Page 37 of The Shots You Take

They walked back to the house on the narrow grassy strip that ran alongside the road. Riley’s house was four away from the start of the beach, up a short hill that gave him a spectacular view of the bay from his bedroom. Riley went to his greenhouse first, to check on his seedlings. This year he’d added some exciting new vegetables to his garden plan, including eggplant and asparagus. Everything was looking good, despite the lack of sunshine lately. He planned to transplant the asparagusto the garden next week. They wouldn’t yield any actual asparagus until next year, but Riley liked that about gardening: the caretaking, the patience, and the eventual reward.

He liked everything about gardening, which was something he hadn’t expected when he’d first started clearing the weeds that had taken over the yard of the old house before he’d bought it. He liked being outside, and he liked using his hands. He liked quiet and solitude and having a task to do that didn’t require a lot of thinking. But later he discovered that he also liked the mental challenge of planning his garden each year. Of figuring out the best times to start things from seed, and when and where to transplant them. He liked trying different fertilizers and seeds, and he liked learning from his mistakes. He tracked everything in a hardbound journal, noting what worked and what didn’t. Jotting down ideas for next year. He’d built the greenhouse five years ago and expanded his single small vegetable patch into four large ones. By June the cheerful flower garden that wrapped around his house would be in bloom, and hummingbirds would start visiting his feeders. It was something to look forward to, and his therapist would tell him that was important.

His therapist would also tell him that sleep was important.

Riley lingered in the greenhouse, enjoying its warmth and the smell of soil. His young tomato plants were already adding their scent to the air, bright and summery. His asshole brain reminded him that, when he’d planted those seeds, he’d thought his dad would be around to eat the tomatoes they’d produce. Dad had loved tomatoes.

Riley refused to cry in his greenhouse; it was his happy place. He went inside the house and cried there instead, leaning against his fridge as he hugged himself and assured Lucky he was all right. It would pass, and he might get several good hours before he needed to cry again.

Eventually he went to his bedroom to get a nicer shirt, because he felt better when he was somewhat put together. His phone was still on his nightstand, connected to a charger. When he picked it up, he saw that he had a text from the number he’d never been able to make himself block. Riley squinted at it.

Adam: Are you at the shop now?

Riley huffed out a surprised laugh. Was Adam really this determined?

Riley considered not writing back, but then wrote:Not yet. Soon. Why?

Adam: I was thinking I could bring you breakfast.

“God dammit, Adam,” Riley said to his empty bedroom. Couldn’t he take a hint? This offer was absolutely ridiculous.

It was also, Riley hated to admit, kind of sweet.

Riley wrote:You don’t have to do that.

Adam: I want to.

Riley sighed. He was about to reject the offer, but then his stomach growled, and he decided he could maybe manage a bit of breakfast.

Riley: Fine. Nothing too big.

Less than an hour later, Adam walked into the shop precariously balancing two large paper bags and a tray with two coffees.

“I wasn’t sure,” Adam explained, “so I got a few things you can choose from.”

“You can pick the one you want first,” Riley said as Adam began unpacking and opening various Styrofoam containers.

“I already ate,” Adam said, and patted his stomach. “Paula’s omelets are huge!”

“So you ordered me five breakfasts?”

Adam shrugged, and his cheeks pinked slightly. “You didn’t give me much to go on.”

Riley had thought “nothing too big” would at the very least translate to “no more than one full breakfast, please,” but Adam had never been a great problem solver. At least Paula had enjoyed a lucrative morning. “Thanks,” he said, and grabbed the container with bacon and scrambled eggs.

“Sleep okay?” Adam asked.

Riley shrugged and picked up a piece of slightly warm bacon with his fingers.

“It’s so quiet here at night,” Adam continued. “I forgot about that. It’s nice.”

“One of the perks,” Riley agreed.

“Well, except the heater in my room. That thing rattles like a freight train. I tried to turn it off last night but couldn’t figure it out.”

It was then that Riley noticed the bags under Adam’s eyes, and the way his stubble wasn’t quite as tidy as it had been yesterday.

Well, whatever. Adam was free to return to his fancy house in Toronto anytime.

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