Great Big Beautiful Life(54)

“What do you think?” I ask him after a couple of bites.

“Should’ve gone with the six-dollar steak,” he says.

I choke on a laugh, lean forward, and drop my voice. “Yeah, I’d say this round goes to Ray’s.”

He picks up his cup of sweet tea. “To Ray.”

I straighten up and tap my mug against it. “To Ray,” I say, “and to whoever inspired this song, because it’s absolutely undeniable.”

“To her too,” he says with a nod.





17




We wander the quaint streets of Savannah, past old stone buildings and Greek revival homes with porches stacked up three levels, live oaks sweeping low and draped in Spanish moss. It’s late, but we’re not alone. Pockets of revelers spill out of a redbrick bar on the corner, and a woman on the steps of a brownstone across the street smokes a cigarette while talking on the phone, the humidity muffling their voices, nature’s soundproofing.

“It’s almost like New York,” Hayden says. “Parts of it anyway.”

“Rich parts,” I say.

“True,” he muses.

“Do you think you’ll stay there forever?” I ask.

He blows out a breath. “I don’t know. I like it. A lot. But I grew up with a yard. With woods behind my house. If I had kids, I’d want that for them, I think.”

“Do you want to have kids?” I ask.

“Sometimes,” he says. “When I’m feeling optimistic.”

I bump sideways into him, the skin of our arms sticking slightly from the heat. “Does that happen often?”

He looks down his shoulder at me with a slight smirk. “Not often, no.”

“So the rest of the time,” I say, “when you’re not feeling optimistic, what do you think?”

“The rest of the time…” Another long exhale, his eyes straight ahead as we go back to ambling down the block. “The rest of the time, I think, what if the polar ice caps keep melting? What if medical care keeps getting more expensive, and social security runs out, and housing prices keep rising while minimum wage doesn’t, and what if they resent me for bringing them into all of this?

“What if they just hate me? Not because of the state of the world, but just because they hate me. Or what if they’re sick? What if they join a cult, and I can’t convince them to come home? What if they start a cult? What if they get into some heinous shit, and I can’t love them anymore—or worse, I keep loving them even though I can’t change anything?

“What if there’s another world war? Or what if…what if everything else goes right, but at the end of my life, they’re sitting in hospice with me…” His voice thickens uncharacteristically, wavering just the slightest bit. “And there are things they wish they could say to me, or hear from me, but I don’t remember who I am, let alone who they are. What if they have to care for me, for years, after I’ve stopped calling them by their nicknames or telling them I love them?”

I stop walking, a cold weight pressing against my chest, and he does too, but he doesn’t face me.

“I wasn’t sure I wanted to do another book,” he says finally, his voice a rattle. “It’s hard, spending years with a person. Especially someone at the tail end of life. The same thing I love about this job is what I hate about it.”

“What’s that?”

“It feels like you’ve lived their whole life with them,” he says. “And I just can’t help but think, we’re not supposed to know how it all ends, this early. It’s too much of a burden.”

I slide my hand into his, his fingers rigid at first, then relaxing into my grip. “Is that all?” I say softly.

His eyes drop on a smile, then climb back to mine. “Yep, that’s it.”

I squeeze his hand, tight enough that I can feel his pulse, or maybe it’s just mine, amplified by the contact, the pressure, the heat. “Maybe,” I say slowly, “it’s a burden, but it’s also a gift.

“Life is so complicated. And I think it’s human nature to try to untangle those complications. We want everything to make sense. And that’s okay. It’s a worthy pursuit. But back when my sister wasn’t well, when every day felt uncertain…” I search for the words.

His forehead creases, his tone so hopeful it nearly breaks my heart. “You understood how much each one was worth?”

“I understood what really mattered,” I offer. “I understood my priorities. I understood what, in this life, was nonnegotiable for me. A lot of people don’t find that out until it’s too late. They wait to say things, and they don’t get the chance. So collecting other people’s stories, learning from their mistakes, it is a gift too. You are who you are right now in part because of what you did for Len and his family. You can’t control any of that other stuff you worry about, but you can control what you do.”

He gazes down at me, his expression vulnerable, his usually severe features somehow diffused in the streetlight. “I don’t know anyone like you,” he says.

“I don’t know anyone like you,” I tell him.

“I’m serious,” he says, voice hushed.

“So am I,” I reply.