Page 25 of Landon (In Safe Hands)
“Whatare you doing here?”
“Ijust wanted to check on you.” He turns to Ethan and sticks out his hand. “Hey,I’m Landon.”
“Ethan,”my brother replies, shaking his hand. His gaze darts between us and he grabsthe keys from my hand. “I’ll wait in the car.” He’s off before I can protest.
Landonface softens as he asks, “How are you?”
“I’mfine. Just dealing with the funeral arrangements and stuff. My friend Franniehas been a big help.”
“Ifthere’s anything I can do, let me know.” His arms wrap around me in a hug thatshould be awkward, but isn’t. I find myself squeezing him back, breathing inhis warm scent. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Ihaven’t seen them in years. Makes things easier.”
“Insome ways. But grief can sneak up on you.” I step back, and he hands me anenvelope. “Take the week off.”
It’snext Friday’s check. He’s giving me a paid week off. “I don’t need that muchtime,” I protest.
“Well,you have it if you need it. Please, call me if there’s anything else I can do.Or if you just don’t want to be alone.”
Hissweet unexpected response puts tears in my eyes for the first time since Ifound out. “Thank you. I should get to Ethan.”
Hewalks me to my car, then waves to Ethan before he leaves. Ethan gives me asideways grin. “Dating the boss?”
“What?No!” I slap his shoulder.
“Comeon, I know that look. That guy is crazy about you.”
“You’reinsane,” I reply, pulling onto the highway.
“Whateveryou say.” I kind of want to slap the knowing smile from his face. He’s sixteen.What the hell does he know? Too much, obviously.
Ourfavorite ice cream shop is only a few blocks away, and the wind makes it toochilly to sit at the outdoor tables, so we head back home with our milkshakes.Ethan disappears into his room. I’m worried about him, but the sound of himlaughing into his microphone tells me he’s on a game with his friends. Maybe heis okay. Today has seemed endless, so after draining my chocolate shake, I dragmy ass to bed.
Myphone wakes me the next morning when it beeps with a voicemail from the funeraldirector letting me know he has the copies of the death certificate I need. Iguess I can stop by there on my way to my parents’ house.
Iwake Ethan and we each shovel down a bowl of cereal before heading out. He’stoo young to have to deal with this stuff, but I’m glad to have him with me.
Aknot forms in my stomach when I pull into the driveway of the home where I grewup. Judging by the look on Ethan’s face, he isn’t thrilled to be here either.There aren’t many happy memories here. “You don’t have to go in.”
Heshakes his head. “I’m okay. I want to see if any of my old stuff is here.” Likeme, Ethan moved with nothing but a trash bag full of clothes. The house keyswere in the bag of personal effects that I was given by the coroner, so there’sno problem getting inside.
It’sbeen five years since I’ve entered this house, and I’m struck by how much itsmells the same. Other than some new furniture, not much has changed. Ethanbounds upstairs, and I head down the hall to what used to be my room. It nowholds a sewing machine and baskets of material. The large walk-in closet holdsmore sewing supplies, but I find a stack of boxes against the wall. They’refull of trophies, awards, and pictures that belonged to me and Ethan. At leastthey didn’t throw everything away.
“Well,my room now holds a pool table,” Ethan says from behind me. “I guess theytossed everything.”
“Noteverything. Help me get these boxes.”
Huffingand puffing, we load them in the car. “They manage to keep me in a closet oneway or another,” Ethan mutters, looking pissed. “What are we going to do withall their stuff?”
“Giveit to charity, I guess. I’ll start packing it up this week since I’ve got theweek off. Once it’s cleaned out, we’ll get a realtor to put it on the market.”
Henods. “I’ll be right back.” He makes his way to the backyard and I give him afew minutes before following him.
Ourold swing set and sandbox are still here. Ethan sits on the deck, staringacross the yard. I throw my arm across his shoulder. “Want to tell me what’srunning through your head?”
Hislips turn up. “Most of my good childhood memories are out here. They left usalone. Do you remember playing out here? Catching lightning bugs? Playing onthe swings?”
“Ofcourse I do. I remember getting you down from that tree more than once when youclimbed too high and then got scared.” I gesture to the large oak with a laugh.
