Free Tomorrow We Die by Shawn Grady Page A

something’s definitely different.”
    She glanced over. “Things have to grow. They can’t always stay the same.”
    “So I’ve learned.”
    She stopped at a light. “Have you?”
    Good question.
    I had run full sprint from the prospect of our friendship progressing into a serious relationship. It still gave me a sinking, drowning feeling that conjured the memory of an event I fought daily to ignore – a day that pulsed and beat beneath the floorboards of my mind.
    Love . . . marriage. I equated it to death. And regardless of the fact that not having Naomi in my life made it seem like a part of me was lost . . . I couldn’t see how things could be otherwise.
    So no, I guess I hadn’t learned.
    “Here we are.” She pulled to the curb by the same single-story stucco home I remembered, with its small, well-trimmed lawn hedged by boxwood. A newly painted white picket gate opened to a brick path that led to their crimson front door.
    Naomi’s dad walked out onto the porch, his enormous smile accentuating his slender face. “Hey, hey. There you are.” He bear-hugged her.
    “Hi, Dad! Guess who I ran into?”
    “I see.” He placed a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. “Welcome back, Jonathan.”
    Back . . . “Thank you, sir.”
    “Oh, please. You two aren’t in high school anymore. Call me Gary.” He turned to Naomi and rubbed his hands together. “What’s the dinner plan for tonight?”
    She lifted the grocery sack. “I was thinking I’d make tacos with the chicken I brought the other day.”
    “You are such a blessing. You know that?” He put his arm around her and kissed her on the cheek.
    She elbowed him in the ribs. “All right, all right. I love you too.”
    We walked inside and unpacked the bag on a honey-stained wooden island. Matching hickory cabinets filled out the kitchen, older in style but well cared for.
    A female voice, just louder than a whisper, came from the end of a hallway. “Hello, sweetie.”
    A woman I hardly recognized leaned on a cane, a burgundy scarf wrapped around her head, her gray-blue eyes hovering over gaunt cheekbones.
    Naomi’s countenance wilted. “Mom.”
    They embraced.
    I stared at the island, at the can of refried beans and the bag of rice, at the onion and peppers.
    “Caroline,” Gary said, “you need to conserve your strength.”
    She smiled at him. “Thank you, dear, but I’m fine. Besides, we have a special guest.”
    Naomi wiped her eyes. “Mom, you remember – ”
    “Of course I do. A pleasure to see you again, Jonathan.”
    “You as well, Mrs. Foster.”
    She walked over to me and then paused to catch her breath, leaning on her cane. Her hands were thin but elegant, her nails polished and manicured, a simple wedding band and diamond adorning her ring finger.
    She placed her palm on my cheek. It smelled like aloe. “You look all grown up.” She looked over the vegetables on the island. “Now, what can I help with?”
    “Nonsense, Caroline,” Gary said. “Please, come sit down.”
    Naomi picked up a knife. “We’ve got it, Mom.”
    Caroline grimaced. “But Jonathan’s our guest.”
    I picked up the cilantro and took it to the sink to rinse. “It’s my pleasure, Mrs. Foster.”
    She relented with a coy smile and sat at the kitchen table. “So, Jonathan, I heard a rumor about you.”
    I shook the cilantro out and patted it with a paper towel. “Uh-oh. Pure speculation, I’m sure.”
    “I heard you did a fine job on your MCATs. And that you’ve been awarded a scholarship.”
    “Yes, ma’am, that is in fact true. UNR Med School.”
    “Congratulations.”
    “Thank you.”
    Gary set a glass of ice water in front of Caroline. There was a deep, sincere love in the way he looked at her – a lifetime of affection and trust expressed in a glance.
    I realized halfway into dinner that I’d been hunching over the table with food in one hand, drink in the other – rapidly chewing our Mexican meal. The fact that I’d been eating