But I realize as soon as I say it that they’re already there for him—he doesn’t have to dredge them up. It’s me who’s inconvenienced by the uncomfortable emotion of it all. It’s me who feels guilty that I wasn’t here for him to lean on when he needed a friend most.

I wasn’t the one who was on a lake vacation in Massachusetts with my family—who was supposed to be watching my younger cousin Chloe while my parents drove to the store. Who, when all the cousins wanted to go swimming in the lake, said it was okay that she stay in the little lake house …

Who couldn’t swim fast enough, when there was a gas leak in the stove and an explosion.

He thought she was still inside. She wasn’t—she was fine, safe outside. But when he finally got to the other side of the lake, he rushed inside anyway … and he found nothing but a frightened, trapped black cat.

The same black cat that now lives in the boatyard.

The tattoo on his hand.

Lucky was traumatized. I think he couldn’t decide if what he’d done had been completely pointless or if the black cat was the most important thing in the world. Maybe both. He was confused and in a lot of pain. But I was a kid, and I didn’t know what to do or say to make it better.

And then came the Big Fight between Mom and Grandma.

Then we were gone. And Lucky and I were ripped apart. And I was alone.

“I’m so sorry,” I whisper. I know that’s not nearly enough, but it’s all I have right now.

Unsure, I reach for him and catch his forearm. Maybe that’s too intimate for former childhood friends? How we touched on the boat seems a thousand lifetimes ago, and perhaps all the meaning I attached to it was in my head.

I start to let go of him, but as my hand falls away, he catches the tips of my fingers with his and oh-so-gently holds on to them. I don’t stop him. Not when he runs his thumb over my knuckle, sending shivers over my skin so intense, I have to shut my eyes for a moment. And not when he dips his head lower, and I can feel warm breath tickling the hair near my temple, and it makes my own breath come faster.

I don’t stop him.

He’s the one who lets go.