Chapter 40
Time is a fickle thing.
It moves and takes and shapes and carves out moments from our lives.
And sometimes it gives.
No one wears black to the funeral. Grandee hates that color. Instead, we look like a rainbow—Linden in green, Benji in blue, Carter in orange, Alex in red, Max in mustard yellow, and I in purple. Grandee wears pink.
“It was his favorite color,” she says. Her sheep all wear pink bandannas around their necks to honor their fallen flock mate.
The sky isn’t blue this time; it’s a stormy gray, and that seems more appropriate than anything else. Again, I don’t have an umbrella, but I have Max. His hand is in mine, and I think he’s always been the person offering me cover from the rain.
We stand in the place where all of Grandee’s sheep eventually come to be buried. A place of holy ground where the bodies of those who serve us are laid to rest and honored. It’s just past the pond and down the hill to a valley where the prettiest wildflowers grow in the spring.
There are several people here that I don’t recognize and a lot that I do. June, Grandee’s best friend. John, who helps her with her yarn on Wednesdays. Owen from school and his dad.
We are all here to say goodbye to a sheep.
Grandee has already buried him, and soft dirt covers the place where she’s piled rocks into a mound. The ones on the top all have yarn wrapped around them that Linden and I helped her make with the last of Logan’s wool. Each one a wish for him to find his way back to us in his next life.
She clears her throat and looks down. “Logan was a shit. Maybe it was his name. I’ve never known a Logan who wasn’t, but he was good. He always took care of Rory. Only fought Dean when he had to. He was good to Lorelai and Luke.
“When something sacrifices itself for you, it’s hard not to feel unworthy of the weight of that sacrifice.
But we all make choices. Even sheep. And I think what’s important to remember is that we are not our choices.
You are not defined by one moment. Hell, you aren’t even the sum of all those moments together.
Change is what reminds us we are alive. And all of us have infinite choices to match our infinite hopes and dreams. Don’t become one thing.
You are allowed to change as many times as you want.
So, ask yourself: What do you want to change?
And just tear out those old choices and start new. ”
I hear a sniffle and look over to see Carter crying. His gold bracelet shining like the sun. CHAD III. Max hands him a tissue.
“Well, I loved this stupid boy. And I appreciate all of you coming. There are apple dumplings at the house. Logan’s favorite. Please don’t stay long. I don’t like people.”
Everyone laughs but Grandee.
Max takes my hand in his. It’s only been a week since the river, but everything has changed for us. Time has steadied. It’s relaxed into a soft, rolling motion like small ripples in a pond. I no longer worry if I’m going to wake up and everything will be different.
My mother is the same. The art gallery still takes up all her time, but when I call just to talk, she stays on the phone for as long as I want.
It’s progress, even if it’s imperfect. She finds my yarn doll and brings it to me.
When I cry, she tells me she thought I hated that toy.
I don’t know how to tell her I’m so happy it survived.
Because if the yarn doll can do it, so can I.
Grandee, for the most part, has been the same in every version of this life. My true north, and I feel so lucky to have her. One day, I hope Linden and I raise sheep and tie yarn around our children’s wrists.
Max presses a kiss to the top of my nose.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“I just like that I can do it now.”
I smile, because I also like that.
We start to walk back to the house, and I drop my hand from Max’s and find Carter. Benji is patting him on the shoulder as they walk, but when Benji sees me, he goes to find Max. As if he knows that we need this moment.
“Hey,” I tell Carter.
“Hey.”
“I feel like we haven’t talked since the river.”
“You’ve been busy.” He smiles at me, and our eyes move to Max.
It’s true. In the week since the gala, Max and I have spent almost every second together. Most of it alone.
My face heats, and I hope it’s from the walk.
“I just wanted to check on you and make sure you’re okay.”
He stops walking and puts his hands on his hips. The tip of Carter’s nose is still red from crying, but his face has changed.
“I’m not okay. Nearly dying will do that to a person. But I’m getting there.”
“Yeah, almost losing everything important makes you reevaluate a few things.”
He laughs, and I can see the thing stuck in his craw that he’s trying to let loose.
“Just say it,” I tell him.
“No. It’s … no. You don’t want to hear it.”
“I do. We’re friends, Carter.”
He hesitates and then says, “There’s this … thing with Alex.”
“A thing.” I can’t even imagine what my face is doing, but I’m positive it’s not hiding my feelings.
“You said we were friends!”
“You’re right. I’m sorry. Keep going.”
“She broke up with her fiancé.”
“Oh?”
“I’m working on being honest. She’s not a big fan of charming Carter.”
Out of habit, I wait for jealousy or anger or embarrassment to find me, but it’s not there. I don’t feel any of that. I want him to be happy.
“Carter, you’re supposed to be with Alex. You can do something else, but life will always try to bring you back to her. Just let it.”
He smiles at me before his eyes move toward her.
And I know that this is the right choice.
At the house, Benji is telling a story about Linden chasing the sheep the first time he came over with her. Everyone laughs, and I feel at ease. Light.
Time always wants to correct itself.
Carter, the one who belonged to me, is gone.
I was never going to bring him back. But I don’t know if I should have.
Carter was never really mine. I’d grown so used to Carter and Nieve that I couldn’t see I had missed out on someone who made me feel more understood than anyone else ever had.
Sometimes a broken heart can make you ignorant to the truths of the world.
Now, I have my Max. He’s not the one from before or in any of the other versions. This one stays up late painting with me. He talks for hours about drawings that I can’t get just right. He inspires me to keep going forward and reminds me to let go.
Sometimes he says things to me in quiet moments that make me think he knows all the ones we shared really happened, but I don’t press. We tell each other stories—mine are memories, his are dreams, all of them feel real. But we’ve decided to focus on the present. The moments we can control.
And when we lie naked in bed, Max recites Pablo Neruda to me.
I love you like this because I don’t know any other way to love.
Now, I sit on Max’s lap, the fire warming my face and the soft fabric of his shirt making me want to fall asleep.
My friends sit in a circle. Carter stares into the fire as he holds Alex’s hand, looking more contemplative than I’ve ever seen.
Linden stares across the lawn at Grandee, talking with Owen and his father.
Benji looks as if he’s gotten into Grandee’s stash of gummies.
I close my eyes and feel relaxed, but so much more than that.
I feel green like the cool, soft grass.
I feel blue like the sky with just the right amount of sun.
Orange like the fruit Grandee gives the sheep when they’re good.
Yellow like the first rays of the sun. A new beginning.
Pink like the way my cheeks flush when I see Max.
Because now I can see how the colors have always been here to show me the way time changes, but they never do. They reflect in the world around me in gradience and chroma.
They are markers of truth and hope and connection.
I press my face farther into Max’s shoulder and listen to all the sounds happening around me. My friends’ soft laughter, the baaing of the sheep, the crackle of the fire, and the chirping of the crickets.
And just when I’m about to drift off, I hear a voice.
“Open your eyes, Nieve.”
And when I do, I see Max.