Chapter 27: A Good Friend

I had just stepped out of the bathroom, holding a towel to my wet hair, when I saw Jo sitting on my bed. She had showered too, apparently, because her hair was damp and towel-dried, and she was wearing a green polka-dotted pair of pajamas. The dried parts of her hair were blonde, while the rest was darker and slicked, and it was different seeing her hair like that. She was just sitting on the edge of my bed, one long leg hanging off the side, the other one bent at the knee and tucked into herself. She was just looking around at my room, her hands fiddling together on her lap.

"Hey," I said, pausing before I continued to towel-dry my hair, coming over to my desk and sitting down on the chair so I was facing her. "Are you okay?"

Jo shrugged, moving a hand to the back of her neck and rubbing there. "I don't know."

I threw the towel over the back of the chair and picked up my hairbrush from the desk, brushing my shoulder-length brown hair. "I'm sorry about everything," I began, staring at the floor as I brushed. "If I hadn't gone to you, Katie wouldn't have gotten so mad, and Holly wouldn't have heard anything."

Jo sighed, leaning down and palming her face. "I saw Holly when I ran upstairs. I didn't stop because I was just so... I didn't want her to see me like that."

I turned the hairbrush around in my fingers, eyeing her. She looked distressed, burying her face in her hands, sitting on my bed like it was her own. Even though I was worried for her, I felt a little warm at the fact that she had come to my room and waited while I showered. She felt safe with me.

Standing up, I came over to the bed and sat down in front of her. "Holly's okay. I talked to her and put her back in bed. But she..." I remembered the look in Holly's eyes when she asked if Jo was going to die. Jo looked at me between the cracks in her fingers. I didn't want to say it to her. "She was sad that Willow is gone, and she is just worried for her big sister." I gave a tight smile.

Jo removed her palms from her face and sighed again, trying to run a hand through her damp hair, but it caught on a tangle. She hissed and moved her hand away, and just that little thing made her look like she was going to cry again.

"Here," I said, scooching closer to her and holding up the brush. "Turn around."

She looked between me and the brush hesitantly before she shuffled around on the bed until her back was facing me. I sat behind her, my hand gently taking the ends of her long hair. The back of her pajama shirt was still damp. She was stiff as I brought the brush to the ends and started getting out the tangles, admiring how shiny her hair looked and how smooth it felt between my fingers, the moisture still in the strands dampening my skin.

"I'm sorry," she suddenly whispered. "You didn't have to go to Manor Farm last night. I would've been okay."

"Jo—"

"But I'm glad you were there," she added, turning her head slightly so that I saw the side of her face. Her voice was in a low, tremulous whisper, even though no one was awake on that side of the house, and my room door was closed. "I don't know what I would've done if you weren't."

I could imagine the tantrum of sadness that would have happened if I wasn't there. Jo would have gone off and got herself lost, drowning in her own sadness. Luckily, I appeared like a lighthouse, and even though Katie was furious and Marty distressed, I would still go back and take those car keys from Marty's hand.

"Don't mention it," I whispered with a small smile as she turned her head away, and I continued brushing up her hair.

"I really had Willow all my life," Jo started speaking, her body starting to relax. "I've never... I've never really lost anyone...anything like that before." Her voice sounded so vulnerable that it felt like I could hear her heart beating.

I thought about it a little as we sat in moments of silence, my eyes focused on her hair. I remembered when Jo had come into my room and found the picture of Greg, and how I had told her he was a friend. I thought about how much I needed someone when Greg died, how much better I would've felt if there was someone who stooped down to my level and just sat with me in my grief.

When I finished brushing her hair, I stood up and sat the comb down on the nightstand, walking over to my dresser and opening the drawer. I shuffled through my underwear, feeling Jo watch me with curiosity until I felt the stiff paper on my fingers, bringing the picture out of the drawer.

My eyes turned to Jo as I sat back down on the bed in front of her, handing her the picture wordlessly.

She took it, staring at it with creased brows. "Your friend," she remembered.

I nodded slowly. "His name was Greg." Her eyes flickered up to me. "He lived across the street from me. We both lived alone with our mothers. My father had died in the war, and his died in a factory accident. He was my first friend—my only friend—my best friend." I paused to take a shaky breath. "I loved him with all of my heart. He was like the brother I never had. He was timid but so hilarious. It was so easy to make him cry. He was horrible at French, but he loved science. We rode our bicycles until they broke, and our mothers had to get us new ones. We used to steal from the candy shop down the road. We would go see every new movie that came out at the nearest theatre. We were outcasts in high school, but we always had each other."

Jo was concentrated on my face, her eyes serious and absorptive.

My eyes fell to my hands as they fumbled together. "Greg was gay." I had never said it out loud. "He fell in love with another boy, Roger. He..." The words started to catch my throat. "There was one day in our last year of high school. He and Roger had went to the park the night before. I think maybe... Well, they... They were murdered. They were murdered because someone saw them. We didn't know for days. Finally... Their bodies were pulled from the pond. I... I..." I trailed, not knowing what much else there was to say. I couldn't even look at Jo. I wasn't crying, but my face was red, and my hands were shaking.

Jo's hand reached out and took mine, folding it over so that her fingers tangled through mine and squeezed my palm. Finally, I looked up at her. Her eyes were watery, her lips open in shock and sadness.

"Becca," she whispered, "I'm so sorry." Her lips moved to say something else, but she was at a loss for words. She looked down at the picture of Greg and I, standing on our bicycles, the most awkward but happy of children. Finally, she looked back up at me, and in the same tone with which I had spoken to her in the stable, said, "He was a good friend."

Gently, as if afraid the picture would turn to ashes, she set it down on the nightstand and leaned into me, wrapping her arms around me. I buried my face into her shoulder, inhaling her scent of fresh soap and clean pajamas. I did not feel tears in my eyes, but I felt wetness on my neck, and I thought maybe I was crying without realizing it. When I felt Jo shake in my arms, I realized she was crying for me.

She was crying because she knew now why I left the pool when she said I was gay. She knew now why, that night she had taken the picture, I had snatched it back from her and held it tightly against my chest. She knew now why my words failed me, why my fears controlled me. She knew now why I had comforted her at the stable, why I knew it was so important that I be there for her. And she cried for that, for me, for the loss I had suffered so young.

Jo pulled away after a few moments, and I saw those diamond tears on her reddened cheeks, her bright green eyes. I held her face in my hand and wiped the tears away as she had once done for me.

"Becca," she whispered slowly, feeling every letter of my name, looking all across my face as if seeing me for the first time. Her tears slowed down. "You're not like anyone I've ever known."

I wiped the last of my grief from her face and smiled softly. "Everyone has lost someone, Jo. That doesn't make me special."

"No," she began, clutching at my shirt as if afraid I would fall away. "You lost your best friend... in such a horrible, terrible way. Yet you are still here. And there I am, ready to throw myself out a window over a horse."

I chuckled a little at the sincerity with which she spoke about throwing herself out a window. "Willow was more than a horse, Jo."

"I know," she said, nodding. "But still. If I was you, and I had lost someone like Greg... I don't think I'd still be here. But you... you carried that around inside you all this time. How did you live?"

She was asking me seriously, like she was desperate to know the secret to staying alive. Something hit me all at once in that moment. All this time, I thought I was a weakling. I thought I was a naïve young girl who cried at spilled milk and was too timid to take up any room where I stood. I shied away like a mouse. I scampered like a coward. But Jo reminded me that I was alive—that I did not die with Greg. My heart was still beating, as fast and unsteady as it was, and I had lived through the pain of losing him. I didn't even know it, but I was stronger than anyone else I knew.

"Becca, I..." Jo began, her eyes flickering over my face. She hesitated before slowly she leaned into me and pressed her lips against mine. She kissed me so softly and so gently, pleading for more with her hands grabbing my shirt. But she wasn't demanding.

We got caught up with each other. Hands trailing over backs and waists, her lips moving against mine with growing need and desire. I didn't feel afraid, shockingly. I pulled us down to the bed so that she rested on top of me, holding her softly by the face. Any thoughts of the prior conversation were gone and replaced with the feeling of each other's touch. Her lips moved to my neck, and I whimpered. She said please before everything she did—before she took my shirt off, then my shorts, before she kissed below my neck, before she slipped her hand between my thighs. She said please as if there was nothing she'd ever wanted more than me.