Page 60 of The Quiet After The Fall

I take out my phone to pass the time. My hand’s trembling so hard, I struggle to unlock it. There’s another text from Mom, reminding me about dinner. I rub my temple with my free hand and click the message.

Me: Hey, so about dinner. I’m not up for it this year and I’m sorry. It’s nothing to do with you but I just want to be alone.

I hit send and somehow a small amount of pressure leaves my chest.

Gia messaged me also. I open it to find a photo of Miriam asleep sitting up, and a message that she hopes I’m having more fun than she is.

I can’t help but smile.

Knox comes back a few minutes later, carrying a plastic tray with two cheeseburgers wrapped in greasy paper, two orders of shoestring fries, and a large cup. He sits across from me, takes the lid off the cup, and sticks two straws in it. A chocolate milkshake.

He slides the shake to the center of the table, nudging it an inch closer to my side, and the last bit of tightness in my chest gives way.

Sugar helps.

I shouldn’t be surprised that he remembered. He’s Knox. I wrap my lips around the straw and take a long pull. The cold sweetness hits the back of my throat, and my hands stop shaking quite so hard around my phone.

“You good?” he asks, unwrapping his burger.

“Yup.” I set my phone down and pick up a fry.

He chews slowly, watching me with that knowing look. I shouldn’t feel self-conscious with his eyes on me but I do. He swallows and raises a brow. “You’re not good. Was it the park? Or something on your phone?”

“It’s nothing.” I dip the fry in the puddle of ketchup Knox squirted on the side of the cardboard.

His gaze strays to my phone. “Did someone⁠—”

“I texted my mom. Told her I can’t do dinner tomorrow.”

“Oh. How’d she take it?”

I shake my head. “She didn’t respond, but I’m sure she won’t be happy. I just—I can’t sit across from her while she gets sloppy drunk, cooing about me turning twenty-five when I’ve barely processed the fact that we walked off that ride. I-I don’t know. I had to get out of there…I couldn’t⁠—”

He takes my hand, sweeping his thumb across my knuckles. “You don’t owe her a reason. Or me. You don’t have to explain why you needed out of there.”

“I know,” I say, pulling my hand back before I get caught up in his comfort. We’re quiet for a moment, Knox’s expression very much looking like he’s holding back words. “Passing it was hard, before.”

He fiddles with the paper on the tray, his expression shifting from confusion to recognition. “Yeah, it was.”

I look up at him. “You felt it too? Like we were back there?”

He nods. “I haven’t driven past it like that. All lit up.” His jaw works, and a beat passes before he finishes the thought. “Like it was that night.”

“Me either.”

“This is the first time I’m back up here since.”

I twist my straw around my thumb and index finger. As hard as this is to talk about, I know he understands without explanation. He’s the only one who does.

“Tomorrow’s my birthday.” I look down at the shake. “You know how we always did the lake the day before, and then woke up early and went to Wonder World?” He inclines his chin slightly, and I keep going. “When I think about those times now, they’re tainted. I can’t separate them from what happened, and I hate that. I hate that some of the best memories of my life, in my favorite place, with my favorite people…” I shake my head. “It’s all the same horror and grief. I can’t remember the good parts without the bad coming with them.”

He’s quiet, watching me with that steady unblinking attention that used to put me on edge, but not now. Now it makes me feel like I’m the center of his world, even if I’m still overthinking around him.

“So we go find them,” he says.

I look up. “What?”

“Tonight,” he says simply. “We go find the good parts again.”