Celia’s in a black dress with a striped, artsy scarf looped around her. She tucks her hands into her pockets and leans into the wind, walking away from the car her parents are getting in. Walking toward us.
“Hey,” she says.
Janna wraps her arms around Celia. “Hey.”
Patrick is next. Simon slaps her five. Matt leans on the stone fence post and nods her way.
I don’t know what my response should be, but there’s the we-both-lost-a-sister thing in play. Feeling awkward, I open my arms and she steps toward me. She’s short and feels more delicate in my arms than I expected. Any words would probably be the wrong words, so I leave it at that.
“Friendly’s?” Simon says, as if it’s a foregone conclusion.
We end up in a nearby diner, ordering milkshakes, French fries, clam strips, and chicken fingers. It’s gonna be a whole heckuva lot of food, but we’re equal to the task.