Page 33 of April Flowers

He hoped he hadn’t blown his only chance to care for Avery.

He hoped he hadn’t let Mona down in a way he couldn’t take back.

Inside, Noah went through the house, turning on all the lights in his search. He half expected to find Avery napping in the living room or reading on her bed. He half expected to find her bent over the fridge, emptying it. A sharp blast of wind threatened to tear the house down. He shivered and went to his bedroom to grab an extra flannel and a sweatshirt. If he was going to be out driving all night in this, he wanted to be prepared.

He imagined himself walking through the woods, calling Avery’s name.

It wasn’t like Noah to forget his phone. Like everyone else in the twenty-first century, it was always attached to him. But he realized he'd left it in the truck when he reached for it to call in a favor—to ask someone, maybe Sam, to stay at the house while he drove around. He was scatterbrained. Snapping at the lights as he returned to the living room, he took deep breaths, trying to instill a sense of calm within himself. He was reminded of animals, how you had to let them believe you were in control, and in order to do that, you had to believe it, too.

The minute they sensed fear, they’d attack you.

Fear was the most dangerous thing of all.

But right before he left the house, he realized he wasn’t alone.

There was a teenager hunched over the fridge.

His pulse quickened. His knees threatened to give out. There she was, the bane of his existence. She was also the only person he loved in the world.

Noah nearly collapsed with relief. “Avery?” His voice was spiked with fear, and tears stung his eyes.

When Avery turned around, her mouth was full of bread and cheese. He wanted to scream at her, but he felt too tired. Avery continued to chew. She couldn’t speak; her mouth was too full. Her eyes looked normal, like nothing had happened. Like it was a typical day.

Noah’s vision blurred. Without saying anything, he walked to the fridge, opened it wider, and pulled out a can of beer. He could feel Avery’s eyes on him as he pulled the tab and drank exactly half of it before cracking it back on the counter. He’d needed that.

With the beer numbing his fear, Noah searched his gut for the right thing to say—something that wouldn’t frighten Avery away but still instill within her the understanding that he loved her and really hated what she’d put him through the past couple of weeks.

Avery put several more things across the counter: orange juice, more bread and cheese, and butter. It looked as though she wanted to make a grilled cheese sandwich. Noah’s stomach tightened into a knot.

“Make me one,” he said.

Avery glanced at him with surprise. It was as though she was testing him, waiting for the axe to fall.

But Noah couldn’t think of anything to say. He swallowed more beer and sat on the sofa, where he turned the television on. Sports. None of that dating show crap. Not tonight.

He let sports news wash over him. He listened to the grilled cheese sandwiches sizzle in the skillet. He wondered what was going through Avery’s mind. Did she think she’d gotten away with something? Did she think Noah was too weak to punish her?

During Mona’s final years of life, she’d stopped calling as often. At first, Noah hadn’t noticed. He’d been too busy with work and his useless attempts at dating (if you could really call it that) to realize that his sister was drifting away. They’d spent holidays together, sometimes. And Noah had gone up to Boston to visit a few times. Admittedly, he’d felt annoyed at Mona for not returning to Nantucket when it hadn’t worked out with that loser. He’d felt annoyed that she’d left the island at all. But he’dnever imagined she’d die like that. He’d always assumed there would be a future for both of them—a glittering summer’s day when they’d sit on the sand and drink rosé and watch the gulls sweep over the turquoise blue.

Why had he assumed that reality was a given? Why had he assumed there was so much more time left? That was the thinking of a youthful and naive man.

Avery carried both plates of grilled cheese sandwiches to the couch and put them on the coffee table in front of them. It surprised Noah that she wanted to sit with him. He’d imagined she would take her food to her room and do whatever stewing or plotting or music listening teenagers wanted to do by themselves. But when Noah looked at Avery, hunched on the sofa, her eyes on the grilled cheese, he saw a teenager with a broken heart. He saw a person who would soon be a woman in a cruel world.

He didn’t want to be a part of that cruelty.

Noah and Avery sat as their grilled cheeses cooled. On television, the announcer was talking about a college basketball game that had gone south and ended in a brawl. It occurred to Noah that the guys on the team throwing punches weren’t much older than Avery. Were they as confused as she was? Probably, he guessed.

Noah picked up his sandwich and took a buttery bite. Avery watched him as though needing validation. Cheese strung out from the sandwich, long and cartoonish, and Noah let out a silly laugh. Avery echoed him. It was hard to believe they were sitting on the sofa, laughing when, really, their situation was terribly tragic, and Noah was still furious.

“Is it okay?” Avery asked.

“The sandwich?”

Avery let her eyes fall.

“The sandwich is delicious,” Noah said, his voice soft. He was surprised she’d broken their silence instead of him. “It has so much butter and cheese that it might kill me. But it’s delicious.”

Avery brightened. She clasped her hands together. On television, the announcer talked about a local ice skater who had her eyes set on the Olympics. The ice-skater was younger than Avery; her sights were set higher; her parents were alive. Noah filled his lungs.

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