Page 86 of For Fox Sake

“Is it okay if I hold you?” I ask.

He nods, his expression unreadable in the darkness. He yanks his shirt over his head, then pushes his pants off. I’m already in my sleep shorts and tee. We climb into bed, reaching for each other. I throw a leg over his hip, and his arm takes the space underneath my head. I never want to stop touching him. He’s all lean muscles and warm skin. He smells like soap and aftershave and an underlying hint of spice that’s purely Jake.

I could breathe him in forever.

We lay entwined together, skin to skin, not moving or speaking for so long I start to doze off.

“I told Finley about the night Aria died.”

His voice is deep and husky, and just loud enough to draw me from the edge of sleep.

I rub his back with my fingers. “That’s good. Sharing the burdens makes the load lighter.”

His arms flex around me. “I think you’re right,” he murmurs.

* * *

We spend the next day in Ithaca, a picturesque city surrounded by rolling hills and state parks. We take the hike to Buttermilk Falls, one of Mia’s favorite places to visit during the summers.

She would sit on a flat rock with her feet in the water, watching people swim, wishing her heart had the strength to join them.

We eat lunch at the Boatyard Grill, watching rowers move down the Cayuga, and then head to the Cornell Botanical Gardens in the afternoon.

When Ari complains about her legs hurting from all the walking, Jake doesn’t miss a beat. He crouches down so she can climb up onto his back.

We take the woodland walk along a trickling stream, and Jake points out some of the plants he knows, like the Japanese primrose, ferns, and azaleas.

“You know a lot about plants,” Ari says.

“I blame Atticus,” he tells her. “He’s a botanist and he never shuts up about plants.”

“This place is pretty.” Ari rests her head on Jake’s shoulder.

My heart melts.

“It is beautiful.” Almost whimsical, really, the effusion of plants covering the ground surrounding the stream, the blanket of green highlighted by pops of red and pink and white flowers.

Since we have to be back in Whitby for dinner—it’s our last night here, and Finley made plans for roasting hot dogs and grilling burgers around one of the firepits—we head back to the car after the short hike.

Ari falls asleep before we’ve even left the parking lot.

Jake glances at her in the rearview mirror. “Damn, she’s cute when she’s sleeping. I mean, she’s always cute, but I hardly ever get to see her not in motion.”

I twist around in the passenger seat. She’s slumped in her booster, head tilted at what has to be the most uncomfortable angle ever, her mouth halfway open, the new old Velveteen Rabbit clutched in her lap.

We still haven’t found Shirley, but the new rabbit, Wanda, as Ari has decided to name her, has been sufficient, it seems.

Heading toward the freeway, we pass through part of the Cornell University campus.

I could have gone here, walked these sidewalks to class, and passed the McGraw Tower every day.

“Have you ever thought about coming back? Applying again?” Jake asks.

It’s like he’s inside my mind. “I don’t know. It’s too late now.”

“It’s never too late.”

“There’s no guarantee I would get in.”

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