Page 145 of Aria

Closure.

Spinning around, I allowed a woman to access the snack table, almost bumping into someone else. “Oh, excuse me…” When I glanced up, I froze.

Noah stood before me, his eyes burning into mine.

I felt dizzy as the room spun. It was suddenly too hot—I couldn’t catch my breath. I reached over to hold myself steady against something, but there was nothing there. As I nearly lost my balance, Noah quickly moved in to pull me back to my feet.

“You okay?”

That voice.

His voice.

I’d heard it on the radio, but this was different.

He was here. He wasreal.

My Noah.

His hand was still lingering on my elbow as I regained my footing, and it was the first time we had touched in almost three years. The physical contact sent me mentally spiraling for a moment. My entire universe felt off-kilter.

Reeling in my emotions, I let out the breath I had been holding for the last thirty seconds. “Noah.”

His name sounded foreign on my tongue, like a lost and forgotten language. Sacred; a thing of beauty.

Something that should remain entombed.

Noah released his hold on my arm, his movements slow and lazy, as if he were reluctant to let go. “I saw you walk in. I didn’t want to bother you, I just…” He scratched the back of his neck, his features unreadable. His green eyes used to tell so many tales. “I’m sorry, I probably should have left you alone.”

I glanced over at Lisa who had finished paying her respects. She was sipping lemonade in the corner, giving us our space. My eyes fell back to Noah. “It’s okay. I’m not staying long.”

He slipped his hands into his pockets, the sleeves of his black button-down rolled up to his elbows. A tattoo of a guitar with various dates encompassing it had been newly etched into the fleshy side of his arm. “I can’t believe he’s gone.”

Gone.That word was so final, so conclusive. I wondered if Noah had felt a similar chill in his bones when he’d realized that I was gone.

I folded my sweater across my royal blue dress and looked down at the floor. “Me, too. I think I’m still processing everything.”

“Chelsie?”

My attention jerked to the right as the young, innocent voice registered.

Sam. He approached us with wide eyes and remnants of donuts on his face.

“Sam… you remember me?” I wondered.

He was seven years old now, in second grade. He likely had epic birthday parties with his friends and video game marathons with his father. His dinosaur pajamas had probably been replaced with superhero orMinecraftdesigns.

I pondered if he still had his Buzz Lightyear nightlight, or if that had also been replaced—or possibly, removed completely. Maybe Sam wasn’t afraid of the dark anymore.

Sam stood beside his father with a dumbfounded look on his face. “Of course, I remember you. Why did you leave?”

OhGod.

How could I possibly put into words why I’d left?

What explanation would ever make sense to a little boy?

I had to stop trying to fix everyone else and finally fix myself.

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