Patty leads me down the hall to Josh’s room, and my anxiety grows with every step we take. “It’s okay,” she says, over her shoulder. “We’ve boxed up his things and the hospital bed is gone. It’s not the same. You’ll be okay.”

I love that she understands, and I hate that she has to understand. She pushes the door open, and the windows are all open, the room sunny and bright. It’s almost a guest room, as if he never lived here at all. She slides the closet door open and kneels to the floor, pulling out a hatbox and bringing it over to the bed. She pats the side next to her, and I come over to sit.

“I saved some things, and everyone has a box. I made one for us, one for Josh’s grandparents, and one for you,” she says, sliding the box to my lap and pulling the lid off, like she knows I won’t be able to on my own. The first thing I see is the picture of Josh smashing cake in my face at the baseball banquet. Betsy took this photo, which makes it even more special, and I can’t help but smile looking at it. I pull it out and set it in the lid, moving on to the next thing. There’s a stack of letters, and I realize they’re all notes that I wrote to Josh—notes that he saved.

“Don’t worry. I didn’t read them,” she says with a gentle laugh. “I wanted to…but I figured there wasn’t really a parental reason to do that now.”

I smile and clutch the papers to my heart, letting a tear slide down my cheek. I set them in the lid with the photo and move on, pulling out the invitation for our homecoming dance, more photos of Josh and me at various baseball games, barbecues and parties, and then finally his old baseball jersey, still dirty from the last time he slid on base. I put everything back inside and close the lid, full-on weeping now, holding the box to my body in a hug.

I mouth thank you, unable to get my voice to work, and Patty pulls me into her arms for another hug. “You’re welcome, Rowe. You’re welcome,” she says, letting me stay right there for as long as I need.

Several minutes later, I finally make my way back outside. I never ask them about moving or putting the house up for sale, and I don’t ask about where Josh is buried. Because everything I need—the things that I need to move forward, but remember—are in this small box.

Once I’m back in the car with my parents, I set the box next to me on the seat, keeping my left palm flat along the lid, just to make sure nothing escapes. When my mom starts driving, I reach forward and put a hand on my dad’s shoulder; he sinks under my touch before reaching for my fingers and squeezing. I hold his hand for the few minutes it takes us to get back home.

Nate

It feels like the first day of school again, even though Ty and I are only coming back for a few days for finals before leaving again. It feels like the first day because it feels like everything from before was a dream. Rowe isn’t here, and I wonder if she’ll come back for her finals.

I’ve sent her a few texts, but she hasn’t written anything back. I hope she’s not angry that I let her parents know she was coming, but I wanted to make sure she got home safely, and that someone was there for her. Her dad sent me a text when she arrived, so I know she landed. But that’s the last word I received.

Ty filled Cass in for me, and if she’s heard anything from Rowe, she’s keeping it a secret. She comes in while Ty and I slide our bags next to our beds, and all I can do is laugh when I look around at this stupid pink room. She’s gone and painted herself everywhere I look—there’s no escaping. I lie back and laugh harder, because she’s all over my bed, too.

“Are you having a breakdown on me?” Ty asks, flipping my foot from my bed.

“Yeah…I think I am,” I say, my hands pressed to my eyes, trying to block everything out. “You hear anything?” I ask, looking right at Cass now.

“Nothing. I sent her a text yesterday and this morning. She has to take her finals, though, right?” Cass asks, and I just shrug. Rowe doesn’t have to do anything. I pull my phone from my pocket and check to see if she’s sent me anything, but my message alert is empty. “Fuck!”

I don’t do outbursts, but all I want to do right now is scream. Days ago, I had everything, and now the only thing I feel is sickness and regret. If I just knew she was okay, that she wasn’t back to being lost… I think if I knew that, I could get through this.

“I’m going to the cages. I’ll be back…I don’t know…later,” I say, pulling on my ball cap and pushing it low over my eyes so I don’t have to look at anyone. I hear Ty and Cass talking softly behind me when I leave, talking about me, I’m sure, but I don’t care. My state right now is something to talk about, and maybe they’ll come up with some answers for me.