Page 30 of Teach Me to Laugh

“I like being outside.”

“You’ve gotta give me more than that,” she protested my reply. “What do you like to do outside?”

I’d give this woman anything she asked for. The thought was a little frightening and the Beckett from a few months ago might even be a little nauseated by it.

“I like to hike, ski, and camp. I’ve always preferred the country to the city. I don’t know where I get that from as my parents are as city as city folk get.”

“Do you ski or snowboard?”

“Ski.” I tipped my head to ask, “You?”

“Ski.”

“Any good?”

“I’m not horrible, but I’m probably not as good as you.” She admitted, and again the pink was back.

I chuckled, “We’ll go. I can teach you whatever you don’t know.”

“Oh, can you now?”

“Definitely.” I confirmed. “I’ve been told I’m a good teacher.”

“Well,” she breathed. “Someone thinks highly of himself.”

“Only a little.”

Another length of silence fell between us. I let my eyes close again, my thumb rubbing absent circles into the soft skin of her palm.

“Your parents don’t enjoy the country?”

“Not unless they’re entertaining in it.”

“How did you develop a passion for hiking, skiing, and camping, if your parents didn’t introduce you to it?”

“I spent almost every year in summer camps just outside the city. Camps withBoy Scoutsand other programs. All summer, every summer.”

“And skiing?”

“A love I developed in junior high when I went with the school. I went every chance I got after. When I got my license I went all the time.”

“But you’re still close with your parents? Even though they spent most of your childhood working?”

“We’re close enough. I understand them and what they do. I understand the importance . . .” she shifted her hand, locking her fingers with mine when my words cut short. I repeated, “I understand the importance of what they do.”

“But you were lonely.”

“Sometimes. It could have been worse.”

We both knew the truth of those words were a heavy weight settling on her hardened heart.

“You’re right. It could have been worse. So much worse, but that doesn’t lessen the fact that you were lonely. Being lonely sucks, and I’d know the difference, because you were right. I’m not lonely anymore.”

My eyes opened to the stretch of sun pouring in through the patio doors. It spilled over the stucco of the ceiling, painting it in gold. Still, it wasn’t better than hearing her words. She wasn’t lonely anymore. Because of me. And she was letting me know it.

“You’re not lonely anymore.” I whispered, confirming her words.

She squeezed my hand. “Tell me something else.”

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