But the closer I look at them, the more I see that most of them have nothing to do with me and everything to do with the people they came from. And after a while, most of them rise up, give me a few head nods (I think they like being seen), and start getting the hell up out of me.

I keep staring and staring until I’m in awe again. Of this dude with the two puffy eyes, snot-streaked lips, and flat, crooked nose. This dude who’s been through some shit—I’m talking about some major shit—but who’s still here, even after finally having the guts to take a good look at himself.

I swear I never thought looking at myself could feel like love. But it does.

CARLI

Tires crunching over gravel, I open my eyes to see what restaurant was worth the hour drive. But we’re in a graveyard. First of all, I’m hungry. And second of all, really? He’s never brought me here all these years I’ve been asking. All these years he’s been lying about coming. But he wants to bring me now?

He turns the engine off, his million keys (I wonder if one of them opens the door to Shannon’s house) hanging from the ignition. “I want to show you something,” he says.

And? I think, but don’t say a word. Hadn’t said a word to him since we left the courthouse. I resume the position I had the whole way here: eyes closed behind dark shades, head against the window, thinking about Rex.

“Please, Carli,” he says.

I keep my eyes closed, wishing he would shut up and take me to get something to eat.

“Come on, Carli,” he says, a crow squawking in the background.

I wish they would both shut up. “Wake me up when we get to the restaurant.”

“I’ll take you right after we leave here, promise. It won’t be long,” he says, his voice perking up. I guess because I actually said something. Oooo, I wish I would’ve kept my mouth shut.

“Shannon told me what happened at the game. And I wanted to—”

Hearing her name leave his mouth is too real for me, and I quickly open the car door to get away from him, away from her. But as soon as I’m outside, this weird feeling hits me, like I’ve been here before.

It’s that tree. Boy, would Rex love that tree. The one in the middle of the cemetery that looks like it’s been here since the beginning of time. The live oak whose trunk looks ten feet wide. Whose long, winding, moss-covered branches extend way farther out than up, some dipping close to the ground. I know that tree.

I walk closer to it.

“You remember, don’t you,” Daddy says behind me.