There was this storybook my mom read to me when I was a kid about a family who has calamitous things happen to them. Each time something awful happens, the grandfather yells out, “Could be worse!” and then the worse thing happens. But they keep making the best of it somehow, even though things actually do get worse and worse. I think “Could be worse!” is the meanest thing someone could say to a person who’s hurting.

“Everything’s too out of control,” I say. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.”

“Maybe there are too many feelings to have about this. I mean, I’d be angry. And sad. And scared. And . . .”

“All of those things,” I say.

“Maybe just pick one for now, and deal with that.”

“Sad,” I say.

His eyes water a little, and I feel mine do the same again.

“Everything’s going to be different now. We won’t be neighbors anymore.”

“But we’ll still be together forever,” Micah says. “I promise I’ll never be a jerk again.”

“I was a jerk, too,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

We’re quiet for a little while. I try to take slow, deep breaths to make the ache in my throat go away, but it doesn’t help.

“I hate this so much.” The minute I think about having to leave, an avalanche of all the other things that means I’ll lose comes careening at me. The house. My bedroom. The barn. My job. The backyard. The stone-wall houses. Family dinner-making in the kitchen. Riding bikes in the driveway. The first-day-of-school pictures. The bittersweet wreaths. Ivy and I were both born here. We belong here.

“We have to make a pact not to let this change us,” Micah says. He holds out his hand. “Put yours on top of mine.”

I reach out and put my hand on his. My friendship bracelet has gotten worn, but it still looks pretty. Micah’s hand is warm and rough. He puts his other hand on top of mine so mine is trapped inside. Instead of saying anything, we just look at each other and hold on.

“Don’t let go,” he says quietly.

“I won’t,” I say.

“I mean even when I walk away, I’ll still be holding on. I always will.”

“Me too.”

We relax and my hand slips from his grasp, but I don’t feel like we let go. I feel like we are reconnected forever.