Free What's Left Behind by Lorrie Thomson

in hand, filled with the hollowness of missing Luke. She’d eaten three quarters of an apple pie before the pain had hit her in the gut. Satisfied, she hadn’t stopped until she’d swallowed the last sticky crumb.
    “I thought you wanted to see Luke’s bedroom.” She drew herself up taller, stepped closer to Rob. She forced back the impulse to press her lips against the tanned star-shaped scar to the side of his right eye, to soothe whatever hurt him.
    Many a night, she’d considered going into Luke’s room alone, but then she’d talked herself out of it. She knew exactly what she’d find in his room, could picture bedding and photos and boyhood artifacts. But she had the irrational fear that if she opened that door, if she stepped inside, she would unleash something remarkable, something she could never put back.
    She’d considered going into Luke’s room with Charlie. With Charlie, she wouldn’t fall apart, because she’d be too worried about Charlie’s mental state, too set in her role of the emotionally strong one. But if all she was worried about was Charlie, she wouldn’t feel a thing. She wouldn’t feel Luke.
    Lately, even joy didn’t feel the same, as if on the day Luke had died, she’d taken out all of her emotions and wrapped them in gauze. You couldn’t filter out pain without also filtering out joy.
    But with Rob, her new dating-but-not-dating friend Rob, maybe the experience wouldn’t be too much for her to handle or too little to make a difference. Maybe the experience would be just right.
    Rob took her hands in his, stilling her unconscious habit of rubbing her thumb against her forefinger. Inside of his warm grasp, her fingers stilled.
    “We don’t have to, if you’re not ready,” he said, but she was already moving toward Luke’s door, one foot in front of the other, Rob’s hand in hers.
    She opened the door, and they stepped inside.
    Sunshine warmed and illuminated the room. Behind Luke’s bed, the wall glowed with photos of Luke and his friends. Luke kayaking out on the bay with his high-school swim team co-captain. Luke cheering with his dorm buddies in the stands at a UMass football game. And at the center, the photo Abby had taped to the wall, sent from Amherst, in a box of Luke’s belongings: a shot of Luke and his girlfriend, Tessa, sitting on a cafeteria tray atop a snow-covered hill somewhere on campus, getting ready to let go and fly.
    “His friends meant everything to him.” Ever since Luke had turned thirteen, it was like someone had flipped a switch, turning his attention away from his family and toward the world.
    Rob squeezed her hand. “Last fall, Grace asked a friend to help troubleshoot a car problem, instead of me.”
    “How’d that turn out?”
    “Not so good. The kid didn’t know as much about automotive maintenance as she does.”
    She laughed. “You’ve taught her well.”
    A gnarled branch of driftwood decorated Luke’s night table. Sea glass filled a glass jar, along with assorted rocks and spare change. On the shelf above Luke’s desk, a glass aquarium displayed Luke’s collection of starfish and sand dollars. Two boogie boards and a skim board leaned against the ends of his bed. No curtains covered the French doors that opened to a small flagstone patio, allowing a clear view to the yard, the perennials, and the future labyrinth site. Luke’s memorial.
    Best of all, she inhaled the brine of the ocean, the rubber of Luke’s basketball sneakers, the singular scent of her son. Had he returned to her? She could almost feel Luke’s presence in the room, filling the hollow places inside her. A shiver traveled up her arms and bunched her shoulders.
    “You okay?” Rob asked.
    A grin, a silly one at that, ached her cheeks. She could tell because whenever she was thinking how proud she was of her son while in her son’s presence, he’d call her out. He’d tell her to quit smiling so hard, while he mirrored her grin. “Better than okay,” she