Page 30 of Catcher

Protective.

Guarded.

Their eyes flick toward me. Their faces are neither hostile nor quite friendly, and that’s how I know that they know.

Of course, they do.

I take another drink, turn, and head toward the porch. Tossing the empty bottle in the trash, I grab another from the cooler and move to the steps, where I sit.

I don’t mean to keep looking at her.

But I do.

Ruby laughs at something one of the women says. Her body language is soft and easy, as though nothing bad has ever touched her.

But I know better.

My jaw tightens as the memory of that morning presses in.

Her face.

That tear.

“Son.” Pop’s voice cuts through.

I glance over. He’s in his rocking chair with a mason jar in his hand.

“You’re gonna wear a hole through that girl if you keep starin’ like that,” he says.

I huff a breath. “Ain’t starin’.”

Pop snorts. “Son, I’ve seen quieter storms do more damage.”

I don’t respond.

Don’t need to.

Pop rocks slowly, sipping from the jar. Silence settles between us for a minute before he speaks again, “Lovin’ again doesn’t mean you’re replacin’ someone.” His words land quietly but heavily. I don’t look at him or react, but he keeps going, “Life doesn’t work like that,” he says. “Ain’t like you got one seat in your heart and once it’s filled, that’s it. Done deal.”

I shift slightly, bottle resting between my hands.

Pop rocks again, slow and steady. “The heart is more like the bayou,” he continues. “You lose somethin’ out there, the water doesn’t stop flowin’. It keeps right on movin’. It keeps changin’. But it doesn’t mean what was there before didn’t matter. Just means there’s room for what comes next.”

My jaw tightens. “That ain’t how it feels,” I mutter.

“No,” he agrees. “It ain’t.” He leans forward slightly. “But feelin’ and truth ain’t always the same thing.”

I glance at him, understanding that loss has shaped every chapter of his journey too. He smiles faintly, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. He nods toward the horizon where the sun is starting to dip, painting everything in gold and fire. “See that?” he says. “The sun goes down every day. Same damn way. People think it’s the end of somethin’.” He takes a slow drink. “But it ain’t. It’s just the other side of it and the beginnin’ of somethin’ else.”

I don’t say anything.

Don’t trust myself to.

Pop reaches beside his chair, grabs a larger mason jar, and hands it to me. “Drink.”

I take it, the liquid inside is clear, and I tip it back.

The burn hits hard.