Page 21 of Before the Summer He Found Her

“Tonight?” I repeat.

“Uh, yes,” she says. “But first, you hungry?”

She brushes by me, and her bare arm grazes my hand. That familiar flutter dances through my body; Past Channah’s face haunts me, yet seeing her now, appearing so bubbly and healthy, helps settle my stomach.

We stand in line at the Japanese fast-food counter. She orders a sushi roll, and I pick a bowl of chicken teriyaki. As the line cooks prep our food, she’s smiling my way, and there’s an awkward silence stretching between the two of us. We’re glancing back and forth between each other and the chicken teriyaki on the cooktop. As we share another look, the sparkle of her eyes hits me in my core, and the corner of my lip curls.

And I can’t help my next thought.

This woman is beautiful.

“Your hair is redder in person.” She smirks. Although there’s a confident smile on her face, I sense the nervousness stemming from her core—sense it in a way that takes me aback. I’ve never sensed her before like this. I’ve never sensedanyone. But suddenly, I feel the emotions emanating from her core, and for the briefest of moments, my smile falls.

“I have been told that on occasion,” I say, thinking of the tinge of red she’s referring to. My sister, Mandi, and I both have the same color hair—which our mother always told us we inherited from our estranged father. Thoughts of my father make me cringe, so I move the topic back to Channah, clearing my mind. “Have you always lived near this mall?”

“Pretty close to it, yeah. This is my general hometown area. I’m not sure if it’s a good or a bad thing, but aside from some light traveling, I haven’t gone far in my life. I’ve lived within a twenty-mile radius.”

I swallow, wondering if she’s still in the same house as Past Channah. Wanting to begin my confirmation process, I ask, “Have you lived in Audubon a long time?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, actually, a pretty long time,” she says. “I bought that place when I was twenty-eight.”

There’s despair surrounding her as she says this, as she specifically thinks of that age. I want to ask a follow-up question, to confirm if it is in fact the house where I visited her in the past. But one of the line cooks lifts our two boxes of food onto the top glass shelf above the cooktop. We each grab our respective item and head toward the seating area, where I plan on continuing this conversation as gently as possible.

“Does your house make you sad?” I ask as we sit.

Her nose crinkles, like I’ve startled her. “Huh? Why do you ask?”

“Oh, it’s nothing. I have a strong intuition when it comes to certain things, and I thought I sensed sadness at the mention of your house. Or perhaps… when you first moved into your house.”

“Oh. That. Yeah.” She sighs, opening her box and revealing the sushi roll. A thick roll with small pieces of salmon and tuna at the center. “Speaking of your intuition, I want to ask you how your friend’s ghost machine is going. But I’ll answer your question first.”

“We can also talk about this after we eat, too, Channah. Or not at all, if it’s too bothersome or too private.”

“Oh, no, I’m fine if we talk about it, and I can talk about it now. The sadness you’re sensing has to do with my ex-boyfriend Andrew.”

The words leave her lips quickly. A Band-Aid being ripped off as if not to feel the pain for any longer than it has to be.

“Ah, Andrew,” I breathe, testing the waters, and trying to act as if I haven’t heard his name before. “A serious relationship?”

“It was. I cared about him very much.”

“What happened?” I ask, voice gentle.

There’s more despair surrounding her heart, and I tread carefully, watching as her jovial nature fades away. Her cheerful state leaves, and I see it. See the pain of Past Channah, that darkness. See the woman with deep despair, the one who wanted nothing more than to shrink away, hide from her pain, and watchStar Trek.

Without thinking, I reach for her hand. Our hands touch, and that familiar jolt from three days ago rushes through me. A snap of her life in the form of a visual memory flashes through my mind. It isn’t much, but in my mind’s eye, I catch a glimpse, and I’m in there, in her brain. I see her actual memory: and it’s her ghost friend,me, except I look blurry and nothing like me, hugging her tight and kissing her forehead.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Can she see a glimpse of my mind the way I’ve just seen hers?

Whathas she seen?

Does she know now that it’s me?

I pull back my hand, and she stares at hers, a soft smile on her lips. Seemingly none the wiser about the true identity of her ghost friend. It’s as if the memory of Tom has brought back her joy. The tension inside of her dissipates.

“Andrew hurt me very badly. We were hurting each other,” she murmurs, her eyes remaining on her hand. “But I had a support system, eventually. One person. Well…”

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