I'll Stop the World (122)

“Really?” Rose laughed. She could picture Bill flying over the surface of the water, white hair swirling in the wind, as Veronica rested a manicured hand on the wheel of the boat.

Sometimes, when Bill had still been working with her, Rose had tried to picture the world that Justin had described—the one where he and Veronica were both gone, and Millie grew up an only child, hating herself—and found she couldn’t do it. The tragedy was simply too great to fathom.

The name on Justin’s school records now read Justin Jonathan Warren, his middle name chosen for the uncle he was always meant to have, instead of the one who was never supposed to exist.

“Yeah, he’s been wanting to teach me for a while,” Justin said, “but this time Alyssa’s coming with me when I visit—oh, Alyssa’s my girlfriend.”

“I know,” Rose said, smiling. She’d seen them in the halls, holding hands, laughing. It was strange, to see the boy who had once consumed her every thought, still young while she’d grown old, hand in hand with the girl he’d always regretted leaving behind.

She wasn’t jealous, not exactly. He was still a boy, while she was a grandmother five times over. She’d had a wonderful life with a man she loved with her whole heart, and Justin’s was still ahead of him.

But her chest still clenched at the sight of him with his beautiful, young girlfriend, and she doubted that feeling would ever fully go away. She wondered if anyone ever, in the history of the world, had experienced this feeling, or if it was just her. Plenty of girls had loved boys who’d died. But as far as she knew, she was the only one whose boy had come back decades later, raised in a world that he’d helped create, even though he had no memory of it.

It was an odd, lonely thought.

“Anyway, Alyssa really wants to learn, so I guess we’re both learning,” Justin finished with a smile. “We’ll be there for two weeks in July, to give us time to pack before we head off to college.”

“And where are you going to school?” She knew—it was right there in the file—but she wanted to hear him say it out loud.

“University of Pennsylvania,” he said proudly. “It’s where my grandparents met. They tried to pretend they didn’t care where I went, but I could tell. Plus I’ll be able to see them on the weekends and stuff. It’s been weird, not having them here.”

“I’m sure it has been,” Rose said, a lump rising in her chest. Ducking her head, she made a show of adjusting her glasses before he could notice her watery eyes. Get it together. She cleared her throat, forcing a bright smile. “So let’s talk about the details of this scholarship, shall we?”

She managed to get through the rest of the meeting without breaking down, shifting into autopilot as she delivered her standard speech about GPA requirements and distribution schedules, although she kept her eyes on her notes far more than she usually did. If she looked at him, she couldn’t trust herself not to stare, searching for every difference, every similarity.

Finally, and too soon, her role was over, and she was shaking their hands, and then they were gone.

Rose waited until she heard the front door of the office click shut behind them before bracing both hands on her desk and taking a long, shuddering breath. She removed her glasses and rubbed her eyes, not caring whether she smudged her mascara. Not for the first time, she wished she kept something a little stronger than coffee in her office.

“Um, Dr. Hanley?”

Rose looked up, blinking rapidly. There he was, framed in her doorway, young and vibrant and alive in a way he’d never been when she’d known him.

“Yes?” She realized too late that she still had tears on her cheeks.

“I forgot my backpack,” he said, edging into the room. Sure enough, there it was, slouched on the floor by his chair.

“Of course.”

He shrugged the bag onto one shoulder but didn’t leave right away. “Dr. Hanley?”

“Yes, Justin?” Even though she knew he never would, she wished he would call her by her first name, just once.

“I hope it’s okay for me to ask, but . . . are you okay?”

Rose let out a little laugh, or maybe it was a tiny sob—she couldn’t quite be sure. “I’m fine,” she said quietly, wiping her tears with a fresh tissue.

“It’s just that you seem a little upset and—”

“It’s nothing.” In her effort to keep from crying, her voice came out stiff, cold. It didn’t even sound like her.

“Okay,” he said uncertainly. “Well, bye.”

He turned to leave, and her heart squeezed like it was being ripped from her chest. Suddenly, she knew she had to tell him, even if he wouldn’t understand. “Actually,” she said, her voice breaking, “I’m sorry, it’s just that you . . . you remind me of someone I knew when I was your age.”

He looked back at her, his bright-blue eyes staring into hers. For a second, she almost—she’d probably imagined it, but she almost—thought she saw a flicker of recognition.

“Who?” he said softly. As if he realized that this memory was delicate, and he didn’t want to risk shattering it.

“A friend,” she said. “He’s been gone a long time, but when I look at you, I can still see his face so clearly.”