TITLE: How to Go On
TIMELINE: Years before the start of this series, starting a week after Adam's mother commits suicide.
1.
Grace's stomach churned as she approached the doorway to the Rove house. It was a smaller, shabbier place than her own, but she didn't notice the physical differences. The contrast that mattered wasn't something you could see, exactly, though there were some small clues. The mail stacked up, unread, in the mailbox. The blinds were still drawn in the visible windows. Walking up to the doorway, Grace almost tripped over a tin full of muffins, wrapped in a tea towel and left there by an anonymous neighbor. They must not have even rung the bell, she realized. The thing that was different explained it all--the mail, the blinds, the leaving of the muffins five feet from the door, even the acid taste in Grace's throat as she picked up the bundle and made herself knock. Someone had died in this house.
Adam cracked the door open and offered Grace a hesitant smile. He looked shorter, somehow, than she remembered, even though she stood a step below the threshold and he was looking down at her.
"I didn't make these." Grace said, offering him the bundle of muffins.
" I think the church ladies are doing it. It's usually casseroles."
"That's kind of nice."
"Yeah. Yeah, it is." From the threshold of the house, Grace saw Adam's father leaning on the kitchen counter, flipping idly through a newspaper. He registered her presence at the doorway but made no move to acknowledge her, and Grace felt almost relieved. She turned away as Adam set the muffins down beside the counter stove and the two men exchanged quiet, perfunctory goodbyes.
In front of the house, Adam adjusted the hood of his sweatshirt and shifted his bag from one arm to the other. Grace watched: his eyes caught hers, then dropped. He stood there, waiting as if for instructions, until she started walking. When the silence went beyond what she could handle, Grace made herself speak up, trying to keep her voice neutral and light.
'So...how are you?"
Adam paused in front of the question, considering his options before giving up. 'Um. You know.'
Grace smiled then, rueful and warm. "Yeah. Dumb question. Look, how do you want to do this?'
"Do what?"
"This whole thing. This talking thing. Do you want to talk about it, or do you. . .maybe want me to talk like nothing's happened? Cuz. . . I kind of don't know how to do this.'
A trace of a smile passed over his face. 'Yeah, well, neither do I. "
Grace glanced at her friend, at the way his neck bent below the hooded sweatshirt and the slowness in his steps. She hadn't thought of an answer for herself, but she knew, suddenly, that he needed one. How to do this. How to go on.
"Well, I guess we just. . . get through homeroom, you know? And then, you've got math, and English, and---then is it p.e., or do you have p.e. after lunch?'
'After lunch I have art third period.'
"Good. Art. You like that. You're, um, good at that. I. . ." she wasn't sure if this was the time for it, but she didn't feel like she'd be able to bring it up again. She looked over at him and noticed the flush on his cheeks, realized that he was thinking about it too.
"The sculpture you made. You left it on my porch, um, last week, before. . . Anyway I got it. Um, it's beautiful.'
He blushed again, and couldn't meet her eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was thick with confusion and pain. 'Grace. . . I think.. . .it's different now.'
She nodded. "Right."
'I mean, you're not. Different. It's not you. It's just. . .God, it's just...'
Grace smiled. 'Horrible timing?"
'Yeah. Um. . .Grace, are things gonna be weird now?"
'They don't have to be. At least, not weirder than, um, they already are.' She forced his gaze, then, gently but firmly, and smiled again to back her words up. Their eyes met and held for a beat beyond a second, and Adam nodded. They walked the rest of the way to school together in a silence that had lost only some of its edge.
TIMELINE: Years before the start of this series, starting a week after Adam's mother commits suicide.
1.
Grace's stomach churned as she approached the doorway to the Rove house. It was a smaller, shabbier place than her own, but she didn't notice the physical differences. The contrast that mattered wasn't something you could see, exactly, though there were some small clues. The mail stacked up, unread, in the mailbox. The blinds were still drawn in the visible windows. Walking up to the doorway, Grace almost tripped over a tin full of muffins, wrapped in a tea towel and left there by an anonymous neighbor. They must not have even rung the bell, she realized. The thing that was different explained it all--the mail, the blinds, the leaving of the muffins five feet from the door, even the acid taste in Grace's throat as she picked up the bundle and made herself knock. Someone had died in this house.
Adam cracked the door open and offered Grace a hesitant smile. He looked shorter, somehow, than she remembered, even though she stood a step below the threshold and he was looking down at her.
"I didn't make these." Grace said, offering him the bundle of muffins.
" I think the church ladies are doing it. It's usually casseroles."
"That's kind of nice."
"Yeah. Yeah, it is." From the threshold of the house, Grace saw Adam's father leaning on the kitchen counter, flipping idly through a newspaper. He registered her presence at the doorway but made no move to acknowledge her, and Grace felt almost relieved. She turned away as Adam set the muffins down beside the counter stove and the two men exchanged quiet, perfunctory goodbyes.
In front of the house, Adam adjusted the hood of his sweatshirt and shifted his bag from one arm to the other. Grace watched: his eyes caught hers, then dropped. He stood there, waiting as if for instructions, until she started walking. When the silence went beyond what she could handle, Grace made herself speak up, trying to keep her voice neutral and light.
'So...how are you?"
Adam paused in front of the question, considering his options before giving up. 'Um. You know.'
Grace smiled then, rueful and warm. "Yeah. Dumb question. Look, how do you want to do this?'
"Do what?"
"This whole thing. This talking thing. Do you want to talk about it, or do you. . .maybe want me to talk like nothing's happened? Cuz. . . I kind of don't know how to do this.'
A trace of a smile passed over his face. 'Yeah, well, neither do I. "
Grace glanced at her friend, at the way his neck bent below the hooded sweatshirt and the slowness in his steps. She hadn't thought of an answer for herself, but she knew, suddenly, that he needed one. How to do this. How to go on.
"Well, I guess we just. . . get through homeroom, you know? And then, you've got math, and English, and---then is it p.e., or do you have p.e. after lunch?'
'After lunch I have art third period.'
"Good. Art. You like that. You're, um, good at that. I. . ." she wasn't sure if this was the time for it, but she didn't feel like she'd be able to bring it up again. She looked over at him and noticed the flush on his cheeks, realized that he was thinking about it too.
"The sculpture you made. You left it on my porch, um, last week, before. . . Anyway I got it. Um, it's beautiful.'
He blushed again, and couldn't meet her eyes. His voice, when he spoke, was thick with confusion and pain. 'Grace. . . I think.. . .it's different now.'
She nodded. "Right."
'I mean, you're not. Different. It's not you. It's just. . .God, it's just...'
Grace smiled. 'Horrible timing?"
'Yeah. Um. . .Grace, are things gonna be weird now?"
'They don't have to be. At least, not weirder than, um, they already are.' She forced his gaze, then, gently but firmly, and smiled again to back her words up. Their eyes met and held for a beat beyond a second, and Adam nodded. They walked the rest of the way to school together in a silence that had lost only some of its edge.