Free Leaving Yesterday by Kathryn Cushman

me think of your brake light issue. Since I had to come to Santa Barbara today anyway, I thought I’d stop by, see if you’d taken care of it.”
    How long had it been since Rick had gone out of his way to do something for me, simply to be nice? I couldn’t even begin to remember a time—the fact that he could probably say the same about me notwithstanding. “No, I’ve managed to completely neglect it. So that would be wonderful.”
    “I’ll go get my tools and meet you in the garage, okay?”
    I raced through the house and smacked the garage door button, then hurried back out to stand beside him as he looked through the toolbox on his truck. “It’ll only take a minute or two.” He pulled a bulb out and began working on the car. He kept his eyes focused on his hands, but he spoke easily as he worked. “I saw the funniest-looking VW on the street today. It was covered entirely in stone—you know, like builder’s stone. It looked like somebody got tired of his sidewalk, rolled it up, and put it on his car. The thing must have weighed a ton.”
    “Yeah, I’ve seen it, too. Caroline calls it the Flintstonemobile.” I tried to think of something amusing to add to the conversation. The best I could come up with was, “It’s pretty clever though, you’ve got to admit.”
    “I’ll give you that, and if you ask me, what the world needs a little more of right about now is funny. There’s been way too much of the other stuff for my liking in the last few years.” He looked over his shoulder. “ ’Course, I’m not one to complain to you.”
    I shrugged and put on my bravest expression, the same one I put on at all my conferences. “Your problems are no less valid than mine.”
    “There, all better.” He put the plastic cover back over the bulb, then turned his Paul Newman eyes toward me. “You said you got some terrific news. Anything you want to share?”
    “Yes, I do, as a matter of fact.” I said it absently because what I’d really been thinking was that today, more than any so far, I was glad for the eight or nine pounds I’d lost over the past weeks. The thought was fleeting enough, but I recognized it for the danger that it was. Why should I care whether Kevin Marshall thought I looked good? “Do you remember Nick’s younger brother, Kurt?”
    He nodded but didn’t say anything. And of course he wouldn’t. What choice would he have except “Oh yeah, isn’t he that kid that went from a straight-A scholar-athlete to a drug addict?”
    “Well, he gets out of rehab tomorrow. I just talked to him, and he’s really serious about turning his life around. At least we won’t have to live with yet one more tragedy from the attack.”
    “That’s great news.” He took a step closer, and for just a moment I thought he might hug me. He didn’t. “Chris will be thrilled to hear it. He has always worried about Kurt, and your entire family.”
    It gave me pause to think of one of Nick’s friends still worrying about us. Sometimes in the course of grief I convinced myself I was so alone. It was strange to think about the people who cared that I never even knew about. I felt myself getting choked up and didn’t want to go there. I reached out and touched the back light panel on my car. “Well, thanks for this. How much do I owe you?”
    “Not a thing. Just one friend helping another.”
    “It really was a nice thing for a friend to do.” I extended my hand and he shook it.
    His palm was warm against mine, his grip so firm and assured and safe. I wanted to hold on to that feeling for as long as I could. And he must have felt it, because I’m pretty sure we held on a few seconds longer than necessary. Maybe not—maybe I was just lost in my own fantasy.
    I pulled myself out of whatever it was that was messing with my brain and nodded toward his truck. “You tell Chris that we’re going to be just fine.”
    “You can bet I will.” He climbed into his truck and drove away.
    I watched his truck