Then I called Brittany.
She answered on the first ring. She was crying already. She’d gotten hers too.
“Did you see it?” she said. “The note? In the margin?”
“I saw it.”
“Fish together,” she said. “Jess. He wrote fish together.”
We didn’t say anything for a long time. Just breathed on the phone, a hundred miles apart.
“Sunday,” I said finally. “Mom and Dad’s. Dinner. Both of us.”
“Both of us,” Brittany said.
That Sunday, we drove up to the house together. In my Malibu. Brittany had driven down from
Ankeny the night before and slept on my couch above the hardware store.
Mom and Dad live in a split-level on the edge of Lenox. The black Ram 2500 was in the driveway. The pontoon was on a trailer next to the garage, covered with a gray tarp for the season.Track Pregnancy
We sat in the car for a minute.
