My arms hug her closer. “Me too.”

She nestles back into my embrace, her face pressing against my chest in an effort to hide the tears forming in her eyes. I hold her through it, just as I did in the months after he passed.

Losing Paw was hard on us all, but our grief paled in comparison to Ellie’s. She completely fell apart and it tore me up inside. I felt helpless, knowing there was nothing I could do, but hold her through it.

“Can we sleep here?” she asks moments later. “I’m not ready for tonight to end.”

The vulnerability in that confession strikes hard. “Yeah, Elle. We can stay. In the morning, we’ll head to Main Street for breakfast. How’s that sound?”

“Like heaven,” she returns softly, a smile in her voice.

My idea of heaven was holding her just like this, and the thought of it lasting forever.

Ellie

Eleven Years Old

Gunnar and I celebrate the start of another summer vacation with an overnight campout in my backyard. We kicked off with a fire, roasting hot dogs and marshmallows with Paw and Mr. Ryland, before heading to the tent for the night.

Now, wrapped in a blanket, I hang on Gunnar’s every word, shoving fistfuls of popcorn into my mouth as he tells one of his scariest stories yet.

“The babysitter held the now dead phone in her shaking hand and headed up the stairs to check on the little boy, the floorboards creeping with her every step. Creak. Creak.” His voice is low and ominous, captivating me at every turn. The glow from the lightning bugs further sets the tone, casting eerie shadows across his face. “Once she got to the top of the stairs that’s when she heard it …”

“What?” I ask impatiently, my heart racing in trepidation.

Gunnar leans in close, pausing for dramatic effect. “A light scraping sound coming from the little boy’s room.”

I clutch my blanket tighter, feeling a shiver of fear trickle down my spine.

“She also noticed the door was slightly opened, even though she closed it after putting him to bed.”

Oh, man. This babysitter is toast.

Grabbing my jug of iced tea, I take a refreshing sip, washing down the anticipation lodged in my throat.

“Quietly, she pushed the bedroom door open further, and there, in the darkness, she saw his small sleeping form lumped under the blankets, but when she whispered his name, he never stirred.”

I conjure up all the possibilities of what has happened to him, none of them good.

“She crept through the dark room toward him and when she pulled back the blankets, you will never believe what she found …”

“The boy was dead with his guts everywhere,” I blurt out, unable to resist adding my own twist to the tale.

Gunnar shakes his head. “Nope. It was a bunch of pillows.”

Confusion fills me at this unexpected twist. “Huh?”

A smirk plays at the corners of his mouth. “The babysitter was confused too. Until the scraping sound started again. This time right behind her.”

My breath catches, my imagination running wild with terrifying images.

“And when she turned around …”

I lean in closer, dying for the conclusion of this story. That’s when Gunnar’s voice pitches from a whisper to a booming roar.

“The little boy leaped from the dark corner and stabbed her with a steel hook!” He grabs my stomach, punctuating his words.

A scream rips from my chest in a sudden burst of terror, my startled jump propelling the bowl of popcorn and jug of iced tea through the air.

Gunnar falls onto his back, erupting into laughter.

“Gunnar, you jerk,” I yell, but my laughter blends with his. “You nearly scared me to death.” My hand finds its place over my frantic heartbeat, trying to calm the rapid rhythm.

“You should have seen the look on your face,” he continues to laugh.

“Ha ha,” I mock dryly, though I can’t hide my own smile. It was well-played. “Come on, help me clean up this mess.”

Together, we gather the scattered popcorn kernels. Once the cleanup is done, we roll out our sleeping bags, ready to settle in for the night.

“Hey, look what I found.” Gunnar picks up a strewn photo next to my bag.

“Oh, that’s mine,” I reveal, realizing it must have fallen out. “I brought it out to show you. It’s a picture of my parents at Heart Mountain when they were teenagers. Paw and I stumbled upon it the other day while cleaning out the cellar. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Yeah.” His gaze lingers on the photo, his eyes tracing its edges with an almost thoughtful expression. “You look a lot like your mom.”

I beam at the comparison, taking it as a compliment since my mother was really pretty. “Thanks. Paw always says that too.”

Gunnar hands me over the photo. “Do you remember them?”

“Not really,” I confess, feeling a pang of sadness. “Sometimes, I think I have a memory, but then I wonder if it’s something I conjured from a picture I saw. Ya know?”

He nods in understanding.

“I still miss them, though,” I add. “Kinda weird, huh?”

Gunnar shrugs. “Not really. It’s your feelings so they have to make sense, right?”

His response is kind and reassuring. He never makes me feel bad or weird.

“What about you?” I ask carefully, knowing this is a difficult subject for him. “Do you ever miss your parents?”

There’s no hesitation in his response. “No. I like living with Ryland. I just wish I knew why they did it.” He pulls his knees to his chest, his eyes betraying a mix of confusion, hurt, and anger. “Why have a kid if they didn’t want one?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but I find myself responding anyway. “I don’t know, but I’m glad they did,” I whisper. “Otherwise, I wouldn’t have my best friend.”

His tough exterior softens, a crooked grin breaking through the storm of emotions. “Me too. Let’s just hope Ryland doesn’t get sick of me and decide to get rid of me too.” He tries to play off the remark as a joke, but the underlying truth in that belief is undeniable.