Reminders of Him

by Colleen Hoover

Something is bothering him, and it’s serious. I attempt to alleviate the tension by casually saying, “When did you guys get back?” “This morning,” he says. “Where were you?” He asks it like he’s my father and he’s pissed I snuck out in the middle of the night. I don’t even know what to say. I’m searching for whatever lie would fit this moment the best, but none of them seem to fit. I can’t say I was parked in my garage, because my parents’ RV is in the way. I can’t say I was home, because obviously my truck hasn’t been here. Patrick shakes his head. His face is filled with galaxy-size disappointment. “He was your best friend, Ledger.” I try to hide my inhale. I shove my hands in my pockets and look at my feet. Why is he saying this? I don’t know what to say. I don’t know what he knows. I don’t know how he knows. “We saw your truck at her apartment this morning.” His voice is low, and he’s not looking at me. It’s like he can’t stand the person standing across from him. “I was certain it was a coincidence. That someone who has a truck just like yours lived in the building, but when I pulled up next to it to get a better look, I saw Diem’s car seat.” “Patrick—”