Page 95 of Goodbye Days

“Don’t you ever consider Roma’s a ripoff even at five bucks?”

“Clearly not, dude. How shitty can pizza be?”

“Roma’s is the laboratory working on the answer to this question.”

Eli spreads his arms wide. “ ’Ey! Why-a you sayin’-a bad things-a ’bout Roma’s, eh? This-a spicy pizza been in my-a family for-a generations, eh?” He makes that Italian kissing motion with his fingers.

“You are the biggest chode.”

“You love this chode. Okay, less talking. More jacket getting. More Roma’s getting. And more French-torture-porn watching.”

For the most part, you don’t hold the people you love in your heart because they rescued you from drowning or pulled you from a burning house. Mostly you hold them in your heart because they save you, in a million quiet and perfect ways, from being alone.

At some point during the drive, without my even noticing (shockingly, my mind was elsewhere), the sky has turned to dreary slate. By the time we reach the Fall Creek Falls parking lot and trailhead, it’s begun to drizzle in that misty way where you’re getting wet but it doesn’t justify using an umbrella. It means the parking lot is empty. And that’s good, because the last thing any normal human needs is to encounter our happy-go-lucky little band of merry travelers scattering Eli’s sand at the falls.

“Well, here we are,” Pierce says to nobody in particular, staring off. He puts up the hood of his parka against the rain. “Have either of you been here before?”

Jesmyn and I shake our heads.

“The first time we brought Eli here was when he was nine,” Melissa says. “He was utterly captivated. He loved that we could hop in our car and drive a couple of hours and see something this majestic.”

Pierce laughs. It’s a hollow, rueful laugh, but it’s clearly not meant to be. “Starting in junior high, he and I used to take father-son weekend trips to western North Carolina. We’d get a hotel in Asheville and spend our days hiking to waterfalls. We used to talk about all kinds of stuff.” He pauses. “But obviously not everything.”

Pierce takes Eli’s jar from Melissa, and we begin picking our way gingerly down the slick, muddy trail. Pierce leads the way. Melissa follows behind a few paces and then Jesmyn and I lag still farther behind.

“Never really seen those two like this,” I whisper to Jesmyn.

She shakes her head. “I’ve seen them fight about stuff, but in a more…loving way, I guess.”

“This must be really hard on them.”

“Can’t blame them.”

“No.”

Jesmyn stumbles on a root and pitches forward a couple of steps. I’m there at her elbow. “Thanks,” she says.

Almost immediately, I slip on a drift of soggy leaves. Jesmyn’s hand snaps to my triceps, steadying me. I glance at her. “Karma.”

The treetops are shrouded in mist, gray lace hanging tattered. Wind moves through branches with a sound like waves breaking on a beach. A beach in November.

I wonder if you ever get to feel the rain in prison.

“This day reminds me of a black-metal album cover,” I say. “Perfect for Eli.”

After a couple of moments, Jesmyn says, “This is how Eli’s voice sounded. Rain on pine trees in October. Dark and green and silvery.”

With a sharp twinge, I remember her joking (at least I hope it was) response when I asked her what color my voice was. I don’t get to wallow in my hurt long before I notice her shivering. Her jacket isn’t made for rain. I pull off my waterproof parka. “Here.” I drape it over her shoulders.

“Dude, no, I’m fine. You’ll be cold.”

“I’m okay. I have my hoodie.”

“You sure?”

I make sure Pierce and Melissa are far ahead. “I don’t need any more friends dying.” It’s a dark joke, sure. But Eli dug dark jokes, so I guess he wouldn’t mind. Jesmyn’s face says she doesn’t.

When we round the bend to the waterfall, the wind has intensified and the mist has thickened.