By five o’clock, there was still no getting out of our subdivision. Not in my little VW. I really wanted to get back to the apartment. There, I could study, lose myself in campus, pretend none of this was really happening.

Now I understood why Grams had been so adamant that I take the apartment with Sam and not move home. I might have suffocated in my grief here.

Grams gathered up her sewing basket and sat on the couch next to me. She took out the service flag, the one that had hung in our window for years. I knew the tradition. Those with a son or, as tradition wavered, a husband deployed to war hung a simple white banner, outlined in red with a blue star in the middle. It was a matter of pride, announcing you had given something for this country, that the family had done their part.

But when a soldier was lost, those blue threads of the star were replaced with gold, proclaiming his sacrifice and the grief of the family. I watched, entranced, as Grams threaded the needle with shiny gold thread and began to stitch.

“This is what you were waiting for, right?” I asked. “Before you left to go home, you wanted to be here when they brought his things.”

She looked over her sewing spectacles at me. “Yes. I knew this would hit your mother, tear her apart. But whatever my Justin said to her in that letter seemed to pull her out of it a little. She’s surprising me, and I think she’s ready to begin living again. So am I.”

“I’m scared for you to go,” I quietly admitted, scared Mom would hear me.

“December, you have to trust your mother. You have held her up for so long, but you need to let her walk on her own now. Gus and April aren’t your responsibility anymore. Live your life, sweet girl.” She looked back to the flag and continued her work. “Your father died. You did not. I did not.” She ended on a whisper. “It is the business of the living to keep on doing so. We are no exception. We are not the first family to lose a man to war, and I fear we will not be the last. But we will be resilient.”

Through. Pull. Push. Through. Pull. Push. Over and over she drew the needle through the flag, leaving the blue outline of the star, all that was allowed to remain of him according to tradition. She stitched on the gold star, its shiny, reflective threads changing the definition of my father’s life from one of service to one of sacrifice. That stupid gold star declared this one event in his life, his death, more important than all of the nineteen years that blue star had witnessed while hanging in our living room window.

Somehow, in the circus of the last month, everything with Riley . . . with Josh . . . Dad’s death had overshadowed his life, and that made me angrier than anything else.

Chapter Thirteen

Environmentally friendly or not, I wished Colorado would have salted the roads. The red-gravel crap did nothing to increase traction. It was a hell of a drive to school on Monday morning.

I slid into my seat at class and took out my book and the chapter outline I’d done while reading. I’d been so rushed getting up north for school that I’d forgotten my student ID and hadn’t even had time to grab coffee, which did not bode well for my day.

A steaming cup of heaven was set down on my desk. I looked over to see Josh smile and take his seat. “I saw Sam this morning, and she said you’d stayed down south because of the snow last night. I figured it was probably a white-knuckle drive in today.”

I nodded. “It was a little hellacious.”

“I would have driven you. One phone call and you would have been cozy in the Jeep.” He pointed to the cup. “Coffee and all.”

I had to suppress my smile. “I told you, I can handle myself without you rushing in to save me. Besides, I heard you were busy this weekend.” A twinge of bitterness slipped into my tone. I couldn’t help but wonder who he’d been with.

“From who?”

I took a long drink of the delicious caffeine and ignored his question as our professor started class.

He snuck sideways looks at me all class long, and I diligently kept my head down. I could concentrate on the Civil War. Yeah, that’s what I’d do. The problem with that logic was that I spent the whole hour thinking about not thinking about Josh. Epic fail.

Where had he gone this weekend? Who was he with? Why the hell did I care? I’d made it clear to him that we weren’t in a relationship, so what right did I have to even know the answers? None.

Class could not get out soon enough. By the time the prof dismissed us, I’d already packed my bag so I could lunge for the door. I made it out of the building and into the crisp air before Josh caught up to me, matching my pace.

“Was the room on fire?”

Yes. I was going up in freaking flames. I blushed. “Nope, just busy today.”

“Right. Want to snag a late breakfast before you head off to study?”

I paused in the middle of the snow-covered courtyard, and he stopped. “We shouldn’t. I mean, I can’t. I mean . . . crap.”

He laughed, attracting the attention of nearly every girl on the quad. “I guess that’s a no?”

I hated being this flustered. “Yes. I mean no, because we’re not dating.”

“I’m quite happy where we’re at.” A look of heated intensity came over him as his gaze dropped to my lips. “Problem is you keep telling me we’re somewhere else.”

But that didn’t change the facts here. “I’m so sorry about Friday. Some apology, huh?”

He stepped close enough that I caught his sandalwood scent. I wished I could put my hormones in time-out. In the corner. Far away.