Page 25 of When The Rain Falls

“I take it that one is you,” I say, pointing to one of the two female figures that has the same wild and wavy brown hair.

“Yeah,” she says. “And my best friend, Tate.” She runs a finger over the figure. “Well, for now at least.”

“For now?” I ask, not missing the sigh in her voice.

“Never mind.” She waves me off. She takes a moment, then drops the posters on her dresser. She collects herself, plasters on a playful smile, and meets my eyes again. I can sense there’s something on her mind that she’d rather forget, so I move on.

“And what about all those?" I ask, nodding towards the books that are still in the moving box.

"Oh. Those.” She broadens her smile as she picks one from the box. She holds it in front of my face. "These are called books," she says. "You read them." I bite my bottom lip to flatten the smile threatening to creep across my face.

“I'm generally familiar with the concept," I say dryly. This causes Aimee to cover her mouth and giggle. I love the way her pretty mouth curves upward. And I love even more the fact that I’m the cause of it.

"What kind of stuff do you read?" I frown at her as I pick through the box and study the titles.The Backpackers Guide to The Pacific Crest Trail. Trail Running: The Guide. Washington Trails. Beginner’s Guide to Scuba Diving.

"Actually, I should probably get rid of these.” She takes a handful of the books and places them neatly in an empty box. “I tend to start a lot of hobbies that I never finish,” she explains. She suddenly looks a little wistful. A little regretful, even.

I pick up the book at the top of the donation pile. It’s a book titledRock Climbing for Dummies. “What about this one? What’s wrong with rock climbing? That sounds fun.” I have no idea what I’m talking about. I know nothing about rock climbing. I just find myself enjoying this moment and wanting an excuse to linger. Linger. In the young neighbor’s bedroom. Great, Finn. That’s not creepy at all, man.

“Itisfun. But you have to learn how to tie all these knots. It got complicated. And then you have to get a belay certificate if you want to climb with someone. And,” she pauses, “you also need someone to climb with.” Aimee blinks her eyes a couple times before she continues.

“And then the backpacking thing. I wanted to hike the Pacific Crest Trail. But it takes so much planning and it can take months.” Aimee pauses again. She turns away from me for a second. “Tate and I decided we’d probably murder each other on the trails.” She laughs. But it’s not her usual hysterical laughter. She turns back to me, that smile back on her face.

“Now, I’m getting into ultrarunning,” she says. “I hear about these people who run a marathon or half marathon in every state. So maybe I’ll do something like that.”

"How many have you done so far?" I ask, leaning up against the dresser next to her. Both our hands are resting at our sides and our elbows bump.

She takes her other hand, holds it up until the air proudly, and makes the shape of a zero.

"Wow. That many? Impressive," I say dryly. Aimee laughs. "Better slow down there, slick," I tease, crossing one leg over the other.

"Did you call meslick?" Aimee wrinkles her nose at me. The lines around her eyes crinkling in humor. Her cheeks forming perfect, round globes.

"Yeah. What? You prefer slugger?"

"Oh God. That's the most Dad thing I've ever heard you say." Aimee laughs. “Well, other than when you asked if I knew CPR.”

"Yeah, well. I'm a dad." I shrug. A dad with a lot of baggage who has absolutely no business chatting up the young next door neighbor. A dad who should be staying far, far away from this live wire of a woman.

"It's so weird," Aimee says. "How you, like, made a kid. And kept it alive."

"More than one," I remind her.

"I kept a snake plant alive once," Aimee says proudly.

"Once?"

"Yeah. I kept it alive for six months."

I nod. “That's practically the same thing as having kids," I say dryly. “How did you kill a snake plant in six months? Those are supposed to be hard to kill.”

"Plants are harder to keep alive than children. They can't talk. They don't cry or scream when they need something. They just silently die. It's pretty rude, actually," she explains. It takes everything in me to keep my lips pressed in a straight line.

"Sure. Weird way to justify plant murder, but ok." Aimee gives me another one of her giant grins. And there's something in that grin that's a bit contagious. I find myself, once again, pressing my lips together to stop a smile. There's a silence between us now and I can't think of any way to fill it.

“So,” I say awkwardly, pushing off from the dresser. At this angle, there’s a ray of sun hitting the side of her face from the nearby window. It travels across the side of her leg and down the floor, making her look half-dipped in gold. “Sorry about your shirt,” I say. “I didn’t really think about it, until…and then…anyway, sorry about that.”

“I’m not sorry,” she says as her eyes land on mine. “I don’t mind getting wet.”

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