The Names They Gave Us(76)

“So, we’re okay?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Can I still go to the wedding with you?”

“I guess.” He smiles, to prove he’s joking, and I lean up to kiss him.

I never fought with Lukas like that. Not once. And only now do I wonder if maybe we just weren’t feeling enough. Or expressing enough. I don’t want to compare everything, but he’s the only other relationship I’ve had.

And this one? This one feels easy, even with voices raised as we try to understand each other. It occurs to me, not for the first time, that maybe I was always supposed to end up right here.

Back at the cabin, I find Keely sitting on the step, arms curled around her knees in the weak porch light.

“You waited up for me?” I ask, with embarrassingly transparent hope.

She shrugs, brushing off her shorts as she stands. “Just in case.”

Just in case. Just in case I came back to a dark, quiet cabin and it felt like the sadness would consume me. Keely startles awake if a camper so much as whimpers in the midst of a dream. If I came home upset, she’d sense it from the top bunk. And that means she’s sitting out here just in case I needed to be sure someone was with me.

“You could have told me,” she says. “You could tell me now.”

I knew that. I know that. It just seemed unfair to take my pain to Keely, who lost her mom even younger. “Could you tell me about your mom too?”

She sits back down, patting the space beside her, and I settle in.





CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Saturday morning, I get ready for the wedding while the campers are swimming. I go for subtle makeup—sheer foundation, plus a soft, peony pink on my cheeks and lips.

Henry is waiting outside the cabin, wearing his usual button-down and shorts. We don’t have formal clothes here, of course, so I’m changing at my parents’ cabin. Henry and Keely will have to change when we get to their hometown.

“You ready?” I ask Keely.

She sticks her head out of the bathroom. “You think I’m crashing Jones meeting your parents? Yeah, right. Pick me up on the way back. I’ll wait at the end of the drive.”

Rhea’s letting us borrow her car, and I fidget nervously as Henry drives us down the short stretch of road to Holyoke.

“They’re really nice,” I tell him for the thousandth time. “And my mom does look pretty sick. I just . . . don’t want you to be surprised.”

“Luce.” He gives me an encouraging smile. “I know.”

It’s a good thing Henry sounds sure, because my dad is waiting on the porch like a sentry. Lord, help me.

“Good morning, sir. Henry Jones.” Henry sticks out a hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Henry Jones.” His voice is a little lower than usual. I don’t think he’s trying to intimidate Henry. But he’s not trying to make him feel too at ease, either.

My dad leans in to peck my cheek. “Hi, Bird. We brought you a few dresses from home. They’re in your room.”

“Please tell me you remembered shoes.”

“Oh no! I didn’t.” He looks horror-stricken, then breaks into a grin. “But your mother did.”

I swat his arm as we walk into the living room. My mom’s camped out on the couch, looking exhausted.

“Hi, Mom.”

“Hi, baby.” She looks my date up and down, smiling. “You must be Henry.”

“Very nice to meet you, ma’am. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Likewise. Lucy, you’d better go change.”

I let go of Henry’s hand, moving toward my room. I give my dad a pointed look: Don’t let Mom grill him! But my dad just waves me on.

When I return, they’re talking about Henry’s musical roots. My dad has relaxed enough to sit down, a good sign.

“Lovely choice,” my mom says, eyeing my floaty dress.

“Very pretty,” Henry agrees. He barely glances at me, though. Pastor Dad is a powerful force.

“So, Henry,” my mom says. “You’re playing today, right? At the wedding?”

“Yeah! ‘Trumpet Voluntary’ and then a part of the first dance.”

“How wonderful. So you have your trumpet with you?”

“In the car.”

“Can you play something for me? Do you have time? If not, I—”

“Mom.”

“What?” she asks, all feigned innocence.

Henry smiles. “Of course we do.”

He runs out to the car for his trumpet, and my mom smooths my hair. “You look beautiful, honey.”

“Thanks.”

“Are you nervous to meet his family?” She doesn’t even let me answer; she knows I am. “They’ll love you, Bird. Just be yourself.”

“Okay.” Henry opens the instrument case on his lap. “Any requests?”

“Oh, anything. Anything you like to play.”

He puts the mouthpiece to his lips. The mute keeps the sound from piercing too loudly as the first notes play out. I know the words. Did I tell him about this song? Or did he just know?

When peace like a river attendeth my way, when sorrow like sea billows roll . . .

Henry takes his time with the rhythm, letting each tone resonate. His high notes soar upward; they raise goose bumps on my arms.