Page 21 of The Night We Lost Him

He wanted none of that. The reason the guidance counselor said Liam was so driven was that he walked into her office the first week of his freshman year and laid it out for her. He would do anything that was needed to get himself to somewhere better. To get himself to a completely different life.

“You guys staying together after graduat—”

“No.” He answered before she even finished asking. “Definitely not.”

She laughed. “Didn’t mean to hit a nerve there.”

“You didn’t,” he said. “I’m just not taking anything with me from here.”

She smiled, but she started to walk past him, toward the stairs. “That sounds like a dare…”

He turned around. “Where are you going?”

“I’ve got to go back to school. There’s a meeting tonight for the literary magazine. Not a lot of outlets at Midwood for writers, so…”

Jabberwocky—that was the name of the school’s literary magazine, wasn’t it? Liam wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure he’d ever even picked it up.

“What do you like to write?”

“Oh, you know. Short stories. Plays. Poetry. All sorts of things.”

“What are you writing now?”

“That’s a longer conversation.”

He wanted to say, Let’s have it. He wanted to hear all about her writing and anything else she was willing to tell him. It was unnerving.

“Nice meeting you, though,” she said. “Liam.”

His name had a finality coming out of her mouth that he didn’t like. He stared at her, unsure what to say. She was almost at the staircase.

“Just… would you… can you wait a second?” he said, his words jumping over themselves, fast and furious. And, if he was being honest, a little desperate.

He didn’t sound anything like himself—at least the self he’d always thought he was, calm and collected at all times. Suddenly, the real him could be summed up by one thing: he didn’t want her to leave.

She shrugged. “I don’t want to be late.”

“Fuck late,” he said.

She laughed, took him in again.

“Okay,” she said. “Maybe.”

And, like magic, Cordelia started to walk back toward him.

Knock Before Entering

“Do you need some help?” he says.

I jump back at the sound of his voice, startled. I am so focused on the photograph of my parents that I don’t hear the footsteps. I don’t hear anyone behind me.

I turn to see Clark, Windbreak’s caretaker, standing in the doorway.

“Didn’t mean to scare you there,” he says.

“No, no… you didn’t. I didn’t hear you. Sorry. I’m just, you know…”

“A little on edge?” he says.

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