This Is Falling(88)

“Don’t worry. I didn’t read them,” she says with a gentle laugh. “I wanted to…but I figured there wasn’t really a parental reason to do that now.”

I smile and clutch the papers to my heart, letting a tear slide down my cheek. I set them in the lid with the photo and move on, pulling out the invitation for our homecoming dance, more photos of Josh and me at various baseball games, barbecues and parties, and then finally his old baseball jersey, still dirty from the last time he slid on base. I put everything back inside and close the lid, full-on weeping now, holding the box to my body in a hug.

I mouth thank you, unable to get my voice to work, and Patty pulls me into her arms for another hug. “You’re welcome, Rowe. You’re welcome,” she says, letting me stay right there for as long as I need.

Several minutes later, I finally make my way back outside. I never ask them about moving or putting the house up for sale, and I don’t ask about where Josh is buried. Because everything I need—the things that I need to move forward, but remember—are in this small box.

Once I’m back in the car with my parents, I set the box next to me on the seat, keeping my left palm flat along the lid, just to make sure nothing escapes. When my mom starts driving, I reach forward and put a hand on my dad’s shoulder; he sinks under my touch before reaching for my fingers and squeezing. I hold his hand for the few minutes it takes us to get back home.





Nate





It feels like the first day of school again, even though Ty and I are only coming back for a few days for finals before leaving again. It feels like the first day because it feels like everything from before was a dream. Rowe isn’t here, and I wonder if she’ll come back for her finals.

I’ve sent her a few texts, but she hasn’t written anything back. I hope she’s not angry that I let her parents know she was coming, but I wanted to make sure she got home safely, and that someone was there for her. Her dad sent me a text when she arrived, so I know she landed. But that’s the last word I received.

Ty filled Cass in for me, and if she’s heard anything from Rowe, she’s keeping it a secret. She comes in while Ty and I slide our bags next to our beds, and all I can do is laugh when I look around at this stupid pink room. She’s gone and painted herself everywhere I look—there’s no escaping. I lie back and laugh harder, because she’s all over my bed, too.

“Are you having a breakdown on me?” Ty asks, flipping my foot from my bed.

“Yeah…I think I am,” I say, my hands pressed to my eyes, trying to block everything out. “You hear anything?” I ask, looking right at Cass now.

“Nothing. I sent her a text yesterday and this morning. She has to take her finals, though, right?” Cass asks, and I just shrug. Rowe doesn’t have to do anything. I pull my phone from my pocket and check to see if she’s sent me anything, but my message alert is empty. “Fuck!”

I don’t do outbursts, but all I want to do right now is scream. Days ago, I had everything, and now the only thing I feel is sickness and regret. If I just knew she was okay, that she wasn’t back to being lost… I think if I knew that, I could get through this.

“I’m going to the cages. I’ll be back…I don’t know…later,” I say, pulling on my ball cap and pushing it low over my eyes so I don’t have to look at anyone. I hear Ty and Cass talking softly behind me when I leave, talking about me, I’m sure, but I don’t care. My state right now is something to talk about, and maybe they’ll come up with some answers for me.

During my walk to the batting facilities, I pull out my phone and text her again, because something has to get through. Are you at least taking your finals?

There—a truly simple question. She can send me back two or three letters—no or yes—and I would be thrilled. I push the phone back into my pocket and jog across the street. A few guys are already hitting, so I go to the locker room and pull out my gear, getting my helmet and gloves on. I’m not really dressed for much of a workout, but there aren’t any coaches around, so I just stay dressed in my jeans and long-sleeved baseball shirt—Rowe’s shirt, because I like to torment myself.

I nod to a few of the guys, then take the cage at the end, flipping the switch and watching a few of the pitches go by before I step in and swing. Crack! The first one stings. I’m hitting like shit, not concentrating. I’m hitting angrily. I step back and watch two more go by and take a deep breath before stepping up to the plate again. I line the next four balls, some of the hardest swings of my life, and then completely miss the fifth. This isn’t working. I don’t know why I thought it would. I shut the machine back to off, kick the balls to the end of the cage, and flip my bat to the ground.

Pacing doesn’t get me anywhere either, and after a few long breaths with my hands clasped behind my head, I clean up my failed batting session and return to the locker room. When my phone buzzes, I almost drop it in my rush to get it out of my pocket; my heart goes from feeling high to the pit of my stomach in a fraction of a second because the message is from Ty.

Ty: Dinner. Sally’s. Cass is buying.

Me: OK. Be there in 20.

I slam the locker shut, and pushing my lock back in, I nod to one of the guys walking in as I leave. I almost wish I never met her. But that’s a lie…because even those few weeks, months, were worth it all. I’m approaching Sally’s when my phone buzzes again, and I pull it out to tell Ty I’m there, when I stop cold. It’s her. Yes. That’s all she says. Yes. She’s taking her finals. She’s not fully gone. She isn’t quitting—at least not completely. She will be here—in our building—for at least one day. My girl isn’t gone. And she hasn’t completely shut me out. Three letters, the three greatest letters ever. That’s all I needed.