You've Reached Sam(51)

“If I’m honest, Julie,” Sam says. “I’m not completely sure. But I have this feeling it might affect our connection.”

I think about this. “Is there a chance nothing would happen?”

“Maybe,” he says. “I guess we won’t know until it does. But there’s a chance it could break our connection forever. I’m not sure if we should risk it.”

I swallow hard. The thought of this sends a chill through me.

“Then I won’t tell anyone. I’ll keep this a secret. I don’t want to lose you. Not this soon.”

“I don’t want to lose you, either.”

A bright light flashes in the sky, followed by the sound of a distant rumble.

“What was that?” Sam asks.

“I think a storm is coming.”

“Lightning?”

“Sounds like it.”

When you live along the Cascade Range, occasional lightning storms are the only things that bring some life to the sleeping towns.

“I wish I could see,” Sam says.

“They sound far away.”

Another flash of lightning goes off, rupturing the sky for a split second.

“Remind me what they look like?” he asks.

“Like little cracks in the universe. And another world is peeking through.”

“Maybe that’s exactly what they are.”

“And maybe you’re on the other side.”

Another flash, another rumble.

“Can I listen?” Sam asks.

I put the phone on speaker and hold it up.

We listen to the storm for a long time.

Another flash, another rumble.

“You’re right,” he says, “It does sound far away.”

I stay there with him, on the phone, all the way until the storm ends.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

A few days pass without any bad dreams, but I still wake up with the same empty feeling. Like there’s a hole in my chest. I don’t know what’s wrong or how to explain it. The feeling seems to come whenever I get off the phone with Sam and find myself alone again. It’s like this void inside me that I can’t seem to fill up. I wish I could send Sam a text, or see our call history on the phone, so I can remind myself it’s real. Because sometimes I’m still not sure. Maybe that’s where the hole is coming from.

Whenever this feeling comes, I reach for Sam’s things, because they’re the only things that seem to make sense. His shirt on the back of the chair, the other bookend on my desk, the other things in my drawer—I still have everything. But his smell on them is beginning to fade, and I’m finding it harder to distinguish this bookend from the one I threw out.

I wish I could talk to someone else about this, or even show them his things, so they can tell me I’m not out of my mind. But Sam said it might harm our connection, and I’m scared to risk that—losing him all over again.

I can’t stop thinking about it, though. About the chance that nothing bad would happen at all if I tell someone about our calls, but I don’t want to bring this up to Sam again. At least, not right now.

My phone buzzes. It’s a text from Oliver, telling me to meet him outside in fifteen minutes. A second message from him says, Don’t forget. I cannot be late to Spanish again. I get ready quickly, but when I come outside, he isn’t even here yet. I check my phone. There’s another message from him. Omw.

Someone was walking their dog. Had to stop for a pic. He even sends me the photo.

For the past few days, Oliver and I have been walking to school together. His house is a couple blocks from mine, so he usually sends me his estimated time of arrival, which I’m learning is never accurate. We’ve been spending a lot more time together, talking about films and musicals and Sam. I can’t believe it took three years and both of us losing someone we loved to get to this point. We made plans to visit his grave again soon.

I’m going to bring flowers next time. White blossoms. Oliver has become a rock during a time when it feels like everything is blowing away from me.

It makes me feel guilty about keeping secrets from him, especially knowing how much he loved Sam, too. I wish there was something else I could do for him. It takes me a while, but I finally think of something. A gesture to commemorate our new friendship.

Oliver tugs the straps of his backpack. “Ready to go?”

“One second,” I call from inside the house.

The front door is propped open. Oliver sticks his head in. “We’re gonna be late!”

“That’s because you stopped to take photos with a dog.”

“It was a beagle. His name was Arthur.”

A few seconds later, I’m outside, holding something behind my back.

There’s a pause between us.

Oliver arches a brow. “What do you have there?”

“Something I want to give you.”

“For what?”

“Just because.”

“Give it.”

I hand it over. Oliver blinks at me. “This is … Sam’s shirt…”

“Yes. And I want you to have it.”

“Why?”

“It doesn’t fit me. And I figure it’ll look better on you.”

Oliver stares at the shirt for a long time. “I don’t think I can take this,”