The voice switched to a deep tone, and I could tell it was Peter, Weston’s father. Weston wiped his face, his eyes were wide.

“Holy shit. Are you sure? Who told you?” He paused, listening to Peter. “Oh, man. Both of them? I don’t . . . Jesus. No, don’t come back. I’m fine. No, I’m sure. You guys try to have a good time. I’m at home, safe in my bed. Okay. Love you, too.” He hung up the phone and looked down at me.

“What is it? Are they okay?”

“Yeah, they’re fine. It’s the Erins. They were on their way to South Padre, and Alder was driving. She fell asleep or something and crossed the median. They hit a semi head on. They’re dead.”

“They’re . . . dead?” I said in disbelief.

Weston wiped his face again and held his hand over his mouth. “They’re dead. Sonny and Alder are dead.” His eyes were wide, and my mouth hung open. We sat in silence for the longest time.

Weston grabbed his phone and checked his messages. He sighed and shook his head. “The rumors are already starting.” He put down the phone. “Should I take you home?”

“Whatever you want to do. If you want to be alone, I can walk home. If you don’t, I’ll stay here.”

He pulled me against him and leaned back against the pillows, but we didn’t sleep.

Chapter Nine

The funerals were held together the following Saturday. I didn’t go, because it didn’t feel right, but Weston stopped by the Dairy Queen afterward to fill me in. He told me Sonny’s parents and Sam and Julianne seemed to be holding up well and leaned on each other for support. He talked about what the funeral looked like, who ran the service, what songs they played and who was there. But he seemed lost.

“Why don’t you go?” Frankie said. “He needs you today.”

“I . . .” I looked to Weston. “Do you want me to take off?”

He looked pitiful. “Please?”

I pulled off my apron and tossed it on the counter. “Thanks, Frankie.”

She winked at me, but her expression was sad.

I pushed through the back door, and went immediately into Weston’s arms. He held me tight, burying his head in my neck. I held him for a long time, but when I pulled away, he hung on, so I kept my arms around him, squeezing tighter.

Once his arms relaxed, he handed me his keys. “Would you drive?”

I froze. “I’ve only driven the Driver’s Ed car, and that was over two years ago.”

“You can do it,” he said. He opened the door and helped me into the driver’s seat; then he jogged around and climbed in next to me.

I nervously turned the key in the ignition, adjusted the seat and mirrors, all while trying to recall everything I learned about driving. I pressed on the brake and then pulled the gear into drive, pulling forward. I paused at Main Street before driving out of the parking lot. “Where do you want to go?”