“So now that Griffon’s gone, you’re going to spend the next year in your room? I’m not going to let that happen. You have to get out there—you’ll feel better. At least just come with me to the café. If you won’t eat, maybe a little coffee will do you good.”

An Americano with half and half is the first thing that’s sounded even remotely palatable in days. I grab a pillow and hug it to my chest. “Will you go get me one?”

“No. I’m sorry, the To Go window is closed. You have to come get it yourself.” She bounces a few more times and then stops, a serious look on her face. “Come on Cole, I’m worried about you. We all are. I know how much this totally sucks, but you have to let him get this out of his system. When Griffon has time to think about it, he’ll come back.”

I’ve tried telling myself different versions of the same thing, but the reality I have to face is that Griffon’s gone. “He won’t,” I say. “You didn’t see his face. He really means it.” He won’t let me explain or let himself believe what really happened. Despite the fact that I’m trying to be practical and realistic, tears well up in my eyes.

“Oh, man,” Rayne says and scoots up to brush the hair out of my face. “Honey, I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix it. The best I can do is drag you out for a lousy cup of coffee.”

“I know,” I sniff, trying to get a grip on myself. “I appreciate it.”

I look down at my bunched-up sheets, noticing their sour smell for the first time. I don’t want the life that waits for me outside of this house. The one without Griffon in it. But I’m starting to make myself a little sick. Maybe just one cup of coffee. Then I can come home, change my sheets, and climb back into bed.

“Just give me an hour,” Rayne prods. “You don’t even have to come to the fireworks tonight. Just get out of this house. You’ll feel better.”

“I don’t want to feel better,” I say, throwing the comforter back. “The only way I’ll ever feel better is if Griffon changes his mind, and that’s not going to happen. I want to feel every moment of this misery.” I sit on the edge of the bed and put my feet gingerly on the floor. “Plus, you know I don’t like fireworks.”

“If you want to wallow, go ahead. One cup of coffee and I’ll let you come running back here.” Rayne pulls me to my feet. “But first, do the rest of us a favor and go take a shower.”

I tuck the sleeping bag around my feet and settle back into the folding chair. It’s almost totally dark now, but the music is still playing from the bandstand up the street and Frisbees are still whizzing by my head on a regular basis. I’m trying hard to share Rayne’s holiday mood and not sink back into the depression that’s become oddly comforting, like a favorite pair of worn jeans. I glance up at the overcast sky—it’s like a blank slate now, but in a little while it’s going to explode with lights and noise. Waiting for fireworks shows always makes me a little jumpy. Once they start I’m usually okay, but I get a little flinchy at the beginning.