Page 122 of Inception

For being there for me when I needed him. For putting himself at risk time and time again. For taking me to see my dad even though he didn’t have to do it. Regardless of what he may havesaidin the past, he’s been there for me more times than I can count and I was eternally grateful to him.

“Just for...everything," I answered, silently vowing that I would one day find a way to repay him.

His dimples pressed in as a small smile formed on his lips. “You ready to gohome?”

I sighed, not entirely sure where that was anymore. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

37. CONTACT

Hollow Hills greeted us with its elegiac song. Water trickled down the window like tears, welcoming us back to a melancholy world that never rested. It was already late afternoon by the time we returned, which had surprised me. Apparently, time moved a lot quicker here…or perhaps it moved slower for us in the past? I wasn’t yet sure how that worked.

Trace and I spent the next couple of hours alone in his bedroom where we sat on the floor with our backs against the bed and the music humming in the background. We talked about everything and nothing; killing time as it were, and for the most part, we kept things light and easy, and we were both content with that. That is, until I unwittingly asked about his mother.

I wanted to know what time she would be home and hoped to pass it off as a minor curiosity, but the truth was, I was afraid I’d wind up face-to-face with her having to explain what I was doing in her son’s bedroom, unsupervised. Mothers always made me incredibly uneasy. I didn’t know how to interact with them—probably because I never really had one.

Trace swallowed hard and lowered his eyes.

“Did I say something wrong?” I asked, confused by his response. However backhanded my intentions, it was an innocent enough question.

“No, you didn’t say anything wrong.” He looked up at his iPod deck and listened for a few beats. “My mom’s not well,” he finally said, turning back to me with guarded eyes. “After Linley died, she had a hard time coping with everything.”

He went on to tell me about the breakdown his mother suffered after his sister’s death. Though he didn’t offer too many specifics regarding what that entailed, I could tell it was something that weighed heavily on him.

“She’s been in an institution for the last few weeks,” he revealed, growing more sullen with every admission. “My father said it was for her own good, but I know he just got sick of dealing with her. Out of sight, out of mind.”

My heart sank.

“I try to go visit her every day before school but it’s hard seeing her that way.” He looked up at me and shook his head, possibly mistaking my silence for fear. “She’s not crazy. She’s just heartbroken.” His eyes were gleaming in the dim light, deepening the shades of blue.

“I know,” I said, covering his hand with mine. I didn’t know what else to say to him.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he answered softly and then turned his hand around so that his palm was flat against my own. His eyes never strayed from mine as he laced our fingers together, causing my heart to drum even faster. “I didn’t tell you about her to get anything back from you.”

But how could I not give him something back? After everything he’d done for me, the least I could offer was my friendship, my compassion. Maybe even the gift of knowing he wasn’t alone. That I’d traveled down a similar road to his mother and came out of it okay, even if it was under different circumstances. Sometimes all we needed was a shoulder to lean on, or in some cases, a hand to hold.

I looked down at our entangled fingers. “I watched my father die eight months ago at the hands of a Rev. I watched him give up his own life so that I could get away, and I’ve had to live with that ever since. I pretty much lost it after that and wound up getting committed.” I glanced up at him, gauging his reaction before saying anything else. “I was out of it for a long time. The more I resisted, the more they drugged me into oblivion. So much so that I actually started to believe that maybe Ididimagine the whole thing. Maybe Iwascrazy.”

He cleared his throat as though he were going to say something but decided against it. The gesture made me hesitate, like maybe I was doing that rambling thing again and revealed a little more than he was ready to hear.

“The point is that I came out of it okay, and your mother will too. When she’s ready to cope with the world again, she will. She just needs time.” I squeezed his hand reassuringly.

He stared back at me without speaking.

I couldn’t tell what he was thinking from his ever-reticent countenance, and I wished—not for the first time—that I could read his thoughts the way he could read mine.

“No, you don’t. Trust me.”

“That bad?”

He didn’t answer.

“Are you freaked out?” I asked, biting my lip nervously.

“Why would I be freaked out?”

“Because of what I told you,” I shrugged, afraid to ask him what he thought of me now. “I don’t want you to look at me differently now that you know.” I dropped my gaze knowing I couldn’t bear it if this changed things between us. Especially now that we were in a good place.

He shook my hand a little as if to call back my attention. “You really don’t remember, do you?”

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