Reminders of Him

“What are you thinking?” I ask him.

Patrick scratches his jaw, mulling over my question. He answers without looking directly at me. “If you would have asked me that question when you and Kenna arrived a few hours ago, I would have told you I’m still pissed at you. And that I’m not sorry for hitting you.” He pauses and sits down on the top porch step. He clasps his hands together between his knees and looks over at me. “But that changed when I saw you with her. When I saw the way you looked at her. The way your eyes teared up when Diem crawled onto her lap at the dinner table.” Patrick shakes his head. “I’ve known you since you were Diem’s age, Ledger. Not one time in all the years I’ve known you have you ever given me a single reason to doubt you. If you’re telling me Kenna is worthy of Diem, then I believe you. The least I can do is believe you.”

Fuck.

I look away from him and wipe at my eyes. I still don’t know what to do with all these fucking feelings. There have been so many since Kenna returned.

I lean back in my chair without a clue how to respond to him. Maybe I don’t. Maybe his words are enough for this conversation.

We sit in silence for a minute or two. It feels different from the bouts of silence I’ve sat through with him before. This time, the quiet is comfortable and peaceful and not at all sad.

“Holy shit,” Patrick says.

I look over at him, but his focus is on something in the backyard. I follow his line of sight until . . . no. No way.

“I’ll be damned,” I say quietly. “Is that . . . is that a fucking pigeon?”

It is. It’s an actual pigeon. A real live white-and-gray pigeon just walking around in the backyard like this isn’t the most miraculous timing a bird has ever had in the history of birds.

Patrick laughs. It’s a laugh full of bewilderment.

He laughs so much it makes me laugh.

But he doesn’t cry. It’s the first time a reminder of Scotty doesn’t make him cry, and I feel like this is huge. Not only because the chances of this random pigeon landing in this backyard at this very moment are probably one in a billion, but because Patrick and I have never had a serious conversation related to Scotty that didn’t end in me sneaking away so he could cry alone.

But he laughs, and that’s all he does, and for the first time since Scotty died I feel a sense of hope for him. For all of us.

The only other time Kenna has been inside my house was right after she showed up on this street unannounced. That wasn’t a good experience for either of us, so when I open my front door and guide her inside, I want her to feel welcome.

I’m looking forward to getting Kenna all to myself tonight, in an actual bed. The few times we’ve been together have been damn near perfect, but I’ve always felt she deserved better than an inflatable mattress, or my truck, or a hardwood floor.

I want to show her around, but my need to kiss her is stronger. As soon as I close the front door, I pull her to me. I kiss her the way I’ve been wanting to kiss her all night. It’s the first kiss without a little sadness or fear in it.

This is my favorite kiss so far. It goes on for so long I forget about showing her around the house, and I pick her up and take her straight to my bed. When I lower her to the mattress, she sprawls out and sighs.

“Oh, my God, Ledger. It’s so soft.”

I reach to the remote next to my bed and turn the massage mode on so the bed vibrates. It makes her groan, but when I try to lower myself on top of her, she kicks me to the side. “I need a minute to fully appreciate your bed,” she says, closing her eyes.

I sidle up next to her and stare at the smile on her face. I lift a hand and gently outline her lips, barely touching them. Then I trace my fingertips across her jaw and down her neck.

“I want to tell you something,” I say quietly.

She opens her eyes and smiles gently, waiting for me to speak.

I bring my hand back up to her face and touch her impeccable mouth again. “I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to be a good role model for Diem, so I’ve read a few books on feminism. I learned that putting too much focus on a girl’s looks can be damaging, so instead of telling Diem how pretty I think she is, I put the focus on all the things that matter, like how smart she is and how strong she is. I’ve tried treating you the same way. It’s why I’ve never complimented your looks before, or told you how fucking beautiful I think you are, but I’m glad I’ve never told you before this moment, because you’ve never been more beautiful than you are right now.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Happiness looks good on you, Kenna.”