Page 13 of When You Wish Upon a Wideout

I know, Mom, you would. Because it’s the same as when we were little. You’d always say,“You only have each other to take care of.”So I did. And I will, even when he’s upset with me for doing just that. Because if you won’t go to war for the ones you love, who will? You used to remind us of that too.

I said nothing else, and neither did Dad. Because something I’ve learned is when you play the dead-mom card, you really win the hand. I apologized to Henry, but he found my “Sorry, I’m not sorry” apology pretty lackluster.

After a silent dinner, I slid out my window and climbed onto the roof.

That’s when I saw Beau walking to the front door.

“What are you doing?”

Beau looked up and scratched the back of his head with his free hand. “Shouldn’t I be askingyouthat?”

I motioned at whatever he was holding. “What’s that?”

“My mom wanted me to bring it over.”

“Does she know I hit you?

“Yes.”

“And she baked something?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

He looked at the front door and back at me. “Are you going to let me come up?”

I scooted closer to the edge. “Why did your mom send you over here with a pie afterIhityou?”

“She didn’t. It’s a cake.”

I rolled my eyes even though he couldn’t see me do it, and before I knew it, he moved to the side of the house. He clanged loudly on the AC unit.

“I use the trellis,” I told him, laying back down. “It’s quieter.”

Beau grunted and pushed the pan closer to me as he hoisted himself up. “You were always better at climbing than I was. Why are you up here?”

“Space.”

I didn’t tell him I come up here to talk to you, Mom. Because I didn’t know how he’d react if I told him I come up to the roof to talk to my dead mother through the stars. And even though I wanted space, I suddenly didn’t mind Beau next to me.

“I heard about your mom,” he murmured. “That’s why mine sent this over. She thought maybe you were going through a hard time.”

I said nothing.

“Greg died six years ago.”

My face dropped. Beau’s brother was older than us. I pushed my brain to try and remember if there was something wrong with him when we were younger.

Beau pulled his knees to his chest, resting his chin on them. “He was watching me. I ran into the middle of the street to get a ball, and there was a car.”

Beau stopped talking, but he might as well have continued because I could feel everything he didn’t say. When he tapped the side of his head, I noticed the scar I hadn’t seen earlier, one that definitely wasn’t there when we were kids, of that, I’m sure.

“When I woke up, he was gone.”

I didn’t tell him I was sorry. Because I knew that no matter how apologetic I felt about Beau’s loss, it was nothing compared to how he felt.

“It took me a while to feel normal.”

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