The Rest of the Story(116)

What would they be? At that moment, I couldn’t say. Only later would I know they would include the In Memoriam I’d write for the Bly County News, sending it in so it ran on the Monday after Thanksgiving, the day my mom died. My dad would help me find a picture of her when she was sober and happy. Also to be in those pages, eventually: the day I left, when Trinity and Bailey presented me with my own spray bottle, EMMA SAYLOR—I’d decided to go by both names, not choosing between them anymore—which would be waiting for me the following summer when I returned.

But first, I had to go, and I would. But not as a passenger this time.

Even with all the progress I’d made, my dad wasn’t thrilled with the idea of me driving home alone. But Nana had a car coming, and plenty of room for him and Tracy and all their bags, and I had more goodbyes to say than he did. So finally, begrudgingly, he agreed, waving at me as they drove off from Calvander’s in a black town car, the blinker flashing as they turned left onto the main road. Which left just Roo and me, my packed bags, and one more thing. A lake thing.

“Hold it out,” he said as I gripped the sparkler in my hand. I did, and he put his against it, tip to tip, before striking the lighter. As he waited for them to catch, I took the opportunity to study him. Blond hair, sticking up a bit in the back. The gap in this teeth, trademark. And those numbers, where to find him, across one calf. There were no guarantees of what would happen to us in the coming year, but as my mind started to consider it, there was a spark, another, then a shower between us. I thought of my mom and his dad—both big lives, gone too soon. I was leaving, too. But I knew I’d be back.