All This Time(47)

Things are strange without Sam around.

All winter long we make it a point to talk every Saturday morning, FaceTiming while I take blue tulips to Kim’s grave, the weather slowly getting warmer as bundled walks through snowstorms give way to April showers.

Between spending time with Marley, and my internship, and starting journalism classes at the local community college, it feels like I blinked and the seasons changed.

Pretty soon, it’s 75 degrees out, and the park is filled with people running around in tank tops and sunglasses, acting like it’s summer.

I set up the last of the folding chairs and stand up to stretch, my shoulder a little sore from all the lifting. I do a final once-over of the outdoor classroom I’ve spent this entire May morning setting up, nodding when I see the rows are perfectly straight. A few minutes later the middle schoolers start to trickle in, but the teacher…

Missing in action.

I scan the perimeter, searching for that familiar trace of yellow. My eyes catch sight of a yellow skirt, its owner pacing nervously back and forth by the pond, a tiny gang of ducks trailing behind her.

I grab a single yellow Doris Day rose from my bag and head over, stopping to straighten the hand-painted sign reading HOW TO TELL A STORY in cursive far neater than I could ever dream of writing. The ducks turn to look at me as I get closer. I mumble my “excuse me’s” to them as they part, a clear path forming straight through to Marley.

“Hey,” I say as I reach out to take her hand. She gives me a panic-stricken look, her features frozen with worry. “You’ve got this.”

She lets out a long sigh, clearly not convinced. “How did you talk me into this?”

“You’re the best storyteller I know,” I say, meaning it. “You can do this.”

She looks doubtful, but I know it’s going to be great. I know more than anyone how special she is. Every day she opens up a little bit more, becoming more and more herself.

And now, today, she’s going to share a small part of herself with more people than just me. Something that we’ve talked about since she let me read her stories last fall.

I pull the rose from behind my back and finally get a glimmer of a smile. “My favorite,” she says as she takes it from me. “I love… it,” she adds, taking me back to Halloween night, our little catchphrase.

“You talking about me or the rose?”

The smile grows, and she squeezes my hand. “Both.”

Hand in hand we head up to the tent, almost all of the seats taken by eager students wielding notebooks and pens. Old-school. No laptops or tablets. Writing the way Marley does it.

I made sure to put that in the free advertisement Scott was nice enough to include in the Times two weeks ago since he’s trying really hard to get me to stay on another semester.

I kiss her cheek and slide into an empty seat while she walks to the front of the makeshift classroom, a sea of eyes staring up at her. She freezes and I hold my breath, silently willing her to talk while internally screaming, You can do this, Marley!

“What,” she starts finally, her eyes locking on mine, “is the first thing you need to tell a story?”

“A character?” a girl in the front row calls out, and Marley’s attention turns to her, a smile appearing on her face.

“Characters are important, for sure,” she says, nodding. “But even before that. What do you need?”

Someone calls out, “Something for them to do?”

Then a voice from the back shouts, “An idea! An idea! You need an idea.”

“Yes,” Marley says, excited. “You need an idea.” She pauses for a second, holding my gaze. “You need a dream.” I do a quick scan of the crowd to see all the middle schoolers at the edge of their seats. She’s crushing this. Just like I knew she would.

I watch in awe for the rest of the class.

With every minute that passes, she gets more and more confident, the Marley I know and love finally breaking out of her shell for everyone else to see, her enthusiasm inspiring everyone here to tell the story they are longing to tell.

After the class ends, a small crowd of middle schoolers overtakes her, asking her questions, hoping for another class in the future. I take a Tylenol and start to clean up the chairs, smiling to myself.

Shoulder pain and all, this has been more than worth it.

Two arms wrap around me after I finish, the last of the students heading out of the park, notebooks tucked under their arms.

“That was amazing,” Marley mumbles into my shoulder.

“You were amazing,” I say, turning around to kiss her, my hand finding the familiar dip of her waist. “We should celebrate. Do something fun.”

“Like what?” Marley asks, reaching up to touch my face, her fingers gentle against my cheek.

“Anything!” I say.

She thinks, her eyes lighting up, a smile appearing on her lips. “Anything?”



* * *




We pull up to the animal shelter, and Marley peers out the window, excited.

This is definitely not what I had in mind when it comes to celebrating, but… this is big for her. She’s been talking about getting a dog since winter, but something always stops her.

I smile at the determined look in her eyes. Nothing can stop her today.

Plus, I’m pretty excited myself. While I’d never say it out loud to her, a dog is way cuter than a fully grown duck hell-bent on getting popcorn snacks.