“My father showed me this not long after my mom died,” he said. “He probably doesn’t even know that I kept these. It’s a little corny in an obvious kind of way, but it made all the difference in the world.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Just go along with me, okay?”

Amy nodded.

“What I need you to do is think of that memory of your mom, the day she gave you that pendant.”

“All right.”

“Now, hold out your hand and close your eyes.”

Amy did as he asked. He took her hand and gave her one of the rocks. Without peeking, she knew it was the volcanic one; she could feel its rough, scarred exterior against the palm of her skin. Next, he folded his hand around hers, encasing the rock.

“Try to ignore what I’m doing. For this to work, all you need to do is concentrate on your mom. Don’t think about anything else. Just focus on the memory as hard as you can.”

Amy nodded. She closed her eyes, already lost in her thoughts. But while she replayed that memory in her head, imagining the sights and sounds of that day and listening to her mom’s voice in her ears, Ryan was slowly squeezing her hand, quietly applying pressure, tighter and tighter. He’d been doing it gradually, deftly, without her even noticing. But now he was squeezing so tight that the rock’s angular edges and sharp points were pressing deep into her flesh. And now it was really starting to hurt.

“Ouch! All right, that’s enough.” When Amy opened her eyes and looked at her hands, she saw her skin was covered with countless dimples and tiny indentations. “Um, what was the point of that?”

He apologized, then took the rock from Amy’s pockmarked hand and swapped it for the other, urging her to close her eyes again. “This next part won’t hurt.”

She gave him a cautionary glare.

“It won’t, I promise. Now, exactly like before, Amy—same memory.”

Again, she did as she was asked, closing her eyes and conjuring the memory again, and again, like before, she felt Ryan’s hands fold around hers, felt the pressure of him squeezing tight. Only this time the sensation was different. This time there wasn’t any pain. This time the rock fitted snugly into her hand, its sleek, polished surface pressing comfortably into her skin.

“There,” he said, still holding her hands tight. “Think about what’s changed. Nothing’s really changed. The memory is still the same memory, except time has now smoothed over its edges. Now it doesn’t sting so much. Now you’re free to remember. Now you can think about your mom as much as you want.” He eased the pressure and left his hands resting gently on top of hers. “Does it make sense now? Do you see?”