Page 105 of Once Upon A Small Town Secret
He huffs out a sound that’s closer to a laugh. Then his voice goes quiet. “Do you have a…” He gestures vaguely with his hand, not knowing the right word. “Can I see?”
I open my bag and pull out the ultrasound picture, slide it across the desk. He picks it up with two fingers, like he’s afraid it might shatter. For a long time, he just… stares.
“I have no idea what I’m looking at,” he finally says.
A laugh bursts out of me. I round the desk and point to the little blob in the center.
“That’s it?” he asks.
“Mhmm,” I say, nodding.
“That,” he says softly, “is the cutest little blob I’ve ever seen.”
I shove his shoulder. “Jason.”
He turns to me with a smile, and for a moment, he’s just my big brother again.
But it fades, and he hands the ultrasound back.
“I need time,” he says. “To not want to kill him when I see his face.”
“I know,” I say. “Take it. Just… text me sometimes while you’re taking it.”
He leans back to look at me. “You’re really doing this.”
“I really am. And you’re going to be an uncle. Uncle Jason.”
His eyes flick over my face, and he nods once. “Yeah. Okay.”
He pushes to his feet and hauls me in, clumsy and tight. “I’m mad at you,” he says into my hair, voice thick. “And I love you. And I’m here.”
I press my face into his chest and nod against him, tears falling helplessly as the ache in my heart loosens a bit. “I love you too,” I say, because he deserves to hear it back. “And thank you.”
He lets me go and clears his throat and swipes a hand over his face. Then he walks around the desk to open the door for me.
I follow and stand in the hallway, just looking at him.
“Tell Mom I’ll come by tonight,” he says and walks around the desk to open the door for me.
I nod and turn to go, my legs a little jelly, my heart a little lighter.
Behind me, I hear the door close. It’s not peace. It’s not fixed. It’s a work in progress, and right now that feels like a miracle.
Chapter Thirty Four
Ben
I wear a path in the living room rug, past the couch, past the window, out to the porch, back again. The boards complain in the same few spots. I try sitting. I try leaning on the kitchen counter. I open the fridge, stare at a shelf like it’s going to offer me something, shut it again.
Jason’s at his parents’ for dinner.
I can see it like a movie—from the outside looking in: Gwen’s voice floating from the kitchen, Don taste-testing, Jason teasing Paige about something. The river outside those big windows.
That table’s fed me more meals than my own family ever did. There were weeks, years ago, when I ate there three nights running because my dad was “working late,” which meant I was on my own and the fridge at home had half a lemon and a beer. Gwen would press a plate into my hands and say, “Sit.” Don would nod at the chair next to Jason’s as if it had my name on it.
Now there’s a dent at that table that should be me, and it’s empty.
I make another circuit—front window, porch, back to the kitchen—like I can outpace the thought. The sky’s gone that deep late-summer blue that makes the maples look almost black. I can’t hear the river tonight, but the crickets are in full force, singing their songs.
