Chapter 21: Not Going Anywhere

Clive's POV

I had planned what I would say for nine hours of Pennsylvania turnpike, and I forgot all of it when she came down the hill.

Her father had called me Thursday night.

He said only: "She's going Saturday. You should know."

He had not said I should come.

I had come anyway, and stopped at the gate, because the gate was the only part I was sure I'd been invited to.

Justine walked the last stretch of the path with her hands in her coat pockets and her eyes red.

She stopped three feet from me.

"You drove nine hours," she said.

"Eight and a half. I didn't stop for food."

"That's stupid."

"I know."

"You could have called."

"You said not to."

She looked at the truck, at the crumpled coffee cup on the dash and the road map I had unfolded and not needed.

"You're allowed to be here," she said at last. "I'm not sure why yet."

"I'm not asking to be here. I'm asking to stand at the gate."

Her mouth moved.

It was almost a smile, and it hurt to see.

"My father's idea?" she said.

"He called me. I won't pretend I was against it."

She turned her head toward the hill, where her mother was still kneeling by the small stone.

"Brendan said Poppy's name," she said.

"I saw him leave."

"He cried the whole way down and didn't wipe it."

I waited.

"I thought it would make me feel something," she said. "Forgiving him, or not forgiving him. I just feel tired."

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