See You at Harry's(57)

“Oh, forget it. I’ll ask Sara.”

“No! Wait. I’ll do it.” Holden actually kisses me on the cheek.

I like the new Holden. In fact, I love him. Well, yes. Obviously. I always have.

I grab a pad and start to walk over to the boys. But my mom beats me to them. I turn back and Holden shrugs.

“Useless,” he mouths.

The morning flies by. At two o’clock the last customers finally waddle out, and Sara flips the OPEN sign to CLOSED. Then all the staff get together to eat leftovers just like old times. Except for one thing.

And yet he is here. I can feel his warmth. I can feel how he’s brought us together. It’s as if before Charlie died, my family was connected in a circle, as if we were holding hands. But when he died, we let go. Now, somehow, Charlie has helped us link hands again. Sitting at the table, I can feel Charlie here as if he never left. He is here, just in a different way. I can feel him under the table, threatening to try to tie my shoes to Holden’s. He’s here next to me, saying how much Doll loves their sundae. He’s here reaching for my hand, whispering in my ear. I love you, Ferny.

See you at Hawee’s, I hear him say. And it doesn’t feel like a lie anymore.

He is here. And he is not here. He is love. That’s what’s left. I think again of the poem the minister read at Charlie’s service. I still have it in my jewelry box. I haven’t read it yet. I can’t. But I remember one line the minister read: When all that’s left of me is love, give me away. And I finally understand how to do that. I reach for Holden’s hand on one side of me and Sara’s on the other. I give them each a quick squeeze, then start to let go. But at the same time, they both squeeze back. “It means I love you,” my mother taught us. “It’s how you say it when you don’t want anyone else to hear.”


So I squeeze one more time. This time for Charlie. I am giving him away, and I am getting him back in the way Charlie knew best to give. And it is enough.



“Thank you” is such a tiny phrase for such a big gesture. I wish I could think of something more grandiose and appropriate to convey how truly grateful I am to the people who made this book possible. To my agent, Barry Goldblatt, for telling me, “Someday you need to write about growing up in the restaurant business”— and for waiting ten years for me to do it. To my editor, Joan Powers, for guiding me through the thicket and brambles, as she always does, with kindness and patience. To Holly Black, for our hours-long talk that saved this book. To Robin Wasserman and Libba Bray, for saying just the right things at just the right time, as usual. To my writing partners, Cindy Faughnan and Debbi Michiko Florence, for reading multiple drafts and keeping my spirits up whenever I thought it was just too hard. To my son, Eli, for saying those magic words every writer longs to hear: “Keep reading.” And to my husband, Peter, for reading and listening and cheering me on through it all. Thank you.



JO KNOWLES is the author of Jumping Off Swings, which, in a starred review, Publishers Weekly called “absorbing from first page to last,” and Lessons from a Dead Girl, which Kirkus Reviews described as “a razor-sharp examination of friendship, abuse, and secrets.”



About this new novel, she says, “Some years ago, my agent suggested that I write a book reflecting my own experience growing up in the restaurant business. When I began, I imagined the book as a gift to my brother, in which I could rewrite our past and make it kinder and more gentle. But I soon realized these characters weren’t us and that fate had other plans for them. Ironically, by writing this story about strangers whom I came to love, I was able to understand my own family story more clearly.” Jo Knowles lives in Vermont.