Page 67 of The Design of Goodbye
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I aimed the flashlight at him. He looked terrible. Bright red cheeks, slightly blue lips, clothes wet and covered in snow and mud.
“Areyou?”
“I’m okay.”
Okay wasn’t the answer I would’ve given, considering how he looked and how much he was shivering. He’d been outside in the cold far longer than he should have.
“How long have you been out here?”
“I don’t know.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “A while.”
“Where’s your hat? And your gloves?”
“I don’t own a hat, and I took my gloves off,” he explained, teeth chattering. “I can’t see anything and needed to feel for my glasses.”
“Put them back on. You’re going to get frostbite.” I stood. “I’ll look for your glasses. Stay there, and don’t move.”
He didn’t argue, and it worried me. I needed to hurry because I wasn’t sure how much longer he should be outside in the cold. For the next ten minutes, the crunching of dried leaves and breaking of branches were the only sounds as I searched. Even with my flashlight, it was hard to see anything, and I wasn’t hopeful we’d find his glasses.
A branch snagged my braid, and I had to stop my search to untangle my hair. “I think you might need new ones,” I informed him, once free.
“Did you find them?” he asked. “Are they broken?”
He sounded afraid, and I shined the light at him, surprised. “Not yet. I was thinking how we may never find them. But you’re right,” I continued, “it’s very possible they’re broken.”
“My dad will be pissed if they’re broken.”
“Why?” I asked, standing up. My knees were completely soaked through from crawling on the ground. “Accidents happen. Won’t he be happy you were wearing your helmet and didn’t knock yourself out and freeze to death?”
“Glasses cost money,” he said, covering his face with his jacket, “which we don’t have.”
I thought of his empty wallet, his worn shoes, and clothes. How he had to work two jobs and still didn’t have money to buy himself a decent dinner. Or even own a hat.
“I won’t stop looking until I find them. I promise.”
I finished searching the trees and moved to the other side of the small area. The cold air was settling into me now, but I was dressed for this kind of weather, unlike Liam. I was about to suggest taking a break back at my house to warm up because I was worried he might be on the verge of hypothermia when I saw it—something glinting against the light from my flashlight. And there his glasses were, resting on a pile of dried leaves, miraculously still in one piece.
Liam was still next to the tree. I kneeled in front of him and slid his glasses on. “Found them.”
I felt his relief.
“Thank you,” he said. “Thank you.”
“Are they okay?”
“They’re dirty,” he said as we both stood, “but not even a scratch, from what I can tell.”
He followed me out of the trees as I said, “It’s a good thing I decided to go on a walk.”
“Averygood thing.”
“Where were you headed?”
“To the Wesco off Route 9. Didn’t see the patch of black ice on the street when I was crossing it.” He pointed behind me. “So, be careful.”
“But how did you go over the handlebars?”
