Page 106 of The Summer of Everything

There’s a thick pause. A few pieces of gray-pink hair fall over Mrs. Rossi’s forehead. She inhales, but it looks as though it takes so much effort. Then she says, “Wes, I’m sick,” in a voice that he swears comes from somewhere else.

“What?”

“I’m sick,” she repeats. Before he can ask, she tells him, “Brain tumor,” and follows with “I found out earlier this year,” and finally “They think I have a fighting chance, but the statistics say otherwise. I’ve tried avoiding added stress. Taking more time to relax. I gave it my all but, if I hold on to this place, I’ll be living the time I have left worried I did the wrong thing by not letting it go.”

Wes isn’t sure he’s breathing or standing.

She’s sick. Doctors say Mrs. Rossi’s dying. Wes blinks repeatedly. Tiny black holes form throughout his body, devouring every nerve. He’s numb.

“There’s too much debt, sweetheart,” she says weakly. “Do you honestly think I could afford to keep all of you on staff with no customers? I did it because I know how much all of you, even Ella, love this place. But I can’t put that burden on someone else.”

Words try to climb into his mouth, but they keep slipping on the bile coating his throat.

“I want what time I have left spent not stressing over what could be,” she says, eyes wet. “I want to spend it with my husband. I want all of us to move on. And I’m sorry I didn’t convey that in the right way.”

Wes finally inhales.

“They promised me they’d keep a corner of the coffeehouse dedicated to books.” She taps the spine of Savannah Kirk’s novel. “I spent decades trying to make sure people found the stories they needed to go on. To live. To heal and to love. To fight. The least I could do is make sure there’s still a piece of me in this damn space.”

Tears latch onto Wes’s eyelashes.

“It’s just a place,” she says, waving a trembling hand around her head. “It’s just a bookstore. A thing.”

“It’s not,” he tries to argue.

“Itis. Just a possession.” Her grin is an unshakable force. “It’s filled with amazing memories, but we don’t get to take our possessions with us everywhere. We leave those behind. But the memories—damn it, Wes, we get to take the memories with us to wherever our next road may lead.”

There’s a coffee mug at the edge of her desk. She reaches for it, but her hand shudders too much to grab. Wes steps into the office. He passes it to her, hands cupped around hers.

“I tried so hard,” he says, choked. “I wanted to fix this for you.”

Now he’s the selfish one.Poor Wes Hudson, incapable of adulting.

“I tried,” he repeats. “I’m not an adult. I can’t make an impact.”

Mrs. Rossi takes a long, slow sip of coffee. Then she says, “Excuse me, but are you smoking? Are you high?”

Wes lurches back, stunned. Then he cracks up.

“Animpact? Have you not seen the change in Lucas?” she asks.

He’s noticed the small things—Lucas’s giant smile every time they walk through the door. The way they’re more talkative. Their change in clothes. But that’s not because of him, right?

“Lucas’s always loved it here. But since they’ve started hanging out with you, they’re more themselves than I’ve ever seen.” Mrs. Rossi proudly lifts her chin. “Their mom called the other day to thank me. I assured her it was all you. Lucas might not ever have it easy, but every teen should have the right to be their true selves. We should give that to them. Always.”

Wes bites the inside of his cheek, waiting for her to finish.

“I always knew you were great. After all, no average kid hangs around a bookstore.”

Wes chuckles. “It was the comics.”

“Whatever.” Mrs. Rossi tuts again. “Stop trying tomakean impact, Wes.Bethe impact. For teens like Lucas. But also, for yourself.”

Their silence is filled with inevitable sniffling. “We’re holding onto old, broken things, sweetheart.” Her warm hands grab his. Her eyes are soft, but Wes can still see the doubt edging her pupils. “I don’t know what’ll happen in six months. Or tomorrow. But I can’t change the past. Neither can you. And we can’t stay here hoping the world will make things happen for us. It’s time to let go. Move on.”

Wes nods slowly.

That’s the thing. Some people are chained to their pasts. Some only have tunnel vision for the present. And some are so terrified by their future that they won’t just let it happen. It’s all real. It’s all suffocating.

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