Page 22 of Goodbye Days

“Fine,” I mumble through a bite. “Sad.”

“Dad and I are watching a movie tonight. You’re invited.”

“I’m going to hang out with a friend tonight.”

Her face registers pleased surprise. I didn’t know you had any other friends. “Do we know him?”

“No.”

“Okay. If you change your mind or get home early, we’re here.”

“I appreciate it.”

Georgia’s giving me a look, so I scrupulously study my plate until I’m done eating.

Jesmyn lives in Bellevue. It’s about fifteen minutes from my front door to sitting in front of her house in one of the treeless, anonymous tracts of new housing that dot that part of Nashville.

I’m fifteen minutes early. I’m chronically early places. I’m used to waiting for things to start.

I sit in front of Jesmyn’s house until seven, listening to music and wondering what Eli thought when he pulled up here for the first time. This neighborhood couldn’t be more different from Eli’s. He lived in Hillsboro Village, near Vanderbilt University, in a beautiful old house on a tree-lined street. I wonder for a second if he can see me sitting in front of his girlfriend’s house. I hope that if he can, he can see into my heart and see how much I wish it were him sitting here instead.

At exactly 7:02 (I’ve learned it unnerves people when I walk up right on time), I knock on Jesmyn’s front door. A tall white guy with thick gray hair answers.

“Oh…sorry, I might have the wrong house,” I say.

He smiles. “Are you looking for Jesmyn?”

“Yes.”

“I’m Jesmyn’s dad. Jack Holder. Nice to meet you.”

We shake hands. “I’m Carver Briggs. Good to meet you.”

“Come in.”

Her house is spacious, clean, and white. White ceilings, white walls. The scent of berries and green apples. The hardwood floors gleam. Everything looks new. A huge grand piano occupies part of the living room.

“You have a beautiful house,” I say as I follow him up a carpeted staircase.

“Thanks,” Mr. Holder says. “We only completely unpacked a month ago. We’ve been here since about mid-May, right after Jesmyn’s school let out.”

“What brought y’all to Nashville?” I ask.

“Position with Nissan. Realizing that the Madison County school system was probably not the springboard to Juilliard that Jesmyn needed.”

We walk down the hall. Mr. Holder turns to me. “So…were you friends with Eli?”

“Best friends.” I knew I’d get the question, but it still stings.

“I’m so sorry.”

“Thank you.” I wish I could gather into a stadium every single person on Earth who’d ever be inclined to express their sympathies for my loss at any time. Then, at the count of three (and perhaps the firing of a cannon), everyone would express their sympathies simultaneously for thirty seconds. I would stand in the middle of the field and let the sympathy wash over me in a tidal wave. And then I’d be done once and for all with the slow trickle.

“To a father, no guy is ever good enough for your daughter. But I always thought Eli seemed like a nice and talented young man.”

“He was.”

We walk up to an open bedroom. Mr. Holder peeks his head in and knocks on the doorjamb. “Jes? Honey, your friend is here.”