Based on previous cookout experiences, he knew it would be loud and crowded inside, so he let himself through the side gate into the backyard. The sound of conversations increased as he neared.

CeCe, Ben’s mom, would kill him if he showed up in scrubs, so he’d brought a change of clothes with him to work that morning. His jeans were in good shape, but the car ride had creased the light blue dress shirt he wore untucked.

People he didn’t know were playing cornhole beneath the big sweetgum tree at the far edge of the lawn that had once supported a tree house. When he’d first started coming here, he and Ben had been thirteen. They’d been too old to play in tree houses, but Sebastian had still used it as an escape whenever he’d needed a break from all the talking, eating, and cleaning inside the house.

He’d grab his homework or one of the books he’d checked out from the library, and climb the wooden rectangles hammered into the trunk. Through an opening in the floor, he’d enter the simple square box with no roof.

He remembered sitting on the tree house floor in hot weather and in cold, when the space had seemed large for his frame and after it had become small. The branches provided privacy. Spider webs stretched across the corners, and twigs and leaves littered the floor. The wood had been old and rough, quick to give splinters.

The final time he’d visited the tree house, he’d been seventeen and had almost reached his full height. When he’d pulled himself up into it, the entire thing had creaked and threatened to collapse.

He’d sat very still, his weight evenly distributed, reading a textbook. He’d been in a relatively good place in his life. He’d been on his way to achieving his goals. He had the Colemans. Yet on that day, his eyes had stung with sorrow, because he’d known that trip to the tree house would be his last.

He wasn’t a crier. During his childhood there were many times when crying would’ve been the healthiest response. But on those occasions, his eyes had remained dry and his heart had been cold as stone.

On his next visit to the Colemans, every piece of the tree house had been gone. The only sign that it had been there was the damaged bark where the steps had been. The loss had hit him like a blow.

He threaded his way through the guests, nodding to people he knew, making his way onto the deck.

He found Ben’s dad exactly where he’d known he’d be, in front of the barbecue, surrounded by friends.

“Sebastian,” Hersh said with deep affection. The older man hugged him and bumped a fist against his back. “Love you, man.”