Six years earlier
Everything is better now that I have Rachel.
Falling asleep is better, knowing Rachel is falling asleep right across the hall.
Waking up every morning is so much better, knowing Rachel is waking up right across the hall.
Going to school is better, now that we go together.
“Let’s skip today,” I tell Rachel when we pull into the parking lot of the school.
I’m sure skipping school is even better with Rachel.
“What if we get caught?”
She doesn’t sound like she really cares if we get caught.
“I hope we get caught,” I tell her. “That means we’d be grounded. Together. In the same house.”
My words make Rachel smile. She leans across the seat and slides her hand around my neck. I love it when she does that. “Being grounded with you sounds really fun. Let’s do it.” She leans forward and gives me a simple, quick peck on the lips.
Simple kisses are better when they’re from Rachel.
“You make everything better,” I tell her. “My life. It’s better with you in it.”
My words make Rachel smile again. Rachel doesn’t know this, but every word I speak is voiced for that sole reason. To make her smile.
I pull out of the parking lot and tell Rachel we’re going to the beach. She says she wants her bathing suit, so we go to the house first and get our bathing suits. We also pack a lunch and a blanket.
We go to the beach.
Rachel wants to sunbathe while she reads.
I want to watch Rachel sunbathe while she reads.
She’s lying on her stomach, propped up on her elbows. I lay my head on my arms and watch her.
My eyes follow the smooth curves of her shoulders . . . the sway in her back . . . the way her knees are bent and her legs are up in the air with her feet crossed at the ankles.
Rachel is happy.
I make Rachel happy.
I make Rachel’s life better.
Her life is better with me in it.
“Rachel,” I whisper.
She places her bookmark inside the book and closes it, but she doesn’t look at me.
“I want you to know something.”
She nods, but she closes her eyes as though she wants to focus on my voice and nothing else.
“When my mom died, I stopped believing in God.”
She lays her head on her arms and keeps her eyes shut.
“I didn’t think God would make someone go through that much physical pain. I didn’t think God would make someone suffer like she suffered. I didn’t think God was capable of making someone go through something so ugly.”
A tear falls from Rachel’s closed eyes.
“But then I met you, and every single day since then, I’ve wondered how someone could be so beautiful if there wasn’t a God. I’ve wondered how someone could make me so incredibly happy if God didn’t exist. And I realized . . . just now . . . that God gives us the ugliness so we don’t take the beautiful things in life for granted.”
My words don’t make Rachel smile.
My words make Rachel frown.
My words make Rachel cry.
“Miles,” she whispers.
She says my name so quietly it’s as if she doesn’t want me to hear it.
She looks at me, and I can see that this moment isn’t one of the beautiful moments for her. Not like it is for me.
“Miles . . . I’m late.”
