I knocked softly on the door and when Jack opened it he didn't push me away when I hugged him. He pulled me onto his lap on his bed and just held me and cried.
"Baby, he'll be fine. They'll find him. It'll all be okay," I repeated over and over until he calmed down.
"Kayla, I know Ben and I aren't close at all, but Patrick and I- we are close. He taught me how to ride a bike for Christ's sake."
"I remember that," I smiled at the memory, "Four stitches in your knee that day, right?"
"Five," he corrected, "but it wasn't his fault, Ben knocked me over."
"He didn't mean too," I said, defending him all too quickly.
"Yeah, Kayla, I think he did."
"Listen, I thought we weren't going to argue about that. I just want to be here for you and your family- my second family- when you need me to."
"Well I do need you, but nobody else does. I saw Ben leave from the window. It doesn't look like he needed you to much, did he?"
"Jack. Everyone grieves differently."
"Nobody needs to grieve- nothing happened to him!"
"Listen, that's not what I'm saying. I'm just trying to tell you that maybe you want me here and he doesn't, but that doesn't mean I wont be here for him if he needs me to."
"You shouldn't be here for him at all. You should be here for me, your best friend."
"And you shouldn't be fighting me about this right now. Come on; let's go for a walk? Have you eaten, we can go get some food."
"I don't want any food."
"Jack, you have to eat. Come on, we'll go to Sandy's."
Sandy's is an absolutely disgustingly greasy diner that Jack loves, but that I never, ever want to go to. It's the kind of place where the waitress knows your order, your name, and your grandmother. We live in a small town, and this is the quintessential small town establishment, we used to come here every Friday in middle school with all our friends. We haven't been in a while though, it kind of looses its cool factor, especially once girls start obsessing over calories and dread even looking at food in front of guys.
The walk there was pretty quiet, Jack hardly spoke and after a while I got tired of carrying a one sided conversation.
"Long time no see, Kayla," said Margie, the older woman who worked as a waitress here part time, but also played the organ at the our church, "How's the parents?"
"They're good Marge," I responded, "You played beautifully last mass."
"Thank ya darlin'. So what'll it be?"
"Just a marble milkshake and a plate of fries."
"You kids are lucky with those fast metabolisms; I'd be a house if I ate like you," Margie said, before turning to Jack, "How about you honey? The usual?"
"Yeah," Jack muttered blankly, and Margie shot me a look. I just shook my head; I could hardly explain it right in front of him.
"It'll just be a minute," she said, turning away confused and heading to the kitchen.
When Margie got back with our plates Jack hardly looked up at her.
"Thank you," I said over compensating for Jack with my enthusiasm, "This looks so good, right Jack?"
"Yeah," was all he said again; starting in on his burger with everything, fries and onion rings, and Coke. It was kind of gross to watch him eat all that, but whatever.