Page 40 of Moving Forward

Someone knocks on my window, cutting me off. I jump in my seat, nearly crawling into Cain’s lap. After a second, my mind relaxes and I bolt from the truck. “Grandpa!” I cheer.

“Hey, kiddo!” He laughs, throwing his arms around me. “Took you long enough!”

I smile and pull away. Grandpa is exactly what you would expect of an old military man. His gray hair is cropped short on the sides, longish at the top, a hairstyle I’ve never been able to imagine him without. It’s the same with his bulky size—in his old age I think he could still rival college football players in strength.

He grins at me broadly as he leans against his gardening hoe. “And how is Ellie’s month-long wedding going?”

“Fantastic,” I answer.

Cain shuts the door and comes around the front of the truck, eyeing Grandpa warily. “Hello there son, you must be Cain.”

Cain shakes Grandpa’s hand when he offers it. Grandpa’s eyes immediately fall to the bandage around Cain’s arm, then his still-mangled knuckles. Cain stiffens and pales. I’m so used to seeing the sad and broken Cain. This is the first time I’ve seen him embarrassed.

Grandpa finally tears his eyes away and offers Cain a tight smile. “Thanks for giving our girl a ride home.”

Cain nods and drops his arm to his side, clenching his fists. I instinctively close the space between us and wrap my fingers around his arm. “Where’s Mom and Dad?” I ask, trying to get his attention away from Cain.

“They’re inside. Living like snails,” he tells me.

My eyebrows raise. “Snails?”

He shrugs. “Why don’t you go in and see them? Cain and I will start unpacking.”

He starts unloading things from the bed of the truck. Cain gives me a wild look that practically begs me not to leave him, but it’s quickly replaced by cool indifference.

He wants to be here, I remind myself. This is just how he deals with things.

I stand up on my tiptoes and rest my palm against his cheek. His jaw ticks beneath my pinky finger for a few seconds before he lets out a long breath. “I’ll be alright,” he tells me.

“Yes, you will,” I agree. I lean forward and lay my head against his chest. “He’s not as gruff as he seems.”

“We both know I can be gruff and grumpy with the best of them,” he tells me, winking. I can’t help but laugh. He turns to help Grandpa, who I realize has been watching us closely. His head is tilted to the side, his mouth open. When was the last time he saw me happy?

I head up the porch stairs into the two-story house I grew up in. The second I open the door, the earth tones and dark interior wash over me in a comforting wave of familiarity. Here, nothing is tainted by bad memories or heartache. This is the place where I was always happy, and for a while after Ethan died, it was an escape. There aren’t any memories of him here. Whenever we’d meet up with Mom, Dad, and Grandpa, we always met halfway, or they’d come up to us. The only traces of him here are a few pictures and a teddy bear he won at a fair the summer before he died.

You can’t escape the memories of someone, but you can escape the places that spur those memories.

Mom pokes her head out of the kitchen. “You’re early!” she squeals. She dances down the hall, waving her arms around like a madman, and wraps me in a hug.

When I was little, a lot of my friends used to think that I was adopted after they met my mom. We’re complete opposites. She’s extraordinarily tall and thin, with jet-black hair that she usually keeps pulled back in a tight bun. Her skin is abnormally pale, almost white, and her eyes are such a deep shade of brown they’re nearly black. The only thing that proves we’re mother and daughter is our noses, tiny with a stupid little upturn at the end.

My dad comes down the hallway behind her, smiling just as brightly. He’s the one I basically get everything from—my hair, my height, my eyes. He gives a dorky little wave and pushes his glasses further up on the bridge of his nose.

Mom lets me go and does a little jig to the window. She pulls aside the heavy curtain, blinking at the sunlight. “Where is he?” she demands.

Dad stares blankly. “Where’s who?”

“You didn’t tell him?” I ask, face falling. It’s bad enough I had to tell my mom on speakerphone with Grandpa listening in the background. Telling dads about guys, even if they’re just friends, is always a pain. The first time my parents met Ethan was a disaster. Ethan had accidentally spilled his drink all over himself at lunch, and since we were planning on spending the rest of the day together anyway, I told him to just come back to my dorm to wash up. While he was in the shower, I disappeared to throw his shirt in the laundry and salvage what I could. Of course, the one time my parents decided to drop in unexpectedly, Ethan would be in there without me.

Naked.

It’s a million times less awkward with Cain, yet I’m still turning bloodred.

“Didn’t tell me what?” Dad scoots around me to peer out the window behind Mom.

“There he is!” Mom cheers.

Dad frowns, squinting his eyes. “There who is? Who is he?”

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