Patrick drives me home. We’re quiet the whole way, but when he pulls into the driveway, he turns the engine off. “Do you want me to come in with you?” he asks.
“No, I can do it.” It’s only the second-worst conversation I can imagine having with my parents.
He seems uncertain. “You have to tell them, though. For real.”
“I know.” Putting two feet on the driveway is only the first step.
Patrick rolls the passenger window down as the door closes behind me. “I’m going to text you later to make sure you did.”
“Thanks. And, thanks for the ride.”
Patrick pounds his fist on the steering wheel. “Glad I could help. And glad we got there in time.” His voice cracks.
We look at each other through the open window. There’s nothing more to say, but it’s one of those moments that hits like a lightning strike. It leaves me with the sense that whenever we look at each other for the rest of our lives, slivers of this exchange will be present.
“You saved his life.” I echo his fist pound with one of my own, on the door. “You and your lead foot.”
Patrick laughs through his tears, and the sound buoys me for the walk up the flagstones.