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“Adam. My Adam. Adam!” He was across the garage bay and to the narrow, grimy corridor where his body had been kept before he even was consciously aware he’d jumped from the worktable. He found it pitch-black and dusty—a place to store a corpse, not a brother. All he saw was a used-up mural, now just paint on the wall. A tipped-over scrying bowl, scattered rocks.
He was in love with Ronan, and he was in love with this lonesome green valley, and although he could not work out how either dovetailed with his addiction to the future, for the summer, he put his reservations away. He just lived in the moment with Ronan instead.
“I know I’m going,” Adam said, repeating the thing he’d said over and over, “but I’ll always come back, as long as you’re here.” “I’ll be here,” Ronan said. “I’ll always be here.” They kept saying it. The less true it felt, the more they said it.
