tear drop."

I gasp. "It's beautiful. Not what I'd expect a heart ring to look like."

"Right." He glances up at me. "I came to your house to find you the day that Papa passed away, but we talked for hours before the heart attack."

_Not sure how this has anything to do with his proposal_. I inhale and try to swallow back the waves of emotion.

"I knew I'd marry you." He shrugs. "You saying 'no' wasn't even an option." He kisses the ring. "He asked me if I'd get you a heart shaped diamond so you'd always have the Hart name with you, close to your heart, even after your name changed."

Releasing his hand so I can cover my mouth, my cries grow in intensity and frequency. I try to speak, but it's like my voice is gone. Nothing comes out.

"This was custom made just for you. I wanted it to also look like a tear drop. A reminder of the tears you've shed. A reminder of your parents. If not for their tragedy, I don't know that I'd have you." And for the first time, I see a tear escape his eye.

I brush it with the pad of my finger. "Oh, Stone."

He clenches his eyes closed and then he opens them. "Alex, everything happens for a reason. Even when we don't understand why. I'd bring them back if I could. I'd erase all of the hurt you've had." He shakes his head. "But I can't." He picks my finger up and places the ring on it. "I told you once that I'd tell you what to do with those tears." He swipes them from my cheeks, and kisses them. "I'm promising you right now that I'll catch them for the rest of my life. I'm promising that I'll do everything in my power to make sure they are only tears of joy, not sorrow."

Unable to take anymore, I throw my arms around his neck. "Are you done yet? Because the answer is yes. Yes, a million times yes. Just kiss me already!"

He chuckles as I nearly tackle him. Our lips lock, and it's like our hearts are being welded together, for eternity.

When he pulls back, he says, "I wasn't done yet."

"Okay, well finish. By all means. I want to hear everything. We've got nothin' but time," I laugh.

He smiles. "Now. Out of all the rocks and stones I've ever given you, this is the only one you don't have permission to ever skip. Promise me you'll wear it for the rest of your life."

My heart flutters. "I promise. And someone once taught me to never break promises."

#

TODAY HAS BEEN the best day of my life, but I wish Papa and my parents had been here to experience it with me. The band is playing that famous strip tease song as Stone is starting to pull the many layers of my dress up my leg. He glances into my eyes, and I can't help but burst into giggles. He chuckles. It's like no one else exists at this moment. It's just us, for the rest of our lives.

Today, I married my best friend. We made promises that we vowed we'd never break. Today I married the one who makes my soul complete and full, the one who has always saved me when I felt like there was no hope left in this world.

His fingers dance on my legs, and it sends shivers through my entire body. When they reach their target, there's a glimmer in his eyes that hypnotizes me. It's a look of other kinds of unspoken promises. I can't hear his voice because our family and friends are cheering so loud and the band is right behind us. I read his lips, "You're beautiful."

It freezes me, and my heart pounds in my chest. The fun moment turning serious in slow motions. "My heart," I glance down to my chest, "is so full. Complete. Whole."

When he gets it off my leg, he clenches the garter in his hand. On his way to standing, he stops and holds my head between his hands, pulling me into the sweetest kiss. When he releases me, his lips brush my forehead. A tear escapes my eye, but before it is able to land on the fabric of my dress, he catches it and winks.

HOURS LATER WE'VE left the reception, and I think we're headed to our honeymoon suite, but instead the limousine takes a detour. Glancing around at the familiar scenery, I ask, "Are we going home?"

He scoots closer to me, wrapping his arm around my shoulders, spooning me. "Nope."

"Hmm," I wonder aloud. "Where to then?"

"You'll see in a minute." He threads his fingers through mine, then brings our hands to his lips. "I don't want this day to end," he whispers, huskily.

"Me neither." It sure looks like we're headed home, then another idea pops into my mind. "Are we going back to the creek?"

He nods. "I came here earlier, and it just didn't feel right not having this as a part of our day."

I grin. "I agree, thank you." Stone wanted to get married in our field. It would have been beautiful. I could picture it. Yet, there is something so sacred about _our_ field, _our_ place. I just couldn't imagine sharing it with so many people. Then the thought of rain and no place to flee made my decision to have our wedding indoors an easy one. "Did you know I came to the creek earlier, too?"

He turns his head. "You did?"

"Uh huh. I had a few pictures taken here before I went to the church." I smile remembering them. Me skipping stones, picking flowers, sitting in our spot, giggling as I point to a patch of poison ivy. Then there's my absolute favorite. I'm in our spot eating a Little Debbie Swiss Roll and a piece of Red Velvet cake.

He kisses my hair. "What kind of pictures?"

Closing my eyes, my lips curve up. "They're a surprise."

"Humph. I can't wait."

Soon, we're there. The chauffeur opens our door, but Stone leads the way. When he is out of the vehicle, he offers his hand. I place mine in his. Then as soon as my feet touch the ground, he swoops me into his arms. "They say you're supposed to carry your bride over the threshold."

"Uh. There's no -"

He silences me with a passionate kiss. Our tongues dance and swirl like the very first time we ever locked lips in this place. He rubs his nose against mine. "There may not be a threshold to a bedroom, but when we cross over that path into the field, it's like crossing into a magical place."

He's right. My cheeks hurt from the smile that seems to be a permanent fixture today.

He continues. "It's the only threshold I'm going to carry you across tonight."

I furrow my brows, the smile quickly replaced by a frown. "But we have reservations."

"No we don't." He shakes his head as a sly, sexy grin creeps upon his gorgeous starlit face. "Trust me?"

"Uh huh."

He tightens his grip on me as he starts to walk. Our big rocks that we sit on are decorated with flowers from the wedding. There's a trail of red roses that lead to our special spot. Then I see a glow, like there is more light than there usually is.

Stone stops as soon as I am able to view what he's done. There's a white tent with a large, plush white bed covered with more flowers in the middle. Mosquito netting surrounds the perimeter, and the extra light I thought I had noticed was from the white string lights giving the entire area a romantic ambiance.

Gasping as I cover my heart to try to keep it in my chest. "It's...it's absolutely incredible."

"Hey," he whispers, "look at me."

As my head turns, I'm captured by beautiful, milk chocolate eyes. "Yeah?"

"We've had so many firsts here, so many memories."

I nod.

"I want this one." Stepping into the grass, he kisses me once more. "I love you, Alex. I dreamed about being able to spend the rest of my life with you, but I thought it was just that: a dream."

"I know. Me, too." I pause because it's still painful to remember the time I spent wondering if he was real. "I thought I was losing my mind. I really wondered if I had just made you up in my mind."

He shakes his head. "I'm very real. I've always been. I'm never leaving you. I promise."

This time, I know he means it.

"And one day, we'll bring our babies and grandbabies here. We'll tell them everything worth having in our life happened because two people fell in love...right here."

He puts me down, making sure I'm steady on my feet. Then he opens the netting and takes my hand, leading me to the bed. Soft music is playing in the background. He pulls me into his arms and starts to dance to music that is easily recognizable. "These are our songs, this is _The Promise_ ," I say.

He nods. "On repeat."

I close my eyes and commit this scene to my memory. One day, I'll make a drawing of it and hang it in our room with the other photos from today. "Thank you for making this so special."

He nuzzles my neck, nibbling on my ear. Coherent thoughts begin to leave my mind. His voice is husky. He breathes into my ear, causing goose bumps to erupt on my skin. "The day I carried you home, after you passed out..."

I freeze, not sure why he's bringing this up right now. "What about it?"

He continues to plant sweet, tender kisses everywhere but my mouth. "I told Memaw and Papa that you were special."

"Huh."

"Alex, you're my everything. You make me feel so alive. It's easy to make something special when the one you're with is so rare, so wonderful." He begins to unzip my dress, which causes me to reflect back to when I felt like my insides were being torn apart with a seam ripper. Tonight, with each notch that is undone, I am a step closer to finally being able to share everything with him. A fire ignites within me. He leans in, his warm breath tickles my ear. "Do you remember when I said I wanted to teach you everything after we first met?"

Not sure I can form words, I nod. Bricks, good bricks, are weighing heavily on my chest. I'm breathless, like I've been swimming against the current, but it's because of my need for him this time. "Yes," I whisper.

"I'm ready to teach you everything I know, Alex. Everything. Are you ready?" His eyes sparkle against the light.

"Stone, you don't have to ask. I'm yours. All of me. For the rest of our lives. And I can't wait for you to you to teach me something so special. Something so sacred that no one has ever taught me before."

He huskily whispers into my ear, "Oh, and I promise that you've not seen special yet."

#

# Seven Years Later

SITTING IN OUR special spot in the field, Stone and I are watching our little girl trying to skip stones. I reach down and pick a flower. They aren't wild flowers anymore. That's because a few months after I found out I was pregnant with Helena, I came in from work and Stone handed me a set of keys. I thought he'd bought me a car or something, but that wasn't the case. The next thing he gave to me was a shovel. I admit I was completely perplexed at this point. I don't know what it is with him and little scavenger hunts, but I do love them and so far they have always led to the most incredible things.

Before I could ask what any of these things meant, he took a silk scarf from his pockets and blindfolded my eyes. Then he grabbed my hand and led me on a walk. He led the way, telling me where to step and where to avoid. I had a feeling we were headed to the creek, but I had no idea why I needed a shovel and keys. I spent the entire way there trying to figure it out, different scenarios playing in my mind. I could have never been prepared for what he was about to tell me, that he'd purchased the field and the creek. It was, is, now ours.

The shovel was for me to break ground on our new home, the place we'd raise our children, grow old together. Tears on an ordinary day would have had any problems freely flowing, but I prefer to blame my exaggerated expression on the walking ticking hormonal time bomb I had become, only needing the smallest of triggers to release enough tears to quickly fill buckets.

Months later we brought our first baby home to our new house. There would be no doubt that our children would know about our spot, about how we fell in love. In fact, we made sure to preserve our place in the field. It has an abundance of flowers to be picked at all times. So, I reach down and pluck one and bring it to my nose. These aren't wild flowers, they're hand planted by Stone. He loves working outside to preserve and maintain our yard as a beautiful, calming oasis.

Helena is throwing rocks into the water. I recognize her stance, the way she positions her fingers before hurling it haphazardly into the creek. How she can be his child and still not be able to skip stones blows my mind, but only for a moment. I can't help but grin as I glance over and the look on his face. _She's her mother's daughter_. Stone is watching her every move, studying her. He pops up, and I have a pretty good feeling that it's paining him because she's yet to be able to do this, to skip stones.

I laugh as he walks towards her, "She's only four, ya know?"

He turns on his heel and comes back to me, leaning down and planting a kiss on my lips, silencing me. "Have I mentioned today that I love you...for giving me a little girl to teach how to do this all over again?"

I shake my head. "Not today."

His hand rests on my round belly. "And this one needs to be a boy."

"And if it isn't?"

He scrunches his nose and then bobs his head from left to right, as if weighing the options. "I'll be happy with a healthy baby boy or girl. I just prefer a boy."

I smile because I already know it's a boy, but he doesn't. I had thought about telling him by doing one of the cute crafts I'd seen on Pinterest. Maybe having Helena wearing a shirt that says, _I'm HIS Big Sister_ or something like that, but the waiting and anticipation have been eating at me. We've never been good at keeping secrets with each other, not even the good ones. The only secret I think Stone has ever kept from me was the one about his past, but that ultimately wasn't really a choice. It was a necessity. Wanting to not think about that anymore, I ask, "Why a boy?"

He shrugs. "One of each. A mini-you and a mini-me."

I see Helena getting a little too close to the water. "Baby, you know you aren't supposed to be that close. Come back some."

Stone reinforces my instructions to her, "Helena, come back and help me pick out some pebbles." Once he's looking back into my eyes his words give me goosebumps despite the summer heat. "Because I want to teach a boy everything I know." He starts to trail kisses down my neck, then places one, long one on my stomach. I glance over his head, never taking my eyes off of our beautiful girl.

I whisper, "Everything you know, huh? I remember when you said that to me, and there were other implications with that statement."

His beautiful brown eyes catch mine, he's suddenly so serious. "I want him to know how to treat a girl, a woman. How to be a good man."

I run my fingers through his hair, "I think you'll teach him those things without even trying because you're a leader, Stone. He'll watch you and he'll follow in your footsteps. All of them. You're honorable, good, compassionate, and kind." I kiss his forehead. "You've always been...so easy to love. I think that's because you give so freely and easily."

He freezes and I see him swallow. "Did you just call our little angel baby a 'he'?"

I nod, unable to contain my elation and laughter. "Uh huh."

"How?" he asks as he furrows his brows, confused.

"They weren't supposed to be able to see it until the next ultrasound, but he showed his parts at the last one." Worry sets in that he may actually be upset with me that he wasn't there to find out. I remind him. "You weren't able to come to that one because Helena was sick that week, remember? Are you mad at me that you weren't there?"

He caresses my cheek, and rubs my nose with his. "Not mad. How could I be upset with you? I love you so much. You've given me everything I didn't know was possible, Alex. You've given me the world." He closes his eyes for a second. "I said I'd teach you everything I know, but I had no idea how much you'd teach me."

I peek up and glance at Helena, twirling around in her little tutu. She's one half tomboy and one half princess. "Don't you miss the days of it just being us and being able to just let loose during these moments, no cares or worries in the world?" I ask.

He pulls me into him, nibbling my ear lobe. "I do."

"You're distracting." I push him back as I laugh. "You're making it really hard to make sure our little girl doesn't get into trouble, you know?"

He kisses my forehead. "Yeah." He points to his chest. "Me." Then to mine. "You. Later." Those dreamy eyes make me melt every time. "Still working on teaching you everything I know." He winks.

I giggle. "You promise?"

It's funny because he said that we'd have a mini-me and a mini-him, but I think it's reversed. Helena is a spitting image of her Daddy. The biggest, most beautiful chocolate eyes. Her hair is the same shade of dark brown, and her complexion is beautiful like my mother's always was...before the accident. _The accident_. All of these years later it's still so hard to think about. I've heard good comes with every bad situation. I look at the beautiful human beings standing in front of me, and I know that they are _my good_.

Stone backs up and scoops his little mini-me into his arms and starts to tickle her as he grabs a rock and begins walking towards the water. "Daddy is gonna teach you how to skip stones, teach you everything he knows, Helena. I promise." He looks back over his shoulder. "And Mommy - tell her. I don't break my promises, do I?"

I push myself off of the ground, slowly getting up, and follow them. "Nope, Daddy doesn't break promises. And he's the best teacher on skipping stones that I've ever met...he taught me."

To my readers. Thank you for your unwavering support. When I said I was changing it up with this book, you said bring it. When I was discouraged about the course of this book, you were posting and tagging me in messages that said, "That author whose book you'll read without reading the back of the book first." It's because of your faith in me that I was able to hold my head high and take a leap of faith. Sometimes the right thing to do isn't always the popular thing. So regardless of the success of this book, I have written something from the heart...for me and for you. Please leave me your honest review. I read them all, I cherish them all. I learn from them all. Thank you again from the very bottom of my joy-filled heart for everything you've done for me.

Swipe for a preview of Heartfall, which to me, is like the book soul sister to Skipping Stones. Please note Heartfall is intended for mature audiences, although the following preview is a clean read.

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MAGNOLIA GROVE SERIES READING ORDER

THE AUCTION

_THE DATE_

THE PROMISE

THE SECRET

_MAGNOLIA GROVE (THE COMPLETE SERIES)_

THIS SERIES READING ORDER

_BROKEN_

_MENDING_

_CONSPIRING_

_FORGIVEN_

_FOREVER_

STAND-ALONES

_HEARTFALL_

_OUT OF THE STORM_

When I was five years old I wanted to be a ballerina, so my mom signed me up for dance. Over the next ten years, I explored all three styles: tap, jazz, and ballet. Tap ended up being my favorite, and I studied it for ten years, ballet for four, and jazz for one.

The years I took ballet, I was told to grow my bangs out, to wear my hair in a bun because that's what ballerinas do. When I ate my snacks from the convenience store because that's what my single mom bought me after school on her way to drop me off at the studio, I was ridiculed and told if I lost just a few pounds, I'd be the perfect size for a ballerina. I was in elementary school. Looking back at those pictures, I wasn't fat. Not even close. After my entire class was promoted to pointe and I wasn't, I quit ballet.

While this story is fiction, there is a lot of me in Claire, but it only takes a few minutes to read the trending headlines to see that this happens to a widespread audience every day. I think there is a lot of every girl in Claire.

Do you like every part of yourself when you look in the mirror? Or did someone, society, make you feel if you lost just a little bit more weight or changed a small part of who you were, you'd be better in their eyes? And then after so long you found you didn't like the person you saw through your own eyes, didn't even recognize her?

Maybe it's just me, but I don't think so.

When I started this book, that's not the message I'd hoped to spread or share, but that's what it ended up being. Like all of my other books, Claire's story was cathartic for me because it helped me release a part of my past I didn't realize I'd been hanging onto so tightly. As much as I loved dance, those years in the studio damaged me. But on the contrary, each day in the studio, each mean girl, each hurtful comment, they took an oyster and produced a pearl. A one-of-a-kind, oddly shaped, uniquely colored, and beautiful pearl.

Every day since writing Heartfall I've tried so hard to look in the mirror and find something I like about myself or to ignore something I'd ordinarily criticize, and I challenge you to do the same.

We're all beautiful and strong women. This is Claire's story on finding her beauty and strength. Along the way, she's blessed to find incredible love too. I hope you enjoy it.

For two years I've been working this job. Countless times I've safely ushered some of the most gorgeous girls from the dark parking lots to their dorms as a proud member of the Cambridge all-girls college security team. Never once have I actually wanted to date any of them. Heck, I've never even really wanted to get to know them. It's easier to protect them that way. No distractions, no attachments. All that changed when I got called to the side stage in the fine arts building. That's when I saw her, her foot arched, her entire weight on the toes of one foot while she bent and unbent the knee of her other leg, briefly touching the toe of that one foot down to propel her body into a spin.

My mesmerized eyes fixated on her, and every time her face flashed in front of me for a beat, I was pierced by her blue eyes that stood out against her dark features. Even with her spinning, her exquisite beauty struck me. Maybe because her black hair was slicked back into a bun and the only thing I could focus on was her face, not her graceful arms, not her strong, toned legs. Just her face.

She stopped at the exact time the music I'd drowned out ceased. The auditorium fell so silent the rise and fall of her breaths reached my ears. She arched her spine, let her head fall back, and extended one of her legs out to the side while resting her weight on her other knee. The mounds of her full breasts were pushed up to her long neck. She wasn't like the other dancers. Instead of being so thin I could count all her ribs, she had curves in all the right places. I sucked in a breath as my brain conjured what it'd be like to run my hand from the side of her cheek down her neck, and then strum the delicate flesh of her breastbone before traveling further south. I exhaled, then inhaled, hoping to get a whiff of her scent, but she was too far away. Instead of applause filling the room, a man sitting behind a table in the empty audience leaned into a microphone. "That completes your audition. Thank you, Claire."

Claire.

She stood and turned toward me as she pranced off the stage. Her eyes connected with mine, and no matter how hard I tried to pry them away or sever this instant connection that drew me to her, I couldn't. The closer she got, the more her cheeks flushed. She tucked her head down as she passed me, and my body's temperature must have increased by ten degrees as I inhaled vanilla, flowers, and Claire for the first time.

A scent I knew I'd never forget. One I'd crave.

In less than two minutes, I'd become attached.

In less than two minutes, I'd wanted more than I ever knew I could have.

In two minutes, I'd started falling.

Worse than that, I didn't even know if I'd ever see her again.

"You said you wanted to be a ballerina, Claire. That's all I've heard for the past year." Mom lifts my chin. "That you wanted to be a princess and twirl on your tippy toes."

My eyes fill with tears as I look around the room.

"What's wrong? Tell Mommy."

I shake my head and start to run for the door, but Mommy pulls me into her arms. "Claire, don't run away. Just tell me what's wrong."

"I'm scared."

She smoothes my hair back. "There's nothing to be afraid of, though, sweetie. Just be yourself."

"But what if no one likes me?"

A tall man walks up to me and smiles. "Someone not like you? No." He shakes his head. "I already like you, Claire. I'm Mr. Robins. I'd like to teach you how to twirl on your toes along with my new friend, little Tiffany. Would you like that?" He looks like the prince from Sleeping Beauty, but with longer hair and dark brown eyes. He's wearing tights and slippers with a baggy shirt. Despite being nice, I squeeze Mommy tighter.

Tiffany smiles at me and offers her hand, tilting her head, but I stare at her big blue eyes. Her brown hair is twisted in a knot on the top of her head. I'm not sure how she got it like that, but it looks like it's tight, like it'd hurt. My mom just put mine in a ponytail. "Would you like that, Claire? To come with Tiffany and me?"

I shake my head.

Mommy laughs. "You're not here for people to like you, silly girl. You're here to dance. Just dance. Chin up, Claire." She tilts my head up and swipes my tears away. "You can do this." I try to smile. She kisses my forehead. "You're going to absolutely love it. The dance." She pushes me back some and puts her hand over the thumping beneath my leotard. "It's in here, Claire. It's inside you. Go learn how to show it to the world."

My arms squeeze Mommy's waist as tight as I can, but she pushes me away. "Don't go, Mommy."

"I love you, my Claire Bear. Now, go learn how to be a ballerina."

"I don't wanna go to Nicky's stupid company slumber party." I glare at some random, arbitrary spot on my pink wall, stretching my body across the floor between my spread legs, holding my hands above my head. "Can't we make up some lame excuse to miss it? Like we have food poisoning or something?"

Tiffany, my best friend for the past twelve years, huffs. "We have to go. That excuse only works so many times."

I stare at the ceiling. "What's the point of these anyway? It's not like the entire company goes. It's not fair Sebastian and Ben get a pass." Sebastian Reyes and Ben Dolin, the two guys in our company. Obviously, it'd be inappropriate for them to attend a slumber party, but I'm sitting here trying to come up with some excuse as to why it'd be inappropriate for me to attend. And me wanting to rip Nicky's hair out probably won't work, either.

"Maybe this time it'll be fun," Tiffany says. Momma taught me if I don't have anything nice to say, then to just keep my mouth shut. So that's precisely what I'm doing. "Nicky and Audrina aren't as bad as you think they are."

"Mhmm." I can't hold the sarcasm back even when my mouth is closed and I'm muttering. "Have you forgotten what they did to Cayce at last year's little slumber party?"

She snickers. "Claire. They did Cayce a favor."

"Really?" Can she actually hear herself? "Is that what they call that these days?"

"Just sayin'."

"I can't believe you're defending them." I straighten my body, arch my back, and twist from left to right, then lean over and grab my right ankle. "They're not nice people, Tiff."

"Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. I gotta go. Mom's calling me."

"Bye."

Speaking of moms. Mine tells me not to overanalyze things. So why do I find myself sitting here wondering why it feels like she didn't really have to go, like she was sticking up for them, like maybe she's their best friend instead of mine?

That's just foolish, though. Because this is Tiffany. My Tiffany. Twelve years of having to pry us away from each other on Christmas Eve so we can spend twenty-four hours apart before we're together again for another three hundred and sixty-four days. So, the very notion she'd entertain being friends with the mean girls whose sole purpose on this earth is to find ways to stab a knife in my heart is absolutely absurd, right?

"How was school?" Mom asks as I toss my book bag on the floorboard and slide into the worn leather bucket seat of her old Honda coupe.

I shrug. "Good. Tiffany told me I should try out for cheerleading. That she's thinking about doing it."

The car line barely moves as I buckle my seat belt. "And do you want to do that?"

"I'm not stupid, Mom. Despite you hiding behind your hair, I can see you grimacing over the bills. It's all you can do to afford for me to dance." Hence why she's picking me up from school. She can't even afford to get me my own car, even though that would mean she could actually have a lunch break that included eating instead of chauffeuring me around town.

The lines of her pale forehead smooth and she exhales as she grips the steering wheel a little tighter. She has long natural blond hair, and for some reason, it's easier to see her features past it. "You let me worry about the money." She glances at me, her blue eyes accentuated by the smoky lines of her charcoal eyeliner and brown eye shadow. Her nude lips form a small smile. "If you want to cheer, then try out." I look nothing like her. Her eyes are a much lighter shade compared to mine. Hers the color of the sky on a clear day, mine the color of it on a bright night when it's illuminated by a full moon. My father's genes were clearly the stronger of the two. I don't really remember him.

"I'll think about it. That's what I told Tiffany." The line finally starts to move. "Money aside, I'm not sure how we'd hardly have time to do both."

She nods, chewing her cheek. Sixteen years on this earth and I've figured out that's what she does when she's deep in thought. "Don't worry about it, Mom. I'm not going to do it."

"I'm not worried about it. It will all work out. Do it if you want."

"Okay." Raindrops start to fall on the windshield. Great. That explains why my mane is so uncooperative. I pull the visor down and drag the strands of my dark, frizzy hair into a ponytail, twist it into a knot, and secure it with the elastic from my wrist. Reaching down, I unzip my book bag to take my bobby pins case and secure any loose ends. "Mr. Robins won't like it if either of us do anything other than ballet, anyway."

"Huh?"

"Cheerleading. He won't like it if we make the squad. He'll be livid. He always says you pick one skill and perfect it. For us, that's ballet. It's been ballet for twelve years. You don't all of a sudden try out for cheerleading halfway through high school." I shake my head and throw my hands in the air. "Who does that?"

Mom turns into the convenience store she always stops at to get my afternoon snack before dropping me off at the studio. "You. If you want. Don't be a follower." She glances at me. "I'll be right back."

"I'll--" She opens and closes the door. Everything in me should be thankful for the food she gets me before every class, for the gesture of her buying me a snack, for the fact she doesn't want me to be hungry before dinner, but I can already hear Mr. Robins drilling in my ear about it. I'll eat it anyway, though. I'll likely consume every last unhealthy crumb of it, even if I have to hide doing it, because my stomach rumbles as she opens the door and tosses the bag in my lap. She puts the car into drive. "Thank you for the snack."

"You're welcome, sweetie. I'll pick you up at the end of your class. Be watching for me so I don't have to come inside, please."

I nod.

The quick shop she stopped at is right across the street from the studio, so she comes to a stop in front of the old building in no time, and I lean across the console and give her a peck on the cheek while grabbing all my bags with one hand and opening the door with the other. "Love you."

"Love you, Claire Bear."

I kick the door closed. Stepping under the light pink awning that reads, "Amelia Institute of Dance", I pull the French door and walk through the modest entrance. Benches line the glass walls. A tall black granite counter is situated in front of one-way mirrors that separate the studio from the waiting area so parents can watch their children dance.

The studio has gone through some changes since that first day standing in this lobby, but I remember it like it was yesterday. How on the way Mom had talked to me like I was a grown up about how there was another dance school, a bigger, more popular one, in Greenport, but this one was the best. And she only wanted the best for me. I can't help but smile as I remember her telling me to go learn how to be a ballerina. To just be myself.

I was myself, and each class I watched as groups of friends were made. Sometimes, a few of them would welcome me into their conversation, but mostly, I watched as they'd cover their mouths and giggle from afar. Initially, I'd try to join in, but they'd change the subject to something else once I got near them.

At four years old, the thought never crossed my mind that being myself may not have been good enough because Tiffany, one of the other more reserved students, had become my best friend. She and I were inseparable. The only other person in the class who paid me any attention was Sebastian. When we first started dancing, he was nice, then he thought girls were gross, and eventually he turned into this brilliant dancer who was awkward at best with his long, lanky legs and pimples. But these last couple years of high school, his brown hair has darkened to more of a black, which contrasts more strongly against his green eyes. He's always been lean, but the lines of his face have defined and his jaw has become square. To say Sebastian is the object of the girls' affection is an understatement. One thing we all have in common where he is concerned is that we all want to be his partner. I have never even been chosen for a solo, let alone to dance with him. Tiffany was his first.

She's always been skinnier than me. By the time we were ten, she was also much taller. Her legs long and lean, whereas mine were slightly chunkier. Well, Mom always scolds me when I call anything on my body names that have negative connotations. Like chunky. She says that implies there's fat on them, and there wasn't and isn't. They're all muscle. Bulky muscle. The last thing a ballerina should have or want.

She's lighter. Easier to lift. I unload all my book, dance, and snack bag on the bench and collapse, then open the crunchy cheese doodles Mom bought as the door from the studio opens. "Good afternoon, Miss Claire. How do you do?"

"Good." I smile as I pop the first one in my mouth. "Better now that I'm here." I would live here if I could. Mom was partially right that first day. Dance is in my heart, but also in my veins.

Mr. Robins' face crinkles as I bite down. I want to spit it out, but I'm starving and it's the only thing I'll be able to eat for hours. His nose scrunches. "You're never going to be the best ballerina eating stuff like that. How many times have I told you?" I nod, fold the package, and shove the bag into my tote. Twisting the lid off the soda Mom also purchased for me, I take a swig. "Or that," he grumbles.

I swallow the fizzy pop and replace the cap. Pointing to the restroom, I excuse myself. When I'm safe in the small room, I flip the switch to the light and the fan, and sit on the commode with my head in my hands as my chest burns, starts to heave, and soon my fingers are wet from tears.

Mr. Robins drills into us not to mistake hunger for thirst. Maybe I'm just thirsty, so I turn the knob for the water and stick my head in the sink to drink water from the tap until my stomach starts to slosh with every move.

Unsure of how long has passed, the main entrance chimes, and I snatch a paper towel from the roll, clean my face, and fill my lungs with a deep breath. I bet that's Nicky. She usually arrives not long after me. Maybe I'll stay in the bathroom for the rest of the afternoon. That way I won't have to look up her nose or have my skin crawl when she squints her eyes and shrugs her shoulder as she dismissively walks past me. I hate to call her a mean girl. After the movie titled that, it seems so cliché, but that's what she is. She's just a mean girl. There are other words for her that aren't PG, but that's the nicest one I have for her. Anyway. Staying in the bathroom. It's not a bad idea. Until someone knocks on the door. I gaze at my reflection in the mirror and swear I'll never eat another cheese doodle or drink another soda in my life. Even if my mother buys them for me. Okay. I'm lying. I said that last time. I don't have the heart to tell her I won't eat them. And I don't have it in me to waste them or refuse food. I don't like being hungry.

"Claire. Are you okay?"

Crap. "Yes, Mr. Robins. I'll be right out."

"Okay. I was just checking on you."

"Thank you. I appreciate that." Please. No, you don't appreciate it. Would he check on Sebastian if he were in here? What if I was taking a crap? Who checks on someone for being in the bathroom for too long unless you're five? Ugh.

Taking a last peek in the mirror, I slap my cheeks and try to run a paper towel through my hair to hide the fact I've nearly bathed in the sink bowl before unlocking the door. When I exit the bathroom and make my way back to the lobby, Nicky is sitting on the bench by my stuff. Like we're best friends. I roll my eyes, grab my bag, and head to the locker room to change into my leotard, tights, and pull on a pair of my slippers before going back to my things.

She's on one corner of the bench. I try to go to the total opposite side and prop myself up on pillows and start doing my homework. It's hard to ignore the weight of Mr. Robins' eyes or the crunch of her carrots.

Carrots are a lot more expensive than cheese doodles. They also require refrigeration and aren't as easily obtained at the little convenience store across the street. With each snap, I wish our circumstances were a little different. I don't want to be her because yuck. And carrots, yuck. But I'd love to have the natural crisp and snap versus the fake Styrofoam crunch of the cheese doodles.

I'd really hoped I'd wasted enough time in the bathroom that Robins would be in the first afternoon class by the time I came back out, but apparently not. He does a rap a tap tap thing on the counter that I've accustomed to. It's like a call for attention. I look up under my lashes, hoping it's not me he wants. I'm sure Nicky would love some one-on-one time with him.

But he's staring at me. My shoulders automatically push back, my chin rising at his attention. He looks over at Nicky then back in my direction. "Claire, you know you're not supposed to have bangs. My ballerinas should always wear a bun. There should be no loose hair. Not even a strand." He grins at Nicky. Her blond hair, when down from her bun, is long and scraggly. Most days, it drives me crazy. I want to buy her a brush and tell her to keep it and use it often. But that's not the type of person I am. No matter how nasty she is to me, I always try to be polite back to her.

Nicky's hair is already pulled back into a perfect bun on the top of her head. She doesn't need a bottle of hairspray to keep the wispy strands tucked into place. There's enough grease for that.

My hand instinctively goes to my scalp. The humidity of the studio, the rain, and my black wavy hair don't mix, and I trace the soft ringlets that have formed around my ears. I swiftly tuck them away. I can't tell him the girls cut my bangs at the company slumber party while I was sleeping, and I've refused to grow them back for two reasons. One because I kind of like them, and two, because I didn't want to give them the satisfaction of thinking they'd actually successfully hurt me.

Nicky snickers, and I glare at her, clenching my teeth while narrowing my eyes.

I turn my sight back to him. "I'm growing them out. And I'll spray my hair before class."

He nods. "Good girl."

I smile.

Just like that, in the snap of a finger, he compliments me, and I yearn for it to happen again. His eyes glimmered when he looked at Nicky. And for a moment, when he complimented me, they did the same. It hasn't happened since that first day when he said he liked me too and wanted to teach me how to twirl on my toes with Tiffany.

Nicky isn't pretty, but she's an excellent dancer. If I'm lucky, I'm a quarter as good as her. If eating carrots, having long bangs, and kissing Mr. Robins' butt is what makes her that way, then I guess I'll try to do better note taking. And butt kissing. I'm so not good at that. But I guess I could try harder because it sure feels good to be complimented.

The door chimes. I'm relieved to see Tiffany walk through it. I smile, wave, and push myself up from the bench. "He--"

Much to my surprise, she doesn't even look in my direction or acknowledge my existence. She grins from ear to ear and embraces Nicky. Six months ago, she wouldn't talk to Nicky, let alone hug her. She's switched sides. We've been friends for twelve years. Over the years, Nicky's done horrible things to every girl in this studio. And Tiffany's hugging her? I gape in horror. It's like someone just took my heart, put it on the floor of the studio, and went up on top of it with their pointe shoe and did pirouettes on it. My throat tightens, tears start to spill over the edge, and I quickly look down so they can't see the evidence of my weakness. I sniff back the nasty snot from my nose and wipe it with the backs of my hands. They aren't worthy of my tears, but I can't stop them. How am I going to dance like this? I look away and try to cry into a pillow, or at least muffle what's now turned into weeping. Mean, mean girls.

So, apparently, Tiffany's been initiated into the popular girls' clique. I wonder if cutting my bangs off was her challenge for entry into the elite group. Surely not. Suddenly her goal seems to be to crush my spirit. Never have I experienced such hatefulness. As the other girls in my class begin to arrive, they all sneer in my direction. None of them even attempt to hide their insults toward me with a whisper. After my moment on the bench burrowed in the pillow, I manage to hold the tears back the entire class by biting my lip, blinking frequently, and swiping my face with the long sleeve of my black leotard. From time to time, the sensation of eyes boring into me causes me to scan the mirror, and I catch Sebastian's gaze. He winks at me. I quickly look away, swallowing the lump in my throat. Is he in on the joke?

When class is over, I gather my duffle and book bag, change into my sneakers and shorts, then head outside to wait on Mom. The humid air should suffocate me, but it's nothing compared to the sub-zero chill of the other dancers' attitudes that have already frozen my lungs, making it impossible to breathe. The door creaks, then slams shut. I glance up, and Sebastian lets his body slide down the brick wall behind us. "Those girls are all stupid. And they're jealous of you."

The laugh bellows out of me. "Jealous?"

He nods.

"Not true."

"It is. You're pretty. You're a great dancer, Claire. They wish they were you."

Swallowing back the tears, I glance over into his big green eyes. "You think I'm pretty?" He went through a growth spurt during the summer, and he's no longer lanky. The juncture of his arm and shoulder's accentuated against the black ribbed tank top. He's still tanned from the summer, and his dark hair is wet from sweat. My insides flip, my heart skips a beat, and I gulp at the tornado swirling in the pit of my stomach.

"Did I say that? I, uh..."

I nudge him. "You're stupid. Just shut up before you ruin it." How could I have thought he was a part of their childish games?

He chuckles, then he reaches his finger out and smudges the tear that's fallen down my cheek. "I'll shut up if you dry it up. You're too pretty to cry. Stop before they see you. They'll interpret your tears for weakness. And you're too strong for anyone to make that mistake."

I hold his masculine hand to my face. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For just being my friend. You're the only one I've got right now."

We both freeze in place. "I've always been your friend...Claire..."

The sound of a car roars closer, and when the headlights turn the corner, I quickly drop his hand and push myself off the brick façade of the building. "I'll see ya, Sebastian."

He brushes his hands on his legs. "Chin up, Claire."

The way I'd craved Mr. Robins' compliments earlier was but a mere appetizer to the feeling of being the object of Sebastian's affection, even if it is just as friends. I smile at him. "Chin is up. Glad we had this talk," I say as I toss the strap of my duffle and book bag over my shoulder. We go to different schools, so I wave, knowing it will be nearly a whole twenty-four hours and a full school day of mean girls before I get to see him again. Torture. "See you tomorrow."

His hand goes up as his lips curve into a lopsided grin. "Later, pretty girl."

I glance back over my shoulder. "So you do think I'm pretty?"

He winks. "Just a little. Don't let it go to your head too fast."

"I'll try. Night." I practically skip to the car, swing the door open, and slide back into the bucket seat. "Hey."

"Hay is for horses. Hi."

I glance out the window and roll my eyes so Mom can't see. "Hi."

"Is there something you wanna tell me?" Her forehead crumples. "You've been crying."

I shrug. How is it she can tell that within two point two seconds of me being in this vehicle? Is that some kind of mom superpower? "Tiffany and I are no longer friends. Sebastian says she's jealous. Of what I have no clue, but whatever." I sigh. Mom presses the gas, and I glance over my shoulder at him as the car is propelled forward. He turns and walks backward inside, his eyes never leaving mine. "He's actually being really nice to me. Can you believe it?"

"Yes. I'm surprised it took him this long, actually. Just dance. Please, just dance. And what do you mean Tiffany is no longer your friend?"

"She has a new best friend, and there's apparently no place left for me."

"Then she was never your friend to start with."

"You know that's not true. Twelve years. Twelve years we've been best friends."

She shakes her head, but she doesn't look at me. "I'm aware of how long it's been, and I know it's hard for you to imagine, but a true friend wouldn't be able to just walk away."

"Whatever." I cross my arms. "I hate her." Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I remember what Sebastian just said about being too strong, and I will them back to wherever tears hang out when they're waiting to spill over the edge of my lids.

"Don't say you hate her. You can dislike her all day, but don't hate people, Claire."

"Fine. I really, really dislike her."

"The pain will get better. Just take all that hurt and pour it into your dance."

I nod. "Yeah. Okay."

Maybe Sebastian can help me with that.

It's amazing how easy I got through the school day. That's because it's been impossible to forget Sebastian's words. They've been cycling on repeat since he said them yesterday. The only thing that's alternated with them is the way his green eyes flashed when he looked at me and the way my stomach twisted like I'd just survived a series of corkscrews on my favorite rollercoaster.

Okay. I'd be lying to say that's not followed by my mother's words about just dancing. Those are followed by dancing with Sebastian. Then kissing Sebastian. Followed by very inappropriate images of Sebastian on top of me doing things I don't even know how to do. His hands touching me in places no one ever has before. His lips on mine, and it's so vivid, I can nearly feel their softness. Snap. Out. Of. It. Claire.

Just because he said those things doesn't mean he means them. They were sympathy compliments. He felt bad for you. Besides, there's no way he doesn't have a girlfriend. It's not like you'd know. We don't even go to the same school.

"Claire. What are you looking all dreamy about?" Audrina asks. If it is possible Nicky was born with a fraternal twin sister that's everything she's not physically: tall, beautiful, etc., etc., then that would be Audrina. But personality wise, they're exactly the freaking same. It's like someone cloned their petty little minds. I sigh. Dang her for screwing up my perfect daydream.

"Nothing."

"That's not true. You're most definitely thinking about something. I saw you talking to Sebastian last night."

My eyes quickly avert to hers before scanning her. "So." What's her motive?

"So. What did he say to you?"

I shrug. "Nothing."

Her lips curve into a wicked grin. "His mouth was moving, so I hardly think it was nothing."

"You're right. It was moving, but what he said is none of your business. If you want to know what he said, you can ask him. If he wants you to know, he'll tell you." Because if I tell her he said I'm pretty and a good dancer, she'll laugh in my face, and frankly, I'm not in the mood for that. So, I push my books to the side. My feet make their way to the bathroom, my legs increasing their pace with each step, and my face reddening with each passing moment. Audrina is the ring leader of the mean girls' cult. It's on pretty good authority, she's the reason I no longer have a best friend, and if it's up to her, Sebastian will be next.

Since the studio is an old building, there's only one bathroom, so it's gender neutral. It's around a corner in a little alcove with a wall of lockers, and as I turn to rush through the door, I plow into a steel chest. I inhale a whiff of cedar, water, and apple. "I'm..." My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. "I'm..." My palms are on his abs. I know whose they are, so I let them linger a little longer than I should, feeling the ripples beneath his ribbed black tank top. I gaze up, but I get stuck on his crooked grin before I find my way to his hooded green eyes. "I'm sorry. I just need the bathroom."

"Don't be."

I furrow my brows and swallow.

"Sorry," he says. "Don't be sorry."

I let out the breath I've been holding, and the springs inside me coil.

He tilts his head and leans in. "Claire."

"Huh?"

"I'm gonna kiss you."

"Uh huh."

"Right now."

"Okay."

His lips dip down and brush with mine. My feet arch and in an instant I'm on my toes, and I've never loved this position, this dance more, in my life. He pushes his tongue past my lips and it moves gracefully as it explores my mouth, while I suck on it and moan. His hands grasp my hair and he pushes me against the lockers. "Shh," I whisper, thinking about Audrina. "Someone's gonna hear us."

"I don't care." He pushes me again, rattling the metal, deepening our kiss. "I hope they do."

My lips curve beneath his and my heart skips in my chest. He thrusts his body into mine. I feel every bit of him, and while my daydream was hot, this is so much better. So. Much. Better. My limbs feel like noodles, and because I'm a dancer that never happens. I'm strong. But when my knees buckle, Sebastian becomes the best partner I've ever had--the only partner I've ever had--and he holds me up. He pulls my bottom lip with his teeth. "You're so sweet, Claire. I've wanted to kiss you for as long as I can remember."

"Really?"

"Why do you find that as surprising as the being pretty and a good dancer comment?"

I shrug.

"Where's your confidence?"

I shrug again.

He pulls my chin up and kisses me once more. "He did this to you, didn't he? Robins."

My eyes immediately go to the ground, but it's true, and he knows it.

"Look at me, Claire." His fingers tug my face back up. "You're so beautiful. So perfect just the way you are. I wish you could see what I see when you look in the mirror. I know he has a way of making your vision like those stupid fun house mirrors that aren't so fun. Don't let him do that to you, though."

Shaking my head, I wrap my arms around my body. A small tear falls, not because he likes me or that it's so far-fetched to think he would, but because it's too late to keep Robins from ruining my perception of myself. I'll never be able to see what Sebastian sees when he looks at me. I'm ruined. I'll never have a thigh gap. My collarbone will never protrude beautifully. My hair will never be straight enough, long enough, tame enough. I'll never be his partner because no matter how hard I try, Robins will never think I'm worthy. I'll never be good enough.

Pointing to the bathroom, I push past him and swipe my face, refusing to look at him. "I have to go." I sniff back the emotion starting to pour from me, locking it away in some safe place I hope to forget because Robins says we don't cry. Even Sebastian said it. Crying is a sign of weakness, and there's no place for weakness within these walls. Screw Sebastian for making me weak. I turn to close the door, and he's staring at me with his hands grasping the strands of his silky hair, his tight black tank molded to his muscles, showing a small bit of his abs above the waistband of his workout sweats. My eyes hang there a little longer than they should before I close them, shaking my head. "What just happened here can never happen again."

"Cla--" I close the door, and it's not until I collapse against it that my stomach clenches as if I've just received a punch. Breathe, Claire. Just Breathe. My body bounces against the wood. "Claire. Please open the door. You have to come out eventually." Class. I'll have an hour of facing him in front of a mirror. An hour for him to stare at me like he did last night. An hour for me to replay his words in my mind, to daydream about his lips on mine, and his hands all over me--the way it felt when he pushed me against the locker. Some kind of electricity surges through me and causes me to squirm. "I won't touch you again if you don't want me to. I promise. Just open the door."

Is that what I want? For him to never touch me again? Would that make me happy? For Sebastian's hands to never be on my skin? His lips to never brush against mine? My breathing increases and heat consumes my body. I shake my head. This is all so confusing. Turning the knob, I open the door and breathe a sigh of relief. His arms are bracing the wood above his head. Even though I've opened the door, he has me completely trapped in the bathroom.

He smiles. "So."

I exhale. I'm in so much trouble. My eyes are drawn to his lips. Only his perfectly pouty pink lips and his white teeth. My knees are already getting weak. How am I ever going to get through an hour of dance in the same room with him again? There's no way I could ever be his partner. "So."

He arches a brow. Not that I'm looking at his brow. Peripheral vision and all. "Is that what you want? For me to never touch you again?"

I shake my head.

He pushes my bangs to the side and squints his eyes as if he's in pain. "Which one of them did this to you?"

"How'd you know about that?"

"Just an idea. Which one?"

I shrug. "It doesn't matter. They'll grow back. Do we have to talk about them?"

He strums my cheek. "Tomorrow's the last night of the fair."

"Yep. It is." I laugh. This is a kind of awkward conversation.

"Do you like cotton candy?"

"Caramel apples, corn dogs, funnel cakes, sausage dogs with onions and bell peppers, and of course, cotton candy...should I keep going with the list of fair food I like?"

He grins. "Favorite ride?"

I glance at the ceiling and tap my chin. "Hmm. That's a tough one. It's a serious toss-up between the Gravitron, that caterpillar thing--what's it called?" I snap my fingers, trying to think of the name and he chuckles. I roll my eyes and continue to ramble. "The Tilt-A-Whirl and the Scrambler."

"No Ferris wheel?"

I shake my head vehemently. "Well. I don't mind the ones with the big buckets so much, but those little ones with the two seaters that practically recline. Um. No." I look up, close the distance between us, and arch my feet. He leans his head down and our noses nearly touch. "Why are you asking me all these random questions? Class is gonna start soon. I need to warm up." Too bad my muscles can't warm as quickly as my blood does with his proximity.

He laces the fingers of one of his hands with one of mine. My breathing hitches. Then he repeats it with the other hand. He lifts me. My very first lift. Ever. And it's with Sebastian. Okay, it's not really a legit lift, but who cares. He lowers his lips to mine. In between kisses, he whispers, "I wanted to know if I could carry you on a few rides tomorrow night at the fair."

"Are you asking me out on a date?"

He smirks. "Would appear so."

If you're enjoying the story so far, you can continue reading Claire's story, now available at all major retailers.

Thank you for taking your time to read my book. Your honest review is greatly appreciated. I would love to chat with you. Find me on Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, and more. Links to all social media sites, teasers, news, more can be found on my website, www.jbmcgee.com. Thank you again for reading.

#

To my husband, Chad. The last year has been a whirlwind. Everything happens for a reason and sometimes when you're in that tunnel, it is especially hard to understand how you got there, or how you will get out and still be whole. I know that great things are yet to come for us. I know that this book writing venture scares you on multiple levels, primarily because you know that it makes me sick. Thank you for everything you've done to try to help keep me well. Your excitement about this book makes this book even more special than it already is to me. I'm so glad we get to share this life together. I know you're not perfect, but lately you have been pretty darn close. Cooking, cleaning, watching our children, preparing and serving meals to me. I don't think I could write a book boyfriend as good as you and actually have people believe me.

To Noah and Jonah. You will experience excruciating loss in your lives. May you always know that it's during those times that you are carried. You will never be given something that is too much for your heart to bear. Everything that doesn't kill us makes us stronger. You may not know why it happens, but God promises to make everything for the good of His glory and His kingdom for those who love Him. And He doesn't break promises. Ever. Everything I do is to make your life better, and I hope I have made you proud.

To my Dad. Thank you for your constant support, for selling books to your friends, and for keeping our medically complex children so I can go meet new fans. Without you, I wouldn't have had two of the best grandparents a girl could ask for. Releasing this book on your birthday seemed like the best gift I could possibly give to you. It will forever be available to the world. Your parents' legacy will live on forever, not just in our hearts, but now in the hearts of so many more people.

To Matt Rivers. We don't get to talk as much as we used to. We miss you and your family. When I first started writing this book, I hoped you'd be able to help. I was a little nervous about explaining this romance plot to a real life soldier, but I shouldn't have been. I should have known that you'd support me, because you've always supported your friends. You are a good friend. Thank you for your notes. Thank you for leading me to others who could help on things you didn't know. Simply put, this book wouldn't be accurate if not for you and your buddies.

To Jeremy Garland. You spent a long time with me. For free. Selflessly. I guess that's why you are who you are. A soldier and a nurse. Two of the most selfless professions I can think of. Thank you for your track changes to my manuscript. Some made me laugh, some made me want to pat myself on the back. Your late night texts to tell me that you couldn't put this book down made me do fist pumps and happy dances. I learned a lot from you that will stay with me for the rest of my life. There is no doubt that this book is better because of you. In fact, in a way, you own part of this plot. For that, I will forever be grateful. An acknowledgement in the back of the book will never be enough for your service to our country, and for being a new friend.

To Nicole Andrews Moore. You've become 'my person.' Thank you for always having my back, for working hard to put together a tour with over 100 blogs on it, and just doing everything in your power to make sure it had the best chance of success possible. This book wouldn't be what it is without you.

To Deb Hart. Let me say that I had no idea just how connected you'd be to this book. I just remember you being available to talk me through my transition into uncharted territory for me with this book. You have become such a great friend and supporter to me. I don't know where to begin to thank you. The ending and epilogue of this book just wouldn't be the same had it not been for our chat. Who knew that picking names from my chat boxes on the right side would prove so powerful? I guess God did.

Jennifer Noe. Thank you for always being so quick to read for me, and telling me your honest opinion. You're an excellent beta, and an even better friend.

Jen Gerschick. There is no way that I will ever be able to repay you for your friendship and what you do for me. Thank you for loving my writing, and screaming it from the rooftops every opportunity you get. Know it's always noticed. Your beta feedback was invaluable.

Kathy Womack. You are such a great friend. This book wouldn't be what it is without you. You believed in it before a single soul knew about it. I know you don't consider yourself a beta, but I think you just did your first little trial run at that. This book's success will be greater because of you. Know that always. Thank you for your support, but especially your spiritual support.

To Michelle Eck. Simply put, I wouldn't be where I am today without you. Thank you for guiding me through this process and last minute screen shots of missing punctuation. I learn something new from you every time we talk. I appreciate your encouraging words and unwavering support for this book. Most of all, thanks for being a friend.

To KK (Krista Ashe/Katie Ashley). I think about how we met and it's very interesting how God put all of us together. I am thankful to call you an ILR friend. Thank you for all that you do for me, for making me a better writer.

To Karen Russell. I don't know what I'd do without your eagle eyes. Well, and your ability to tell me what is unique to the United States and the South. Thank you for always giving my books a final proofread. I am forever indebted to you. Actually, thank you doesn't seem like enough.

To my street team. Thank you so much for always being willing to jump, then saying how high. Your dedication to making sure people know who I am and read my books is amazing. I am truly blessed to have you in my life.

I can't even begin to name the hundreds of bloggers who have been influential in my life without leaving someone off, so I won't name them. At the blogger's brunch in Las Vegas, I said it best. Without you, I'd still be begging my family members for grocery money. Thank you for helping me make writing my career. Thank you for your support for our family.

#

J.B. McGee is a mother, wife, and the Amazon Top 100 author of the best selling This Series. Amazon Crossing acquired the German rights to her debut novel, Broken. Heartfall, her coming of age novel about a bullied ballerina, is a #1 best seller in the Teen and Young Adult Performing Arts genre. Skipping Stones, a military romance about a young woman strongly influenced by her faith and her family all the while searching for her true love, is a #1 best seller in Women's Christian Fiction.

When J.B.'s not writing, she enjoys reading as well as watching and live-chatting her favorite television shows with her friends. Her favorite shows are Quantico, Blindspot, Grey's Anatomy, The Bachelor/Bachelorette, Below Deck, The Vampire Diaries, The Originals, and Scandal (mainly because of her love of Scott Foley).

Born and raised in Aiken, South Carolina, she attended Converse College and eventually earned her Bachelor of Arts degree in Early Childhood Education from The University of South Carolina-Aiken in 2006.

In college, she was told by her children's literature professor she would be the one student from her class to be an author. McGee shook her head and laughed. But in 2012, over six years after that statement was made and after a love of reading had been reignited, she gave writing a shot. J.B. gladly ate crow when she emailed her first book to the above mentioned children's literature professor thanking her and acknowledging the accuracy of her prophecy.

In 2011, it was discovered that not only do both of her children, but also she and her husband, have mitochondrial disease. Affecting 1 in 2500 people, it has no cure or treatments. Being a writer allows J.B. to care for her family's unique needs while also providing a platform for raising awareness for this disease.

She is a hopeless romantic who loves to escape into fairy tales--some she reads and some she creates.

J.B. McGee and her family now reside in Buford, Georgia.

Theater) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Theater_(warfare)): This is the place where acts of war are occuring. Afghanistan is the theater in this book. Also known as the area of operation, or combat zone.

Forward Surgical Team (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forward_surgical_teams): When a soldier is injured that isn't stable enough to go to a hospital, they are transported by helicopter to this small team that is located close to the front lines. Think the "Golden Hour". After patients are stabilized, they are able to be _packaged_ (see below) and transported to an upper level echelon.

Packaging: Preparing a patient for transport to another place.

Echelon (http://armymedical.tpub.com/MD0001/MD00010018.htm): Levels of medical care.

Litter (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stretcher): This is like a stretcher without wheels. Think of a cot that is carried by four people. Two at

the head, two at the bottom.

Battle Buddy (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_buddy): This is like a soldier's partner. Often is a soldier in the causality's unit. This person would stay with an injured soldier and help give information on his identity, the incidence that led to the injuries, and comfort the injured. The relationship that you can compare the closeness that these two people experience is the love between a parent and a child.

Trauma Card or SOF MIST Casualty Treatment Card (http://www.rescue-essentials.com/sof-mist-casualty-treatment-card/): MIST stands for Mechanism, Injuries, Symptoms, Treatment. This is like a report card on the patient. It tells what the doctor did to treat the patient. What the injuries are. Medicines and treatments administered along with their times would be documented on the trauma card. It is done right before the patient is transferred.

Mortar) (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mortar_(weapon)): A projectile explosive weapon used in acts of war.

ROTC (http://www.todaysmilitary.com/before-serving-in-the-military/rotc-programs?campaign_id=SEM2012:on:google:ROTC-r_o_t_c:exact): Reserve Officer Training Course

*Trauma causalities are numbered as they are treated. T610 in chapter 20 refers to the 610th American or coalition trauma victim treated up to this point in time.
