“And then Caleb came in wearing that dress, and I thought he was trying to make a joke out of our grief.”
I squeezed his hand.
David began crying.
“But he was the only one who understood what Ethan wanted.”
I leaned against him.
We sat there until the afternoon light faded.
A month after the funeral, Caleb came over carrying a shoebox.
“Ethan wanted you to have this.”
I stared.
“What is it?”
He looked down.
“Things he gave me to look after.”
Inside were photographs.
Movie tickets.
Little notes.
And a small notebook.
I recognized it immediately.
Ethan had kept it beside his bed.
I opened the first page.
At the top, he'd written:
Things I Still Want to Do.
My throat tightened.
There were twenty-three entries.
Some simple.
Eat pizza at midnight.
Watch the sunrise.
Beat Caleb at chess.
Visit the lake.
Some were crossed out.
Others weren't.
