What We Carried

The rain hadn't let up for three days when Elias found himself standing on Julia's porch, water dripping from his coat like the accumulated weight of seven years of silence. He almost turned back—almost gave in to the cowardice that had kept him away since the funeral—but then lightning cracked the sky open, and Julia pulled the door open before he could retreat.

"You're soaking wet," she said, not quite a greeting, not quite an accusation. She looked older, the careful grace of her youth weathered by something he couldn't name.

"I know. I'm sorry. I just—" He stopped himself. Just what? Just wanted to see if his oldest friend still hated him? Just needed to know if she'd ever forgive him for missing the day her brother died?

She stepped aside, and he followed her into a kitchen that smelled of rosemary and old paper. On the counter sat a carved wooden bear—rough-hewn, its muzzle worn smooth from repeated touch. Daniel had carved it the summer before the accident, back when they were all still friends, back before the world tilted on its axis.

"I still talk to him," Julia said, following his gaze. "In the shower, mostly. Or when I'm driving. Sometimes I think he answers back."

Elias felt something crack in his chest. "I never went to the waterfall again. Not after."

"I know." She poured two cups of tea, her movements precise and practiced. "Neither did I. But Daniel would have hated that. He would have wanted us to bear witness to what we lost, not pretend it never existed."

Another flash of lightning illuminated the room, casting their shadows against the wall—two separate silhouettes where there used to be three. Julia set his mug down with a soft click.

"I don't want to be angry anymore, Elias. It's too heavy. It's been too heavy."

He reached across the table, his hand hovering over hers until she turned her palm up and their fingers threaded together—tentatively, like testing water you're afraid might be cold. The rain drummed against the roof, washing away seven years of distance, and somewhere beyond the window, the storm was finally beginning to break.