How to End a Love Story(37)

“My mom’s selling her house,” he says. “I met her real estate agent this morning.”

“Oh,” says Helen. “You guys have been in that house a long time.”

She remembers passing Grant’s house on their daily school-bus route, back before any of them had cars. It was a beautiful Victorian near the top of the mountain with perfectly lined-up windows that captured spectacular light at sunrise and sunset, and she used to look forward to the part of the morning when she would see it approaching on the horizon.

“I’m surprised she stayed as long as she did,” he says. “She’s talking about moving to Ireland and working on a sheep farm. I think she might actually do it.”

Helen tries to remember Mrs. Shepard, who she met only a handful of times at parent-teacher fundraising events. She remembers a tiny blond woman in a pink cardigan with gold jewelry.

“Your dad lives in Boston now?” she asks.

“For the last twelve years,” he says. “Pretty much since they separated.”

“Do you ever visit him?”

Grant shrugs. “He prefers to come visit me. He likes the sunshine and the beaches.”

Helen nods.

“What about your parents? How are they?”

She kicks a pebble in the path. “They’re good. Dad’s taken up golfing and Mom’s waging a war with some squirrels in her garden. I don’t think they’ll ever move.”

Grant nods and tosses the wrappings of his bagel into a nearby trash can. They’ve already reached the end of the trail.

“Short walk,” he says, looking around.

“I don’t think I’ve ever gone on it,” Helen says.

“Me either. What do you usually do when you’re in town?”

“Pretty much nothing,” Helen laughs. “Sulk in my bedroom and regress into my teenage self, mostly. It’s like time doesn’t pass in our house.”

They turn and walk back toward the parking lot. Helen can’t help but feel like this has been a dud of a meetup, and wouldn’t blame him if they parted ways and didn’t speak again until they’re safely back in LA.

When they reach their cars, Grant turns to her and asks, “Do you wanna go see the high school?”

“Sure,” Helen says. “You drive.”



He didn’t really expect her to say yes when he asked, let alone volunteer to carpool with him.

She hops in the passenger seat, and the sound of 106.7 Lite FM’s Christmas classics comes on the radio. She smiles at that.

“My parents always have that station on in their car too,” she says.

He drives them down the back of the mountain, past the houses that used to be as familiar to him as the faces of his friends and teachers. Some of them have changed in the years since he left—a fresh coat of paint here, a new addition to the wraparound porch there—and he always experiences a slight shock of unwanted surprise, to discover his old small town keeps changing and moving on without him too.

He parks them in the upper parking lot behind the north side of the campus. It’s where he used to park every day on his way to morning football practice.

“Wow,” she says. “I haven’t seen it in so long.”

“They added another wing,” he says. He hasn’t turned the keys out of the ignition yet; he’s reluctant to burst their bubble of warmth in the car.

“Do you think we can get inside?” she asks.

Grant pops open the door. “Let’s find out,” he says.

The first door they try is locked and so is the second. He’s about to suggest they just walk around the open track, when he remembers the side door by the teachers’ lounge hallway, where his friends used to sneak back in after cutting class.

“The lock’s broken on that one. All it needs is one good—yank.”

The door gives way, and with one metallic clank, they’re staring into the empty hallways of their old high school.

“It’s so . . .” Helen says, as she steps inside. He follows her and shuts the door behind them. “Empty.”

“Where do you wanna go?” he asks, tucking his hands in his pockets. He feels nervous suddenly, like they might get in trouble, like she might think this is just as lame as the nature walk at Washington Rock. Like she might think he’s a loser for even suggesting this.

“I wonder if the cafeteria’s changed,” she says, and leads the way down the hall.

They find the old cafeteria quickly. The floors look like they’ve gotten an update, but everything else—the tables and chairs, the walls, the windows, the inexplicable scent of graham cracker that permeates the air no matter how many greasy pizzas were eaten here—is all the same.

“They took out the vending machines,” Helen says, as they wander inside. “We used to have a coffee cart over there.”

“I don’t think they’re allowed to serve coffee to minors anymore,” Grant muses.

“I used to put three packets of sugar in my iced coffee,” Helen says, looking around with slight amazement.

They keep walking the perimeter, until Helen stops at a table near the window. “I used to sit here at lunch. Do you remember where you used to sit?”

Grant turns and points at the opposite corner. “Over there.”