Today's Reading
Micah's gaze dropped from the top of the roof to the front door, and I was suddenly overcome with the hope that he wouldn't knock. That he would just turn around and leave, sparing us both the tidal wave of heartache that was seconds from running ashore.
Johnny and Micah had been friends since we were kids, and he was the only person I could think of that might know even a fraction of what it felt like to lose Johnny. They'd been inseparable for most of our lives. All three of us were.
He started toward the porch, and I forced myself to reach for the door. As soon as it swung open, Smoke scrambled up the steps, his whimper stuttering into a cry when he saw me. He nearly knocked me over, meeting my height when he jumped up, and I couldn't help the smile that broke on my lips or the rush of emotion that followed it. He pushed his nose into my shirt as my hands stroked down the length of his face and scratched behind his ears. When he slipped from my grasp, he leaned into me so heavily that I had to counterbalance his weight with my own.
Behind him, Micah was staring at me. There was no hiding that stiff, rigid shape that straightened the line of him, and the same tension that drew his shoulders up was now snaking around me, too.
"Hey, James."
My name spoken in his deep voice made the less familiar parts of him snap into focus. Just like that, we were sixteen years old again, staring at each other like we were waiting to see who would be first to cross the line between us.
"Thought I'd beat you here," he said, catching the edge of the screen door and holding it open.
When he just stood there, I realized he was waiting to be invited in, and that was unfamiliar, too. After our dad moved to Oregon, Micah had spent so much time here that he practically lived in this house with us.
I swallowed. "Do you want to come in?"
He hesitated for just a moment before he finally crossed the threshold, and the door closed behind him. As soon as it did, the room felt even smaller, like everything left unresolved when I went to San Francisco was taking up what little space there was.
"Was the drive okay?" he asked.
"Yeah." My voice came out a bit misshapen.
His hands slid into his pockets, and he watched as Smoke's nose went to the ground. Anxiously, the dog explored each room of the small cabin, as if checking to see if Johnny was here. I'd had the same urge when I walked through the door.
"I dropped off a few things earlier." Micah's eyes moved to the kitchen. "There's milk and eggs in the fridge. Bread. The market will be closed already, but you can go by tomorrow and get anything else you need."
He was talking fast, and I didn't know if that was the nerves or if he was just trying to get this over with as quickly as possible. When I didn't respond, he searched for something else to say.
"I left a bag of dog food, too, if you're sure you're okay with Smoke being here. I don't mind looking after him," he said.
"It's fine."
Despite my best efforts, I still didn't sound like myself, and Micah seemed to notice. His eyes ran over me a little more slowly, as if he was tracing the bloom of red that I could feel creeping up my throat, into my cheeks.
He glanced toward the window. "There's still not much in town, but the diner is open. Sadie Cross owns it now, actually."
Sadie. The mention of the name made me blink. She'd been Johnny's on- again, off-again girlfriend for years, the epitome of the kind of girl who ended up like our mother. And if she was still here in Six Rivers, running the diner, I guessed she had.
"It's really the only place to eat or get coffee around here, but there's Wi- Fi there now. Pretty decent cell service, too," he added.
"I'm not here that long, Micah." I said it for myself as much as for him because it felt like a necessary reassurance for both of us.
"I know." He met my eyes again, making that bloom of red feel like a tangle of flames. Then he stepped around me, disappearing into the hall.
I closed my eyes, letting out an uneven breath before I followed, and the click of a lamp being turned on sounded just before I rounded the corner. Yellow light washed over the wood paneling of a shadowed alcove just outside the closed bedroom door, where there had once been a twin bed pushed against the wall. Now, it had been replaced by an old wooden desk, and I felt some sense of relief that not everything in this place had remained unchanged.
Dozens of papers, handwritten notes, photographs, and envelopes were pinned to a corkboard that was hung on the wall, and a laptop was sitting closed in the middle of the mess. When I spotted Johnny's camera bag beside the chair on the floor, I had to look away.
This excerpt ends on page 15 of the hardcover edition.
Monday we begin the book The Page Turner by Viola Shipman.
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