I waited for him to find some way to twist this around and make me look bad, make me doubt myself.

But finally, he said, “When I came home for Christmas, I spent so much time with her, trying to get her to communicate. I just couldn’t believe she was . . . gone.”

The walk got nicer as we went on. Trees provided a shady canopy, and mushrooms grew lushly on a few of the tree trunks, like little gnome houses. Wildflowers dotted the sides of the path, and the breeze returned.

It was lovely. But it was ruined. The mood between us was tense, and I felt hot, indignant embarrassment at the thought that he’d accused me of taking Agatha into an unsafe situation.

CHAPTER

21

WE PASSED A gazebo in quaint disrepair and a still, dappled glade where a fat mallard snoozed on a bed of dried grasses. We passed a pair of benches that had phrases carved into their sides in Greek that neither Barrett nor I could remotely understand.

I took over pushing the wheelchair for a while, to give him a break.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said.

“But I like you. A lot. And I hurt your feelings.”

I didn’t answer.

“Didn’t I?” he asked.

“Does it matter? When you think about it, we don’t even know each other.”

He sputtered out a laugh. “We don’t?”

“What’s my favorite book?” I asked. “What’s my favorite color?”

His forehead creased in concern. “There’s time to figure that stuff out.”

“No, actually, there’s not,” I said. “You’re leaving.”

Aren’t I just a genius at killing the mood? Barrett seemed to pull his whole being, body and spirit, away from me—without even moving.

“I’m just being realistic,” I said. “What are we going to do, try to keep some kind of relationship going while you’re back at school and I’m here?”

“It might be complicated,” he said. “But I don’t see why we couldn’t try, at least.”

“I can’t even get the Wi-Fi password, Barrett. My phone gets no signal.”

His mouth turned down at the corners. “You should have a working phone.”

I shrugged. “What does it matter? Who would I even text?”

“Me!” he said. “Your old friends. Santa Claus. It doesn’t matter—you should have a way to communicate with people.”

“But not having internet doesn’t seem to bother you.”

“I’m only here for a week or two at a time. And I usually spend part of that in the city with Dad. I mean, I’m used to it, and it’s starting to drive me crazy. It’s not okay to expect you to live like this forever.”

“I don’t want to cause any trouble,” I said.