Chapter 15
Jonah kept expecting Summer to move away from him once they were alone. At the hospital she had held his hand and put her head beside his, but there had been people coming and going, questions to answer, reasons to postpone thinking. Daylight was harder to trust.
In the back of his father’s car, she sat with her shoulder against his. Every turn brought the faint pressure of her thumb over his knuckles. He watched the side of her face, the tired skin beneath her eyes, one strand of hair she’d missed when she tied it back.
Summer caught him watching her and smoothed a hand over her hair. “I must look dreadful. Mom brought a brush, but I don’t know where she put it.”
“You look fine,” he said, tucking the loose strand behind her ear. He wanted to tell her how beautiful she’d been when they left home, then wished he could stop seeing the dress.
She leaned into his hand. Jonah had to look out of the window before his father saw his face in the mirror.
The streets were almost empty. A pumpkin lay split beside a trash can, its candle burned down to a pale lump.
At the corner, a man was sweeping wet paper cups into a pile with the slow persistence of someone who knew there would be more in an hour.
At home, Summer’s mother had already put the kettle on.
Jonah’s father stayed near him while he managed the steps, close enough to help without making Jonah ask.
The kitchen smelled of the soup they’d eaten before getting dressed. Their bowls were still beside the sink.
“I left all this,” Summer said. She stood with both hands on the table. “I thought we’d do it afterward.”
Her mother took the saucepan off the stove. “I’ll deal with it,” she said. “Sit down.”
Jonah sat, and Summer pulled a chair beside his. He moved his knee to make room, then let it rest against hers while her mother checked the toaster.
His father opened the wrong cupboard for plates, and Summer’s mother pointed him toward the next one. They’d barely spoken before the wedding. Jonah listened to her explain which bread needed using first while his father searched for a knife.
Summer called Macy. He listened to the apology at the start, the pause while she was interrupted, then the change in her voice.
“No, I can’t work from here either.” She pressed the heel of her hand against her forehead. “Could you check what needs collecting and call me about tomorrow?”
She ended the call and put the phone facedown. Her mother set toast between them, already buttered.
Jonah took a piece of toast. Summer watched until he bit it, then picked up her own. He slid the plate nearer to her and made himself take another bite.
His phone vibrated. He reached for it expecting his mother, saw Kylie’s name, and pulled his hand back so fast he struck the mug. Tea spread across the table. Summer caught the phone before the liquid reached it; his father stood to get a cloth.
“It’s her,” Jonah said. He looked at the screen in Summer’s hand. “Don’t answer.”
“I won’t.” She set it on the dry end of the table. “Do you want me to turn it over?”
Before he could answer, another message appeared. He read it because it was there, because the words had arrived in a thread full of things he had answered without thinking.
I thought you’d remember what it was like with us. You wanted me, don’t pretend you didn’t. Beneath the message, the small photograph beside her name showed her standing in Florence with the wind in her hair.
Jonah stared at it. He had taken her to the airport in the sweatshirt she’d brought back. Summer had washed it and put it in his drawer; he hadn’t worn it again before last night.
He could still see the suitcase on the sidewalk, Kylie’s hand on its extended handle. She had been crying by then, after weeks of telling him the course was something she needed to do alone.
“Don’t make this awful,” she’d said. She had looked at him as if his unhappiness were the last difficulty to get through before she could board.
He’d taken the suitcase out of the trunk. “I’m not making anything,” he’d told her. “I’m saying goodbye.”
“I’ll call.” She had touched his wrist. “We don’t stop being us because I’m going away.”
He should have asked what she meant by us.
Instead he’d let her hug him, gone home, and waited for the call that told him she’d arrived safely.
The next week her bank card stopped working and she needed him to help reach someone in Salem.
By Christmas she was telling him about a man in her course, casually enough that Jonah had pretended it didn’t sting.
Now her message lay on his kitchen table. He could feel the sweatshirt collar against his neck, and pulled it away from his skin.
Summer’s fingers touched his wrist. He jerked before he recognized the hand, then hated himself for it.
Summer stopped with her hand above his wrist. He caught it before she could withdraw it. “Don’t,” he said. “I jumped. That’s all.”
His father kept wiping the table, working around the phone. Summer’s mother opened a drawer quietly behind them. Jonah wanted them to keep doing both things forever; if anyone stopped and watched him, he thought he might come apart.
“How do I stop just hers?” Jonah asked, reaching for the phone. “I don’t want to turn it off. Ben might call about work.” Summer showed him where to find the notification setting, then let him do it. The messages stayed where they were; he would send them to the officer later.
Jonah turned the phone over and left it beyond the drying patch of tea. He wanted Summer’s mother to shut the front door; she’d left it open while she went out to get another bag from her car. From the kitchen he couldn’t see the steps.
His father followed his glance and went to close the door when Summer’s mother came back. “I’ve told your mother not to pass anything on from them,” he said. “She’s finishing at the society. She’d like to come over afterward.”
“Later,” Jonah said. “Tell her later, please. I want to go upstairs.”
“I’ll tell her.” His father picked up his own phone. “You don’t have to answer anyone this morning.”
He left the second piece of toast unfinished. Summer poured water into a glass and set it where he could reach it, then took the remaining toast for herself.
Afterward her mother offered to stay while they slept. Jonah expected Summer to say they would manage, the way she had in June when everybody wanted to help and neither of them knew how to bear it. Instead she nodded.
“Yes,” she said. She leaned against the counter. “Please stay.”
Jonah looked at her. She met his eyes for a moment, then came to stand beside him.
Upstairs, their bedroom was much too bright. The morning showed him the masks’ empty places on the dresser, the open drawer, the bedside clock he could read now without difficulty. Summer stood in the doorway, and he waited beside her.
He’d opened the wardrobe for Kylie himself. Summer had been standing by the counter when he invited Kylie to stay for lunch, her mask beside her. Upstairs now, he couldn’t look at the dresser without seeing her there.
“Can we change the sheets?” Summer asked. She was looking at the dresser. “I know she didn’t use them. I still want something fresh.”
“Yes.” He went to the linen cupboard. “Of course.”
Summer’s mother came up and took the used linen away without asking whether it needed washing. Jonah felt grateful enough that he couldn’t look directly at her.
The clean sheet caught at one corner. He bent to free it, stood too quickly, and had to sit on the edge of the bed. Summer sat beside him. She held a pillowcase half inside out, with no pillow in it.
“I’m sorry about bringing her up here,” he said. “You said you didn’t like it, and I argued with you.”
“I know,” Summer said. “I was angry with you.” She left the pillowcase in her lap and took his hand. “I don’t want to have that argument now.”
“You tried to tell me at the society too,” he said. “I kept thinking you were upset about the wedding. I thought if I could get you past that—” He stopped, remembering how easily he’d explained her to his mother.
Tears stood in her eyes, though her voice was angry. “She could have gone home and hated us. She didn’t have to do any of this.”
Jonah stared at the empty pillowcase. Summer let go of his hand to wipe her face, and he reached for the case when it slipped from her lap. The room shifted as he bent; he sat back and swore.
Summer picked it up and left it on the bedside table. “Please, let’s just lie down. I don’t care about the other pillow.”
He reached for her, and she came into his arms before he could ask. Her forehead was hot against his neck. Their parents’ voices drifted up from the kitchen; Jonah listened while he held Summer, reluctant to lie back and let the room disappear again.
He pulled off the gray sweatshirt. Summer opened his drawer and brought him the soft blue shirt he wore when he worked in the yard; he put it on and left the other one on the floor.
They lay down without finishing the second pillow. Summer shared the one already covered, her forehead close to his, and he watched her eyes until they began to close.
Sleep came in pieces. The first time he drifted, a movement beside him became a hand he hadn’t invited, and he woke with a hard jerk. Summer lifted her head. “Jonah?” she said. Her own face was frightened now. “It’s me.”
He stared at Summer’s green sweater and loose hair. She kept her hand on the sheet where he could see it. “I was asleep,” he said, reaching for her. “I thought I was back there.”
“You’re home,” she said, moving closer when he pulled at her hand. “My mom’s downstairs. You can hear her in the kitchen.”
He held her until the racing in his chest began to ease. Downstairs, her mother shut a cupboard and started running water into the sink.
Jonah closed his eyes again. This time, when he cried, he let Summer feel it.