Page 111 of Until Next Summer

My heart drops.

I walk over; my inclination is to put an arm around him, but I’m not sure he’d welcome that. He seems to have retracted into himself, his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth a grim line.

So I settle next to him on the mattress and wait.

“I knew this was coming,” he says. His voice is rough, and he clears his throat. “She’s been slowing down, sleeping more, not eating much. Yesterday she hardly moved. It’s not a surprise.”

“But it’s still hard,” I say quietly.

“Yes.” He wipes his eyes. “I have a spot picked out. To bury her, I mean. She liked it by that stream north of here.”

“That’s a beautiful spot. Would you like some help?”

“I’ll borrow a shovel from Mr. Billy and take care of it,” he says. My mind fills with an image of Luke in the woods, all alone, digging a hole, and my chest constricts. “But maybe this evening you could come with me and…”

“I’ll be there,” I say immediately. The backpackers will have to go without me. “Would you like the rest of the staff to come, too?”

“I’d rather not.”

I nod, honored that he wants me there. And grateful for something to focus on besides my own impending loss. Again, I feel that urge to wrap my arms around him, but I settle for pressing my shoulder against his. He doesn’t pull away.

“You gave her a beautiful life, Luke.”

A puff of air escapes his lips; when I glance at him, there’s a sad smile on his face. “I know.”

And he leans his forehead against my shoulder and quietly cries.

—

I wish I could stay with him, but I have work to do, helping the backpacking group finish getting ready, giving them directions to the camping spot. I spread the word amongst the staff that Scout died in her sleep last night, and a somber mood permeates the day’s activities.

After the backpackers leave with Dot, I stop by Luke’s cabin to bring him lunch. He’s not there, so I leave him a sandwich and go back to my duties.

Later that evening when I return, he’s sitting on the porch, staring into the middle distance. When he sees me, he rouses himself and goes into his cabin. He comes back out with Scout wrapped in a blanket and leads the way to the spot he chose. I stand to the side as he carefully lowers the blanket-wrapped bundle into the hole. Scout looks so small, and my eyes fill with tears.

Luke steps back, his forehead a knot of pain. I ask him if he wants to say anything, but he shakes his head, so I stand there, feeling helpless as he picks up the shovel and fills the grave with dirt, pausing occasionally to wipe his eyes.

By the time he’s finished, the sun has set, and it’s getting dark, the cool air nipping at my bare arms.

“We should get back,” Luke says. It’s the first time he’s spoken since I arrived.

Silently, we head toward his cabin. I keep fighting the urge to hold his hand, to pull him into a hug—that’s what I would want, in a moment like this.

I’m not sure why he wanted me here at all.

When we reach his cabin, I hesitate. “What can I do? Please let me do something.”

He meets my eyes; he looks like his heart is breaking. “Will you…stay here tonight?” he finally says. “I’m so used to having her here.”

My throat tightens. “Of course.”

I follow him inside, not sure what I agreed to. Does he want me to sleep here? To stay up and talk? But he climbs into his bed, the one he made by pushing two twins together, hardly looking at me. There’s the bed-slash-couch against the wall, but it’s piled with notebooks and papers, so I go to the other side of his bed and pull back the covers. The light is off and it’s pitch-black. I slip out of my shorts and bra before lying down and pulling the blanket over me.

Luke is already asleep.

—

When I wake, an hour or so before dawn, the darkness is less intense. It’s raining outside, drops spattering on the roof and echoing through the cabin.

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