The day is positively frigid, and I am sure that it is this singular fact that is holding Jeb together.
I don't mention it, obviously. I pretend not to notice that his movements are sudden and jerky; he'll stand still, still so long that I have to slow my pace drastically not to leave him behind, and then he'll spasm into focus and charge ahead of me. A moment later he stops, kicking up an innocent puff of snow, apologizing profusely as his brows knit together.
He is 15, and has started to look older; seem older. He's not so lanky anymore; I am the one going through the phase he was when we first met: thirteen years old, all clumsy limbs and confusing changes. This simple, unavoidable fact should have me well prepared by now; surely, he will grow tired of our companionship.
I can't help but feel that such a thing is impossible. We connected. We're kindred spirits, he's told me that before. I feel naive and small next to him at times, but even though Jeb has to physically tilt his head downwards to see me, he's never looked down upon me.
The facts.
The fact is that Jeb has a smudge on his cold cheek that has nearly faded into nonexistence; the last mark his father ever made on him. The damaged tree and minuscule scraps of metal left behind from the crash aren't too far from the park we're walking through now.
He's torn between pretending his father never existed and breaking down because his father is finally gone, if he ever really had a father at all. Mr. Holt gave Jeb poker games; ironic, considering the entire game bets on facades and how good of a liar you are. Mr. Holt was a good liar.
With Jeb, it's like he was attached to a cable and he was always pulling away from it, away from whatever it was attached to. Now that thing is gone, and he's just sort of floating.
I hope that he can tether himself to me. Maybe, I could be his rock.
I suck in a breath at the thought, my cheeks warming.
"Let's go sit down," Jeb breaks through my embarrassment and I nearly run into his arm; an arm inside a jacket that he fills nicely, while I feel like I'm swimming in mine.
He motions to a rickety old bench covered with snow, and starts towards it with a sense of purpose. He dusts it off with one sweep of his arm against the splintery wood, and then motions for me to sit. There's a fraction of a smile on his face; it's a gentlemanly gesture that he knows I'd usually get flustered over. But it doesn't make his eyes, and I don't know if I can tease him this evening. It's all too fresh.
Still, I sit down on the damp wood and he presses next to me; I am acutely aware of our close proximity and the fact that his leg is right up against mine.
Just the facts.
I decide I am going to find hidden meanings in them today.
"Nice choice; wet bench, middle of winter...downright cozy," I start sarcastically; it is my equivalent to charm, of course.
He sighs and looks up, "it's quiet. I don't remember quiet, so I figured it was time we were reacquainted. Brought you with in case it freaked me out."
I falter with dread, feeling horrible that I'd even dared to try and be humorous. But I know Jeb better than I give myself credit for, and he flashes me a real smile, crooked incisor and all, and suddenly I don't feel the cold so much.
"You're my little good luck charm, Al. Like a rabbit foot I can talk to. Just as morbid, though. You're kind of a freak."
Had anyone else said those words, dark, pained thoughts would have exploded in my mind. Memories that I would rather not allow the title of being remembered. I would have wracked my brain for something cold and witty, spat it out, and then stormed away.
If it was anyone else.
But those words had come from Jeb's mouth, so I shoved my shoulder into his and rest my head against his arm so I could feel the vibrations of his laugh.
My eyes are narrowing, closing with the comfort of the moment when I hear a zip and am rustled by Jeb's movements. I nearly fall into his lap when he moves his arm, pulling me into his lap and wrapping his unzipped jacket around us both, trying to squeeze us close enough to zip it up.
In the end he can't even hold it closed, because we've both been reduced to helpless laughter. In the lightness of the moment, I wrap my arms around his neck and press my cold nose between his jaw and his ear. His arms tighten around me with the unexpected gesture, and though I mean it as nothing more than an affectionate taunt, he seems almost flustered.
Jeb leans his head against mine for a fraction of a second before standing abruptly, letting me slide through his arms so that I let out a shriek, thinking I'm going to fall--and then his grip tightens behind my knees and he begins to walk.
"You will not carry me home like an unconscious, floppy...floppy thing," I giggle nervously, trying to peer around to see if anyone is around to witness this; but my nose keeps bumping into his back and I give up pretty quick.
"I would never," he deepens his voice mysteriously--and then I'm dropped into a snowbank.
---
Needless to say, we end up at my house, wrapped in our individual blankets and with cups of poorly made, insisted upon hot chocolate from my dad. He sits on the floor beside me like a loyal puppy as I'm curled up on the couch; though there was clearly room for us both.
Drowsy and lazy after our walk through the park, I can't tell if I fall asleep faster than Jeb; but I do remember playing with his mussed-up hair, and him sighing as I did.
