Here With Me

I shake my head, squeezing her hands. “It’s an expression. Basically it means he’ll disappear for days with no word. Like a ghost.”

She tilts her head to the side, thinking. “That’s very clever. Did you make that up?”

“It’s been around a while.”

“Your generation is so creative with language. Ghosting.” Her expression turns serious just as fast. “What does he do while he’s ghosting?”

I shrug, even though she can’t see. “He just… goes inward. He doesn’t call or text or anything. He’s just silent.”

“So you kept this relationship a secret because you’re not happy?”

“Actually, being with him is the happiest I’ve ever been.” Again, my silly eyes heat, and I struggle to keep the wobble out of my voice. “I kept it a secret because I don’t need everyone’s opinions on what I should or shouldn’t do…”

“And?”

My stomach squirms. This is the part I hate. “I’m not sure he wants people to know about us.”

Her lips press into a thin line, and her eyes blink down. It’s impossible for Mrs. Irene to keep her feelings from appearing on her face.

“What’s wrong?” I’m violating my first excuse, but I want her opinion.

“I’ve known Sawyer LaGrange since he was a little boy. He has a lot of very good qualities. Good character.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “I feel a big but coming.”

She inhales slowly. “If he’s ashamed of being with you, he’s not the fellow I thought he was.”

“I don’t think he’s ashamed. He asked me to the Peach Ball…”

“Oh!” Her expression brightens. “You didn’t tell me that!”

“But something happened…” My hand instinctively rubs the pain in my chest. “He won’t talk to me about it. I’ve barely heard from him all week.”

“Well, it is harvest time.”

“I know! And you’re right. He’s so busy, and I’m being pathetic and clingy.”

“Melinda Claire Ray. I have known you your entire life. You are a smart, intelligent young woman. You are neither pathetic nor clingy.” Her expression is so firm, I actually feel better about myself. “But something is making you worry. What is it?”

This is why I love Mrs. Irene. She just gets me, even if she is sixty years older than I am.

“He’s struggling with something. I can see it in his eyes, but he won’t talk to me about it.” Our hands are still clasped, and I study her slim ones. “I feel so shut out when he does that.”

“Have you told him how you feel?”

“No.”

“Then this one’s on you, my love. That boy was given a life no person should ever have to live, but he did. I imagine it created some not so healthy habits.” She grins, cupping my cheek in her cool palm. “The angels know what they’re doing. You’re the perfect person to help him open up.”

“I hope so.” I love him so much.

“Give me a hug.”

I scoot forward, happy to comply with her request. Her warm embrace makes me feel so accepted.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

“Now you need to get going! Andre Caron is waiting for that watercolor.”