The thud of sturdy boots against the ground broke me out of my confusion. Griffin fell to his knees and pulled me tight against him, his face pressed into my hair, tears hot against my scalp. A moment later, Christine was there was well, her arms around Griffin and me. “Damn it, Whyborne,” she muttered thickly. “I’m not crying, do you hear?” I couldn’t reply, my throat too tight or my heart too big, and simply clung to them both. After a few minutes, Father loudly cleared his throat. Christine let go of me, and Griffin drew away—but his hand still rested on my back, as if he couldn’t bear not
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