Page 57 of The Infiniteness of Yesterday
“I’m going to go.” I hope she can’t hear the quiver in my voice and how I’m barely holding myself together for reasons unknown to me—or at least reasons I prefer to think don’t exist. “I’ll see you tonight.”
“Okay.” She smiles up at me, her innocent mind completely unaware of the storm of thoughts brewing in my mind. She holds her arms up for a hug and I’m more than happy to oblige.
I squeeze her tight and kiss the top of her head before letting go.
“See you later, Mom.”
I stop at the doorway and look back at her, marveling at how grown up she already is. “I love you.”
“Don’t get all mushy on me. It’s gross.”
“Monroe.”
She giggles and rolls her eyes playfully. “I love you, too.”
In the hall, it’s impossible to spot Spencer in the sea of nurses and other medical personnel trying to get a photo with him. Still, I swear I feel his eyes following me as I walk down the hall back to the waiting area where I hand in my badge.
Jameson immediately stands up from the seat he was lingering in and pushes his dark hair back from his eyes. “How is she? Is she okay? Do I need to bring the car around for her?”
I shake my head. “She’s going to stay with her dad until tonight, but she’s fine. She thinks it’s cool. I’m sure she’ll make you sign her cast and draw something for her.”
Jameson doesn’t draw often anymore, but he’s good, really good. I once found his high school portfolio stuck in the back of his closet. I asked him why he’d never pursued art, but he said it was just a hobby for him, and he loved numbers and computers more. Weirdo. Butmyweirdo.
“You ready to go then?” He arches a brow in wait for my reply.
I nod, my stomach heavy at the fact my daughter is hurt and I have to leave her behind. But I know she’s in good hands with Spencer.
Jameson wraps his arm around me as we head for the exit. “Ice cream?”
I laugh because he knows me so well. “Absolutely, and coffee too.”
He grins down at me. “I would never forget your coffee.”
CHAPTER 17
SPENCER
EIGHT YEARS AGO
“Stop pulling at your jacket,” my mom scolds, tapping my knee. “You’re squirming like a worm.”
I can’t help it. The only suit I had is a size—maybe two—too small. I should’ve gotten a new one, but I thought this would fit and by the time I realized it wouldn’t, there wasn’t enough time to get something new.
Not too far in front of me is the casket. I’m grateful they kept it closed. I don’t think I could handle seeing my best friend like that. Pale and lifeless. I want to throw up just thinking about it.
His parents asked me to speak, and I stupidly said yes, but now I’m not sure how I’m supposed to get up there and talk about T.J. in the past tense. He should be here. He should be alive and laughing. We should be at the skate park right now. Not in a church talking about death.
T.J. didn’t even go to church, so I don’t know why we’re even here. It seems weird that he’s here now, so at odds with who he was.
Was.
I hate that word. I hate that I’m having to use it for my best friend.
Hewasalive and now he’s not.
His organs were donated, so I guess at least there are parts of him still out there. But it doesn’t seem like a good enough consolation.
I’ve been friends with T.J. for practically my entire life.
