Page 46 of Out of the Storm

“How’d you . . . move on from that?”

Eyes flitting to the carpet, Mel shifted in her spot, looking uncomfortable.

“I’m not sure,” she said.

Guilt pricked at Gary’s insides. “I’m sorry to pry.”

“It’s okay. We’re best friends,” she said, though her voice was smaller now.

After a pause, Gary asked, “Do you think that... that maybe some people never manage to work past something like that?”

“Probably,” Mel said. And now her uncharacteristically small voice was tinged with sorrow, too. Dammit. Gary hadn’t meant to make her feel like that. Sure, he and Mel were best friends, but he could only imagine what it might feel like to talk about such an awful experience. Before Gary could say sorry once more, Mel said, “I’m lucky, though, Gare. Ken is a really good guy. Sweet and patient. He’s never pushy. But, you know, Iamthirty-two, so I’ve had a lot of time to heal. Mike Simmons happened senior year of college. It wasyearsbefore I even felt ready to try for a relationship again. I mean, most of my old friends are married. They have children. Sometimes it feels like I was left behind.” She tilted her head questioningly. “Everything okay with you? Why are you bringing this up?”

“Just wondering.” Gary shrugged, hoping that he looked convincing.

“Yeah, okay,” Mel said, clearly not buying it. “You can always talk to me. I hope you know that.”

“I know.” Gary got to his feet. “Well, I think I’ll stop by home—er, my childhood home—before heading back to the studio. Still an hour or so before I have to be on the radio. I might as wellattemptto be a present family member.”

Mel pressed her lips together for a couple of seconds before finally saying, “Have fun.”

Which was really more in the spirit ofgood luck.

“Yeah, thanks,” Gary said, a touch of sarcasm in his voice.

On the way to his mother and sister’s house, riding his bike past the rows of trees along the street—sugar maples and hemlocks and birches—Gary tried to keep his mind focused on the beautiful weather. While he’d never liked spring as a kid because of his allergies, those had calmed in recent years, and now Gary couldenjoy the sweet smell of recently bloomed flowers and the scent of freshly trimmed suburban lawns. And even though he was heading back to his childhood home, he had to hope the lack of runny nose and itchy eyes would serve as a reminder that he was no longer the nerdy, lonely kid who’d had his heart shattered to pieces when his father had left.

When Gary turned the corner onto his old street, his entire body tensed, bracing for the inevitable impact of confrontation. While Gary neverintentionallyfought with his mom or his sister, sometimes the conversation would veer either toward his father (and, therefore, the way his father had left his mother to finish raising two kids by herself) or Gary’s penchant for keeping busy (and, therefore, not visiting as much as he should have). Neither of these things were pleasant subjects. And so, once either of these things was brought up, the mood would sour, and then his mother would be critical and Dawn would be mean and Gary would clam up.

Ugh.

Family was hard.

Was it like that for everyone?

After Gary parked his bike, he started up the walkway, unintentionally but instinctively slowing his pace as he neared the door. Anxiety swirled inside of him when he lifted his hand to knock. But then, before his knuckles even touched the wood, his sister answered.

“Hi, Gare,” she said, sounding uncharacteristically somber. “Guess you heard my message, huh?”

“Message?”

“Yeah, on your machine.”

“I haven’t been home since breakfast. I went over to Mel’s.”

“Oh.”

Geez, the way her voice was so sullen. Somethingwasn’t right.

“What is it?”

“Dad.”

Gary’s heart started pounding, and his knees became weak.

“What about him?”

“He passed. Cancer, I think.”

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