If Only I Had Told Her(64)

My throat is tight, and it’s hard to swallow.

We’re silent after that, and I’m starting to feel embarrassed. I barely know this guy, and I’ve almost cried in front of him twice in one day.

When we’re done eating, we clear our trays and head out. We pause and look both ways before crossing the street toward our dorm. Halfway through the crosswalk, he starts talking.

“Someday,” Brett says, “you’ll think of Finn, and it won’t hurt. It’s not that the hurt ever goes away. You saw me today. But sometimes? Sometimes when I remember Todd, I’m just happy that I got to be his brother. Someday you’ll have that with Finn. I know it.”

“Thank you,” I whisper, and we’re quiet again.

It isn’t until a few minutes later, as we’re getting into the elevator, that he says, “So admit it. You thought I was an asshole with my JV baseball pic framed on my desk.”

The panic must show on my face, because he laughs, which means it’s okay for me to laugh too.

Like I said, we’re not instantly friends, but it’s enough of a start that Mom shouldn’t send Charlie after me.





sixteen





After five weeks of school, I go back to Ferguson. It’s the weekend before Finn’s birthday, and it just feels right to be there.

When I get to town, I go out of my way to drive past his house. It looks like the grass hasn’t been mowed since Finn died. There’s been a drought, so it could be worse, but someone needs to do it before there’s a citation or something. It’s obvious that doing Finn’s chore is more than anyone in his family can handle right now.

But I can handle it. I’ll do it for Finn, not instead of him.

My parents are even happier to see me than I expected and nicer to each other than they’ve been in years. Perhaps time alone is good for them, or perhaps worrying about me brought them together.

“We should go to the art museum tomorrow,” Mom suggests. Dad mumbles something about putting gas in the car first, which means he would be going too.

“I’m going to go by Finn’s mom’s house in the morning,” I say. “Somebody needs to mow their grass.” There’s a pause, and I think they might protest, but my parents beam.

“That would be very kind of you,” Mom says. Dad says something about watching the game afterward, and Mom says she’ll make us a late lunch.

Under the table, I text my brothers that someone has kidnapped our parents and replaced them with actors who don’t know that they’re supposed to hate each other. As usual, only the younger three think this is funny.



I didn’t call Angelina first. I simply loaded Dad’s mower into the trunk of my car and drove over.

I’ve been better the past couple of weeks. I still cry in the shower sometimes, but not as much. It helps to have a roommate who I can talk to if I want and gets it when I don’t.

I guess Brett is my friend, though I don’t think he’ll ever be a friend like Finn was to me.

Outside Finn’s house, I unload the mower and start the engine. The familiar hum is a nice white noise. It is still hot but not unbearable. Down the street, a tulip tree is turning yellow.

I used to make fun of Finn for pointing out particularly colorful trees. Little did I know that because of him, appreciating seasonal foliage would become a lifelong habit of mine.

As I push the mower, I think about how the leaves above my head would soon be changing color and falling, and he won’t see it. He won’t see the new leaves in the spring.

I think about how Finn will never vote in an election, local or presidential. I’d never cared about politics, but Finn had been looking forward to voting for a president for the first time. It doesn’t seem like such a bad thing to start caring about.

I think about a lot that morning. I go over promises I’ve made to myself and to Finn and then make a few more.

When I’m almost finished, I pause to wipe sweat from my face with my forearm. That’s when I see her at the screen door.

I wave, but Autumn takes a step back.

I didn’t see her on the porch, but there’s a glass of ice water on the railing.

I’m almost finished with the front yard, so I wrap up the last bit, then make my way over. I drink until the ice clinks empty at the bottom. I knock on the doorframe and call her name softly. When there’s no answer, I ring the bell.

“What?” she says when she finally answers.

I’m so surprised by her anger that I take a step back.

“Hi. Thanks?” I say, holding out the glass.

Autumn looks terrible, skeletal. She breathes deeply before answering, as if there is a massive weight strapped to her chest.

“I was pretending it was Finny mowing,” she says, as if this should have been obvious to me. “And now you’ve ruined it.”

“Oh,” I say, because there is nothing else to say.

She snatches the glass from my hand. “It’s fine.” She laughs a laugh that is not a laugh. “It only helped a little bit.” She closes the door behind her.

I think about knocking again, trying to have more of a conversation, or seeing if Angelina is home and telling her that I don’t think Autumn is okay. But I don’t. Even though I know Finn would have been worried about her.