Something Like Normal(38)

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know it’s not,” I say. “But it’s not your fault, either.”

She picks up the envelope from the memorial service invitation and presses the back flap closed, even though the adhesive is long gone. “I don’t know, Travis. When I look back, maybe I neglected him and Ryan—”

“By sending me care packages and getting support from other Marine moms?” I ask. “Seems to me that Dad and Ryan were the ones who should have been supporting you.”

“But—”

“No.” I push the plate away. “There are no buts. I’m done. If you want to keep pretending he’s a stand-up guy, be my guest. But don’t expect me to do the same.”

“Travis—”

Ignoring her, I head upstairs to my room. On the way, I call Harper.

“What are you doing this weekend?” I ask, closing the door to my room.

“Working.”

“Do you think you can get out of it?” My laptop makes a chiming sound as I power it up. What am I going to say about Charlie at the service?

“Possibly. Why?”

“There’s a memorial for Charlie up in St. Augustine,” I say. “Will you go with me?”

“I’ll have to ask my dad,” Harper says. “I’m not sure how he’d feel about—”

“Tell him you’ll have your own room. On a different floor than mine if that makes him feel any better. Whatever he wants, Harper. Whatever you want. Just go with me? Please?”

I’ve never begged a girl for anything in my life, but nothing about this memorial is going to be easy. With Harper there… I don’t know. Maybe it won’t be so bad.

“Let me make some calls to cover my shifts,” she says. “If I can make it work, I’ll go.”

Next I dial Charlie’s mom. “Ms. Sweeney, this is Travis Stephenson.”

“Oh, Travis.” She sighs. “I was hoping to hear from you.”

“Yes, ma’am, um—I just wanted to tell you I’ll be at the memorial and I can talk about Charlie if, you know, you want.”

“That would mean so much to Jenny and me.” Her voice catches in her throat and it hits me that as terrible as Charlie’s death was for me, it has to be a million times worse for her. “Do you need a place to stay? You’re welcome to stay with us.”

“No, thank you, ma’am.” I lie, “I’ve already booked a room.”

She sniffles back tears. “I’m so looking forward to meeting you, Travis.”

“I, um—thank you.”

“We’ll see you Saturday.”

I disconnect the call and look at the blank computer screen, wishing the words would write themselves.

Charlie Sweeney was





Chapter 11

Hours later the cursor still taunts me from the end of those same three words and I’m no closer to finding the ones that come next. I give up trying and flop down on the bed. My eyes are closed when the door creaks open, but I don’t open them to see who it is. I already know. “Go away.”

“What?” a female voice says. “You’re not talking to me now?”

Shit. I am not in the mood to deal with Paige.

The bed sags a little as she sits down on the edge and her fingers touch the button on my shorts. I can feel my body responding to her—just like it always does—but my brain isn’t playing along. Even though Harper isn’t officially my girlfriend, if she knew about this, she’d be hurt. Or mad. Probably both. And for the first time in my life, I care about that. My fingers close around Paige’s wrist, stopping her. “Don’t.”

She laughs at me in her typical condescending way. “What is it about Harper Gray that’s got you so twisted?”

“Why do you care? You dumped me for Ryan.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Nobody said you were,” I say. “Yet you keep showing up in my room in the middle of the night when your boyfriend is down the hall.”

“You can be so stupid sometimes, Travis,” she says. “You were supposed to try to get back together with me. You always do.”

She sniffles and I look up. She’s crying. Not outright bawling or anything, only a tear trickling down her cheek, which is something I’ve never seen before. She blows out a breath. “Except you went straight for Harper, just like you did back in middle school.”

I’m so confused. “So, wait—”

“No.” Paige wipes her eyes on the bottom of her tank top. “Shut up. I know the only good thing we’ve ever had is the sex. I guess one time I wished you’d want me the way you want her.”

Sometimes girls make no sense at all. “What are you talking about?”

“I came over last night,” she says. “You were sleeping with her, and all your clothes were on, and—you love her.”

“I don’t—do you, um—” I stumble over my words. “You don’t love me, do you?”

She laughs. “Jesus, you really are an idiot. No, I don’t love you. But it would have been nice if you loved me.”

“You mean the way Ryan does?”