The sound of a piano fills the room as I set the table. I smooth out the tablecloth, place down matching ceramic plates, and light a candle. Cardboard boxes are stacked side by side at my feet. I lift one to the counter as I continue unpacking. Silverware tied with twine, coffee mugs, and wooden spoons. At some point, the music changes without me noticing, to “Kiss the Rain” by Yiruma. His song sounds like drops of water falling softly on clay rooftops in the spring. As I touch the drawer handle, I feel someone there behind me. Familiar hands move along my waist, and the warmth from them makes me go still. Then a kiss on my neck as I shut my eyes …
“How about we take a break…” Sam whispers.
We just moved into our new apartment. The floorboards creak and iron pipes snake along the ceiling. Exactly how we imagined it. The place is unfurnished, a bit worn down, and in need of some renovations. But it’s full of potential. Just like us.
I touch his hands. “Sam, we’ve barely started. And there’s so much left to do.”
Sam kisses me on the neck again. “There’s nothing wrong with taking our time…”
The music continues to play. Outside the windows is nothing but clouds and clouds, like we’re suspended in the sky.
I turn around and take him in—dark eyes a shade lighter than his hair, slender lips that curve gently into a smile. I can’t help myself. I bring my hands up to touch his face so I can remember every detail. I take in the contrast of our skin, his golden cheeks against my pale fingers. As I run a hand through his soft wisps of hair, he pulls me in for a longer kiss, and my mind erases everything else in the world except us.
When Sam pulls away, he takes my hands. “So, what do you think of the place?”
I can’t stop smiling. “It’s perfect.”
Sam looks around, his eyes bright with ideas. “I know. Just needs a little work, that’s all.”
Across the floor are boxes still waiting to be unpacked. In the tiny space that makes up the kitchen, a kettle is simmering quietly on the stove beside a teapot. I note the warm smell of ginger and lemongrass. In an hour or so, I can make something for dinner. We’ll pick up groceries because eating out is expensive, and we prefer a home-cooked meal anyway.
The piano music skips suddenly, interrupting my thoughts. Then our record player cuts out.
Sam looks at me, frowning. “I can fix that later…”
I let out a laugh as he pulls me to the other side of the apartment that makes up the living room.
“So this is the living room,” he says with a sweeping motion of his hand, bringing it to life. “We can put a couch right here, and a little coffee table—and maybe a painting on the wall.”
I point at the other side of the room. “Shouldn’t the couch go there?”
Sam looks over, his brows furrowed. “Even better,” he says. “I knew you had an eye for this.”
I watch as he circles the room, taking everything in as he imagines our new home. “We can put a desk here, against the wall, for you to write. I can build you a bookshelf. Since you brought boxes of them. We can put it right there. And we’ll need some plants—”
His excitement is contagious. I can’t help seeing everything, too. It’s a blank canvas for us to paint over. A new beginning to our story. A chance to start the page fresh. Once we fix up the apartment, we’ll look for jobs. We’ll start saving some money. I’ll focus on my writing and reapply to Reed College in the fall.
Sam takes my hands, and our fingers lace together. “So you love it, right?”
“More than you could know,” I say, smiling at him. I glance around the room. “I just want everything to be perfect. Like we always planned.”
Sam kisses me on the cheek. “You know, Jules, you can’t always plan out every detail, though. There will always be things we can’t prepare for,” he says. “You have to live in the moment sometimes. Let life surprise you.”
I don’t say anything. I just take this in.
“Listen,” Sam says, his eyes glistening. “How about we go out tonight? Somewhere with music. It doesn’t have to be anywhere fancy. We’ll get something small and share it. You know, find one of those places that gives out free bread.”
“But we have so much unpacking to do,” I remind him.
“Don’t worry. We have all the time in the world for that.”
All the time in the world … the words echo through me as a breeze comes in through the window, rolling across my skin. I glance at the clock above the doorway. I didn’t notice it there before. The hands are missing. Outside, there’s still nothing but shimmering clouds. Now that I think about it, how long has the sun been setting out there?
“Is something wrong?” Sam’s voice pulls me back to him.
I blink a few times. “No. I mean, I don’t think so.”
“Then what do you say about going out?”
I purse my lips, considering this. “I guess it is our first night here. Maybe we should celebrate it.”
“Perfect.”
“As long as we get some unpacking done first,” I add.
“Deal.” Sam kisses me on the cheek again, and then picks a box off the floor. “Where does this go?”
“The bedroom. But it’s fragile. So be careful.”
“Careful is my middle name.”
I give him a look as he slow-walks away, disappearing down the hallway.
Once he’s gone, I scan the living room again, deciding what to start next. There’s a small box in the corner, illuminated by the light from the window. For some reason, it isn’t marked like the others. Sam must have forgotten to label it. I bring it onto the counter and open it first. It’s Sam’s things, randomly thrown inside. I take out a few of his shirts and fold them on the table. There are other things in here, too. A few records, some photographs, a bunch of birthday cards and letters, and something else that makes me go still. One of the bookends he gave me. I stare at it for a while, along with his things I set on the table. There’s something familiar about having all of them together. Like pieces of a puzzle. As I go through them again, the pieces come together, and the image hits me like a brick. This can’t be possible, can it? There should be something else in this box. I don’t have to look to know what it is. I reach inside slowly and take it out.
Sam’s denim jacket. I stare at it for a long time. This is in the same box I threw out weeks ago.
As I stand there, running my hand over it, the record player suddenly comes to life, making me jump. A song comes on that wasn’t playing before, something unfamiliar to me. When it starts to screech, and rise in volume, I hurry over to unplug it. As soon as I lift the needle from the record, I sense the candles blow out behind me as the room goes silent. Sunlight fades from the windows, dimming the apartment. I turn around to see the table cleared. As I look around the room, the boxes have suddenly disappeared, too, including the one with Sam’s things—the apartment is empty. Where did everything go?
“Sam?”
I call his name a few times but no answer. Is he still here? I head to the bedroom to look for him. The hallway is somehow longer than I remember, and seems to extend farther and farther as I walk. For some reason, there are no doors on either side, only one at the very end of the hall. It’s covered with stickers, just like the ones Sam has on his bedroom door at home. I touch the knob, taking a deep breath before I turn it. A couple leaves roll into the hallway as I open it, followed by a familiar breeze.
Tall grass bends beneath my shoes as I step outside, and find myself standing in the middle of the fields. I breathe in the air, taking in the scent of barley. There’s something different about this place. The sky is overcast and I sense a strange vibration moving under me. A strong wind bends the tops of the grasses, nearly breaking them. There are no sounds of crickets, only a growing rumble coming from somewhere deep inside the earth. As more clouds roll in, I feel the first sprinkling of rain on my skin. In the distance, high above the line of mountains, lightning flashes. A storm is coming, and it appears I’ll have to face it alone.
Sam isn’t here anymore. Maybe he never was.
I used to live inside my daydreams. I spent hours planning the future in my head, imagining myself ten years from now, finished with college, living in an apartment in the city, getting to write for a living. I imagined the details of the rest of my life—the appliances I would have in the kitchen, the titles of stories I would publish, the places I would travel, who would be there with me. But then you get rejections in the mail, lose that person who meant everything to you, and find yourself back at the beginning with nowhere to go. I try not to daydream anymore. It only tricks me with images of Sam, filling me with the possibility that we can still be together, that there’s a future for us, until reality comes in like a storm to blow everything away.
Sam is never coming back. But somehow I keep on waiting for him. I’m not sure how many calls we have left, but the number is winding down. I spent the morning looking through the log of phone calls I’ve been keeping, remembering our conversations, trying to make sense of things. Since I let him speak to Mika, I noticed each call is shorter than the one before, the static coming sooner. How many more calls left before I lose you? It’s hard to worry about this when there are other questions we haven’t answered yet. Why were we given this second chance? Just to say good-bye? It’s as if we’ve been reconnected only to be torn apart again. Sam said that we should appreciate this for what it is, but I can’t help thinking there has to be a reason we’ve been connected again. But there’s only so much time left. Maybe I’ll never get the answer.
Every time I get off the phone with him, it feels like we’re getting closer to the end. Even though I knew this was coming, it still tears me apart inside. Like I’m losing him all over again. What am I going to do when he’s gone? I wish the world would slow down for us. I wish I could put coins into a machine to buy us more time. I wish I could save these last calls for as long as I can, so we can stay connected. I wish there was something, anything I could do to keep him with me.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Sam said in our previous call. “We still have time together. I’m not going anywhere until we say good-bye, alright?”
“But what if I’ll never be ready?”
“Don’t say that, Julie. You have a whole life ahead of you. There’s so much to look forward to. And you’re destined to do great things, I know it.”
“And what about you?”
“I’ll be okay, too. You don’t have to worry.”
His answers are always vague. I learned not to push him on telling me more. I know he has his reasons.
“Promise me one thing,” I said before the call ended.
“What’s that?”
“That no matter what, this won’t be the end of us. That we’ll be connected again someday.”
A silence.
“Promise me, Sam,” I asked again.
“I’m sorry, Jules. But I can’t promise you that. As much as I want to.”
It was the answer I expected. But it still fills me with emptiness.
“So you’re saying, after our good-bye, it’s really going to end? And I’ll never be able to speak to you again?”
“Don’t think of it like that,” Sam said. “It’s just a different beginning, especially for you. And you’re gonna have a lot them.”
“And you? Where will you go after?”
“To be honest … I don’t really know. I’m sure I’ll be fine, though. At the very least, I can promise you that. So don’t worry, okay?” And then the static comes, as if on cue. “I think it’s time to go soon…”
I squeezed the phone. “Where are you now?”
“I still can’t say. I’m sorry.”
“Can you at least tell me what you see?” I asked.
Sam took a moment to answer.
“Fields. Endless fields.”
Rain drizzles down the windshield as we drive up the interstate toward Seattle. As we cross Lacey V. Murrow Memorial Bridge, which floats over Lake Washington, the view of mountains fades behind us, replaced by concrete high-rises that cluster along ocean-blue water. I wasn’t planning on coming back here anytime soon. I was hoping to stay in bed all weekend, watching TV shows on my laptop. A trip out to the waterfront was Yuki’s idea. She wanted to see it one more time before we graduate and she has to fly back to Japan. When Yuki first asked if I would come with her, I said I couldn’t. I’ve been keeping to myself more lately. Since the film festival two weeks ago, I haven’t had much of a yearning for social interaction. But then Rachel caught the flu on Thursday, and I pictured Yuki taking the bus alone and getting lost downtown, and felt a pang of guilt. So I decided to go with her. When I told her yesterday at lunch, Oliver invited himself along, offering to drive. He even convinced Jay to ditch his weekly environmental club meeting and go with us.
I keep my earbuds in as I stare out the car window. Maybe some time away from Ellensburg is what I need after all.
There isn’t too much traffic this Saturday morning, so we arrive early to grab breakfast on the pier. Once the rain stops, the four of us take a stroll along the waterfront, pausing at the occasional souvenir stand, looking for our names on key chains. While the others head farther into the arcade stands of Pike Place Market, I take a break from the touristy attractions and find a bench away from the crowds to get some space alone.
A merchant vessel cruises along the harbor, sending little waves against the rocks as I stare out at the water. It’s a chilly afternoon on the pier in downtown Seattle. I breathe in the brisk salt air and let it out slowly. It’s been a while since I smelled the ocean. It’s strange to be back here after a long time away. I forgot how lonely the water can make you feel just by looking at it.
I wish Sam was here with us. The world feels quiet without him in it. It’s been more than a week since we last spoke to each other. If only I could call him up for a moment, just to hear his voice. Know he’s still there. Maybe then I might enjoy this trip, instead of thinking about him every second. I keep my phone in my lap, checking it from time to time. It reminds me we’re still connected, even when we can’t hear each other. I wonder if our signal works outside of Ellensburg. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea to drive up here and risk it. But since our calls have to be spaced further apart these days, I knew I wouldn’t be able to call him this weekend anyway. It’s only a few days, after all. I should at least try to have a good time, and spend time with the others. But it’s so much harder than I thought it would be.
After a while, someone approaches the bench.
“Can I join you?”
I look up at Yuki. She is holding a compostable tray with two coffees. I move my jacket from the bench, making room for her. She sits beside me, sliding over the tray.
The coffee is warm in my hands. “Thank you. But you didn’t have to get me something.”
“I think it’s the least I can do,” Yuki says, staring out at the water. “For making you come all the way out here with us.” She looks at me. “You don’t seem to be enjoying the trip.”
I stare at my phone, feeling guilty. I’m sure she isn’t the only one who noticed. “Sorry, I’m not in the best mood,” I say. “But I’m glad I came out here with you guys. I just have a lot on my mind.”
“What are you thinking about?”
I let out a breath. “The same things…” I answer.
We stare out at the water again. A few seagulls cry overhead. After some silence, Yuki asks, “Do you still have those nightmares?”
I think about the crystal I still keep with me. It’s tucked safely inside the pocket of my bag. I never leave the house without it. “Actually, I don’t anymore. I think what you gave me got rid of them.”
“I’m glad it helped.”
I take a sip of coffee, letting it warm my throat. I can’t tell Yuki what’s really bothering me. How I keep imagining a future with Sam still in it. Though I know these calls won’t last forever, I can’t seem to let go of our connection, even though it’s already breaking. I keep thinking about what Mika said to me the night of the festival. About holding on to Sam.
“This isn’t good for you … And I don’t know if it’s good for him, either.”
I replay the conversation in my head. What exactly did she mean by that? Am I hurting Sam by holding on for as long as I can? Am I keeping him from something? As much as I love him, I don’t want to force him to stay longer. Especially if he needs to move on, wherever that is. This is his choice, too. After all, it was him who picked up my call in the first place. After a while, I turn to Yuki. “Remember what you said about my dreams? The ones about Sam, I mean. How I should seek the opposite to find balance or something…”
Yuki nods. “I remember.”
“I thought about it,” I say, staring down at my phone again, holding it tight. “I think it’s obvious what it means now. It means I have to stop thinking about him. That I have to let him go and move on with my life.” I let out a deep breath. “I wish it was easier for me.”
Yuki looks away, as if taking this in. After a moment, she says, “You know, I don’t think you could let Sam go. Even if you really wanted to.”
“What do you mean?”
“I guess what I mean is, Sam is still very much a part of your life, isn’t he?” she says. “He might be physically gone, but you will always carry a piece of him with you. I know your time with Sam was much shorter than you wanted it to be, but that time together isn’t something you can give back. Letting go isn’t about forgetting. It’s balancing moving forward with life, and looking back from time to time, remembering the people in it.”
I stare out at the water again, thinking. If only she understood how different it is for me. I’m the only one who will have to lose him twice.
Yuki touches my hand. “I know this is still hard for you. But I’m glad you decided to come today. I’m glad we’re spending time together again.”
I smile. “I’m glad, too.”
Someone whistles to our left, and we both look up from the bench. Jay and Oliver are standing against the rail of the boardwalk, holding churros. The two of them have been inseparable lately. I sense some sparks between them.
Oliver waves at us. “We got churros!”
“Come back up!” Jay shouts over. “There are sea lions.”
Yuki and I exchange smirks.
“You know, I really like those two together,” Yuki says.
“I really do, too.”
As the sky finally clears, we spend the rest of the day on the waterfront. After lunch and some candle shopping, we head to the aquarium to look for otters, because they’re Oliver’s favorite animal. Jay suggests we buy matching hats to commemorate the trip, and we wear them during our stroll through the sculpture park. Since it’s too late to ride the ferry, we head over to Pier 57 and take a ride on the Ferris wheel. When I look out at our view from two hundred feet in the air, I think of Sam, and the memory of us at the fair fills me with warmth.
As the others head back home that night, I decide to stay in Seattle to spend the rest of the weekend with my dad. He’s been asking me for weeks to come visit him. The second he steps out of his car to pick me up, my eyes start watering. I forgot how much I missed him. He’s always known how to make things better without needing to ask what’s wrong. He even called my mom, asking if I could skip school so we can spend another day together. We do all my favorite things—have pancakes at the diner in Portage Bay where we used to live, drink pour-over coffee in Pioneer Square, and visit my favorite bookstores on 10th Avenue. Being away from Ellensburg was exactly what I needed after all. I still think about Sam from time to time, but the memories are fond, letting me breathe easier. Even though he isn’t here, I still see him everywhere. And for the first time, the thought of this brings me comfort.
I arrive at the bus station late Monday afternoon. My mom is still teaching a class at the university, so I have to wait a few hours before she can pick me up. I rest my bag on the floor and check my phone. Now that I’m back in Ellensburg, my calls with Sam should be working again. It’s been ten days since we last spoke. It’s the longest I haven’t heard from him since he first picked up the phone. Ever since our connection broke, Sam and I have been planning our calls several days in advance, one call at a time. Our next one happens to be today. I have the date marked down in my notebook. I was going to wait until I was back in my room, but after being away so long, I can’t wait to hear from him again.
There’s a new notification on my phone. An email from a name that sounds familiar. I open the email and read it first.
Dear Julie,
Apologies it took so long to get back to you. Spent the morning listening to the songs you sent me. I have to be honest with you. A few of the tracks were fantastic. Sam was a talented musician. He really knew his way around a melody. That’s a gift that’s hard to come by. And I wouldn’t say that if it wasn’t true. He was really something special. Again, I’m sorry to hear what happened. A very sad loss.
Anyway, I went ahead and forwarded your email to Gary and a few others from the band (since I know you two are big fans). Hope you don’t mind. I’ll let you know if they get back to me. They’re gonna love knowing you all came from the same hometown.
Hope things stay well. Feel free to reach out anytime.
Take care,
Marcus
I barely contain a gasp as I read the email over again. Marcus Graham, the manager of the Screaming Trees. The man I met at Tristan’s screening. I never really expected a response when I wrote to him after the festival. I can’t believe he remembers me! More importantly, he loved Sam’s music! He said he was talented!
I have to call Sam. I have to tell him right now.
My hands shake with excitement as I make the call. As usual, I hold my breath when the phone begins to ring. It takes a while, but eventually he answers.
“It feels like it’s been forever,” Sam says. “I missed you.”
His voice fills me with warmth. Like sunlight streaming into a room.
“I missed you, too,” I say. “You won’t believe what just happened. Do you remember Marcus Graham? The manager of the Screaming Trees?”
“Sure, what about him?”
“I met him at the film festival a few weeks ago. I sent him some of your music. He just emailed me back. I have to read this to you…”
I read him the email. My voice rises at the parts where Marcus says he loved the songs, how talented he said Sam was, and how he forwarded everything to the others in the band. “Can you believe it, Sam? He said he sent it to Gary! That must mean he sent it to Mark, too. What if they’re listening to it right now? Oh my god … what if they’re talking about you! I wonder what song they like best…”
Sam is quiet as he takes this in.
“What do you think? Say something!”
“Why didn’t you tell me you sent him my music?” Sam asks.
“Because I wasn’t sure if I’d get a response,” I say. “I didn’t know if he would actually listen to it.”
“But I thought I told you not to do this.”
I go quiet for a moment, surprised by his response. “It’s not like I went looking for him. It sort of happened in the moment. Why are you mad at me? Sam—it’s the Screaming Trees. Marcus Graham said you’re—”
“It doesn’t matter what he said,” Sam interrupts me. “Why are you still doing this, Julie? We talked about this. And yet you’re still holding on to my music and my life when I told you there’s no point anymore. Why can’t you accept the fact that—”
“That what—you’re dead?”
A silence. I swallow hard, waiting for his response. When I sense there isn’t going to be one, I continue, my voice sharper. “I have accepted it. I accepted it a while ago.”
“It doesn’t seem that way,” Sam says. “It seems like you’re stuck on this idea that I might be coming back or something. Ever since we started talking again, it’s like you can’t seem to let me go anymore. And I’m just worried—”
“You don’t have anything to worry about,” I say back, suddenly furious. “And let me remind you, you’re the one who picked up the phone in the first place.”
“Well, maybe I shouldn’t have.”
A shock goes through me. His words silence the both of us. I stand there, completely still, the phone clenched tightly in my hand. I can’t believe he would say that. I want to say something back, but nothing comes out.
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean that. Please don’t—” Sam starts.
I hang up the phone before he can finish. Because I don’t care to hear an apology. I stare down at the pavement, barely processing what just happened between us. Tears form behind my eyes, but I refuse to cry. Not right now. I want to go home. I don’t want to wait at the bus station anymore.
I grab my bag from the floor. But before I head off, the phone vibrates in my hand. And then it starts ringing, even though I have it on silent. The last time this happened, it was Sam calling. But we agreed he shouldn’t call again. Because if I don’t pick up, it would end the connection.
I check the screen. The number is unknown, just like last time. So I answer it.
“What do you want?” I ask.
There’s a brief silence before Sam answers. As soon as he does, I notice a pain in his voice. “I’m sorry,” he says. “But I think I need your help.”
“Sam, what’s wrong?”
He lets out a breath. “I don’t know how to explain it,” he says. “But it has something to do with my family. I have this bad feeling in my chest. I’ve never felt it before. Have you heard from them lately?”
An ache of guilt in my chest returns. Because I haven’t spoken to them since Sam died. I’m ashamed to answer this question. “No, I haven’t in a while. I’m sorry.”
A silence between us.
“Do you think you can do something for me?” Sam asks.
“Of course. Anything.”
“Check up on my family for me, if you can … Maybe ask Mika if she knows something.”
“Do you think something’s wrong?”
“I don’t know. I really hope not.”
“Let me do it right now—”
Once we hang up the phone, I text Mika right away, asking her if something’s happened. She responds almost instantly.
It’s James. He never went to school. We think he ran away. Everyone’s out looking for him. I’ll let you know if we find him.
I call Sam back and tell him this.
“Do they have any clue about where he is?” Sam asks.
“I don’t think so,” I say. “Mika didn’t mention anything.”
“Dang it, I wish I was there. I bet no one knows where to look.”
“Where do you think he might be? I can help search for him,” I say.
“It could be a dozen places…”
“We’ll check every single one.”
“Let me think—” His voice is strained.
“It’s gonna be okay, Sam. We’re gonna find him.”
I write down locations Sam recalls on a piece of paper and text Mika again. She takes her dad’s car to come pick me up, and we go searching for James. Mika and I divide the list of places in half, based on their proximity to each other. Since I’m taking the north side of town, Mika drops me off near the theater and I go running. I check the comic store, the drive-in, the donut shop, and everything in between. When I realize he isn’t in town, I run to the lake to see if he’s there, but there’s no sign of him. So I keep going. It’s a long jog to memorial hill, but I have to check. This one isn’t on Sam’s list of places. I had this feeling James might be there, sitting with him. Once I reach the gates and make my way up the hill, I’m disappointed to find out I’m wrong.
I check the list again. The last few places Sam named are a bit out of the way. They are locations around the old neighborhood where he used to live. One of them is a small park where they used to ride their bikes after school. I don’t know what the chances of James being there are. But I leave memorial hill and head for it anyway.
It takes me a while to figure out where the park is located. I’ve never been to this part of town before. I have to stop and ask people on the sidewalk for directions. When I finally find it, tucked away at the end of a cul-de-sac, I spot a familiar green jacket hanging over a bench. The second I spot James sitting alone on the swing set, staring at the ground, I stop short to catch my breath.
I haven’t spoken with him since Sam’s death. I don’t even know what to say as I approach him at the swings. Although I’m still catching my breath from the run, I keep my voice soft as I lower myself to him. “Hey there, James…” I say. “Everyone’s been looking for you, you know? You had us all worried.”
James doesn’t look at me. He keeps his gaze on the ground.
“They’re gonna be glad to hear you’re not hurt,” I continue. “What are you doing all the way out here?”
James says nothing. I’m suddenly reminded of that night at the fair when he wouldn’t speak to me. It was the last time the three of us were together, wasn’t it? I guess it’s been much longer since I’ve seen James than I remember. I soften my voice again. “How about you and I head on home, alright?”
“No.”
“Your parents are really worried—” I start.
“I don’t want to go home!” he shouts back.
“Is something wrong? You know you can tell me.”
I’m sure this has something to do with Sam. But I don’t know how to approach the conversation. I can’t imagine what it feels like to lose a brother. This is a kind of pain I’ll never understand. I try to take James’s hand, but he pulls it away.
“Leave me alone,” he says, clenching his arms. “I’m not going home. Get away from me!”
It pains me to hear him talk this way. I wish I could make things better. “Can you at least tell me why you ran away?” I ask.
James says nothing.
“Is it because of Sam…” I whisper. “Because he’s not there?”
“No,” James says, shaking his head. “Because he hates me!”
“Why would you think that? Of course Sam doesn’t hate you.”
“Yes, he does! He told me!”
“When did Sam tell you that?”
James drops his face in his hands, trying to hide his tears from me. “When I went into his room and broke his microphone. He said he hated me.”
I touch his shoulder and say, “James, listen to me. Sometimes people say that when they’re mad, but they don’t mean it. Sam doesn’t hate you—”
“But he stopped talking to me!” he cries. “He was ignoring me! Right before he died.”
My heart breaks from hearing this. I wipe my eyes and take James by the hands. “Sam loves you, okay? Brothers fight all the time and say things they don’t mean. If Sam was here, he would tell you this himself.”
James wipes his tears with his sleeve. “You don’t know that. Why do you even care? You don’t even like me!”
“Of course I do—how could you say that?”
“You don’t care about us! You only liked Sam! You only came to see him.”
“That isn’t true,” I say. “You and I are friends, too. I care about your whole family.”
“That’s a lie! Cuz when Sam died, you never came over, and you never talked to us again! It’s like you died, too.”
A sharp pain stabs through my chest as the weight of this hits me. I can barely fight back the tears. I open my mouth, and find myself unable to speak. I should have come by and checked up on his family after Sam died. I never thought about what James must be going through. “I—I’m sorry, James. I shouldn’t have left you like that. I should have tried…” My voice gives out. Because I don’t know what else to say to make James forgive me. Maybe the reason I avoided their family was because I couldn’t bear to see them without Sam. Because I didn’t want to be reminded he was gone. But this doesn’t matter. I should have been there for James. Instead, I made things harder for him. I abandoned him, too.
“I’m not going home,” James cries.
I wish I could get through to him. But he won’t even look at me. I can’t blame him, though. If only there was something I could do to make it better. It pains me to see him like this. I need to do something, but I’m not sure what. I think of Sam. He would know what to say if he was here. He’s the only person James will listen to right now. A thought occurs to me. Our connection is weakening, but I need to do something. I can’t let James spend the rest of his life thinking Sam hated him.
As I step away from the swing set for a moment, I pull out my phone and call Sam again. He picks up after the first ring.
“Did you find him? Is he okay?”
“I’m with him now. Don’t worry.”
Sam’s voice floods with relief. “Where was he?”
“At the park. Just like you said.”
“I’m so glad he’s safe. Why did he run away?”
“It’s a bit complicated,” I say. “But he thinks you hate him.”
“Me? Why would he think that?”
“James told me you said it to him before you died,” I tell him. “I tried to explain how you didn’t mean it, but he won’t listen to me. I’m not sure what else I can say. But I’ll make sure he gets home safe and everything.”
“Thank you,” Sam says. “For finding him.”
“Of course,” I say. Then I look back at the swings. “But, I need a favor from you now.”
“What is it?”
“I want you to talk to James,” I say.
“Julie…” Sam starts.
“I want you to do this for me, okay? Please, before this call ends. He needs you.”
A brief silence as he considers this. “But our calls are weak as it is … this could really harm our connection,” Sam warns me. “Are you sure?”
I take a deep breath. “I’m sure.”
James is staring at the ground as I approach him again. I kneel down to him, holding out my phone.
“Listen, James. There’s someone I want you to talk to, okay?”
He looks at me. “My parents?”
I shake my head. “Why don’t you see for yourself? Here…”
James puts the phone to his ear, listening. I know the moment he hears Sam’s voice, because his eyes widen, as if he’s making sense of it. After a minute on the phone, when James starts weeping into his shirt, I know he realizes it’s truly Sam. And the two of them are suddenly reconnected. I stand back quietly, giving them this brief unexplainable moment together. I catch a few things from their conversation. They talk about being strong for their mom, about taking care of the family while Sam’s gone, about how much Sam loves him.
But since our connection is breaking, the call doesn’t last too long. When James hands the phone back to me, Sam and I only have a few seconds to speak.
“Thank you for this,” he says. “But I have to go now.”
“I understand,” I say.
And then the call ends. Just like that.
James and I hold hands as we leave the park together. I text Sam’s mom for the first time in a while, letting her know I found James and that we’re on our way back. When Sam’s house rises into view, his mom is there standing at the driveway, waiting for us. Her face breaks into a smile when she spots us, as if we haven’t seen each other in years. When she puts her arms around me, we hug each other tight, and I don’t know which one of us starts crying first. Sam’s mom takes James by his other hand as we walk inside the house to greet his dad. After I help set the table, the four of us sit down together for dinner for the first time in what feels like too long.
