This Story Might Save Your Life(15)

He nodded. “I didn’t realize my dad had kept so much of my mom’s stuff. He still had all her clothes. Her jewelry. Her sewing supplies. Five years, and I don’t think he went through a single drawer. There was even … stuff in her nightstand.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“What did you do with that?”

“That went in the trash.”

“Oh god.” I shuddered with secondhand embarrassment. “What about the rest?”

“My sister took a carload of stuff, but I mostly went for the photos.”

“No taxidermy busts?”

“I found them all good homes.”

“That makes me desperately sad.” I took his hand and squeezed it, then rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m really sorry, Benny.”

“Me too.”

Eventually, we ate and drank and talked about other things. Benny asked what I’d been up to and I realized I couldn’t keep it from him any longer. “Actually, I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?” He shifted forward and cupped his knees. “I kinda have something to tell you too.”

“Kinda?”

The corner of his mouth lifted.

“Okay, but me first.” I needed to get it over with. “I met someone.”

He laughed. And then he realized I was serious. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” I averted my eyes. “You know, a guy.”

This was not what he’d expected me to say. Nor did I expect his response. “I thought you were sick.”

“What?”

“Isn’t that why you didn’t come to Colorado?”

I frowned. “I didn’t come because you told me not to.”

“Because you were sick.”

“I was. But I would’ve come. I wanted to come.”

“Then why didn’t you?”

“Because I … because…”

“Because you were getting laid.”

“No.”

He stood and looked around, as if trying to find somewhere else to sit.

“It wasn’t like that,” I said. “The vertigo only stopped a few weeks ago.”

“I could’ve used your help.”

“I would’ve come. I wasn’t lying to you.” My voice was thin. I knew how I sounded, and I didn’t know how to fix it. He shouldn’t have told me to stay home. I shouldn’t have listened. Benny needed me. Of course he needed me. “I’m sorry.”

He grabbed our plates and brought them to the kitchen. I remained on the couch, regret an anchor in my stomach, listening to the old pipes squeal as he washed up. When I finally had the courage to join him, he was standing motionless at the sink.

“Benny.”

He turned around and ran a hand down his beard. I thought I might have to grovel. I hated that I’d upset him after all he’d been through.

Shaking his head, he said, “I shouldn’t have—that wasn’t fair.”

I noticed then the open beer on the tile countertop.

“I was going to tell you,” he said in answer to my unasked question. “I stopped in Arizona on my way back.” A judge had granted him early termination. His parole was over. He had a certificate and everything.

I closed the gap between us, wrapped my arms around his waist, and pressed my cheek to his chest. Beneath the eucalyptus, he smelled like grass on a hot day. Like Benny.

“I’m so sorry about your dad,” I said into his T-shirt.

His chest rose and fell. “Me too.”

We rocked in place. After a while, he angled back and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. “Tell me about this new guy.”



* * *



XANDER AND BENNY met a week later. Benny’s birthday was that Saturday, and I decided the best way to welcome him home was to host a party with our closest friends. Nothing fancy, just drinks and appetizers with the Angelenos who love him best.

“This really isn’t necessary,” Benny said when I answered the door.

“Hello to you too.” Hand on hip, I gave him a once-over. “Well done. I approve.”

He’d donned a black button-down for the occasion, untucked, with dark jeans. His curls were tame, and his beard was freshly trimmed. “Likewise.”

I twirled. My retro yellow cocktail dress had an impressively flared skirt. “Too much?”

“You’re perfect. What can I do to help?”

“Not a thing.” I instructed the birthday boy to sit while I fixed him a drink. A few minutes later, our friends started arriving—first some neighbors, then our dodgeball crew—and before I knew it the mood was festive, the music was loud, and everyone was pouring second drinks. I was returning from the kitchen with a plate of bacon-wrapped figs when I spotted Xander standing in my doorway holding a brown paper bag.

“You made it.” I set the plate down and greeted him with a hug.

His golden hair was held in place with pomade, and he wore a slate-blue sweater that brought out his eyes. “Sorry I’m late.” He smiled his perfectly imperfect smile, making my stomach flutter. “I couldn’t decide what to bring.”

I caught Benny watching us and waved him over.