Page 17 of Find My Way Down to You

Max hisses after her.

I stare disapprovingly.

“Sorry.” She sips. “I’m a little cranky without my morning caffeine.”

“Cranky is your default,” I say. “With or without coffee.”

“Have you ever been out until one a.m. with a guy who drinks like a fish, then had to sit through an art lecture at eight in the morning?”

“I can’t say I have.”

“It’s brutal.” Max takes another long slurp. Her eyes focus on me. There’s a carefully calculated look on her face that I recognize.

“I’m fine,” I say.

“But you—”

“I’m fine,” I repeat, defensively.

Steam from Max’s mug billows in a mist thin enough that it can’t hide her concern. “Auggie, you had a panic attack.”

“And I said I’m—”

“It’s been so long since that’s happened,” she says, as if I wasn’t speaking.

That you know of, I don’t say.

I remember the last one she was there for. The day of London’s funeral. When I stood in front of the church’s doors. When my body trembled like a leaf clinging to a branch as autumn’s winds swept in. When I could not make my feet, heavy as stone, move to enter.

He is in there, I said through the hot ache of my tears, my raw throat.

My parents didn’t understand my hesitation. It was my last chance to see him. But that’s not how I wanted to say goodbye. To a corpse in a casket made up to look like the boy I loved. That’s not howwewere supposed to end.

Max didn’t need an explanation. She slotted into my side, like we were one. I couldn’t breathe, so she did for both of us. She guided me back to the car. She never made me go inside.

There have been other moments since. I never tell her about those.

I hated that she saw me like that at the funeral, so weak. I hate that it happened again yesterday.

“It was nothing.” For emphasis, I force my mouth into a wide grin.

Doubt pulls at Max’s features. “What are you doing later?”

“Picked up Kennedy’s afternoon shift,” I say.

I need the money. The distraction too. Work keeps me busy. It prevents me from staring at the shadows, hoping that London will come back.

Miracles are for people who believe in wishes on birthday candles and throwing coins in a fountain. I don’t believe in either.

“Is Angela even opening today?” Max checks her phone.

I shrug. “I’d assume so.”

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about death, it’s that the world doesn’t stop for it. Especially not businesses.

“Okay, what aboutafteryour shift?” Max asks.

“Why?”