He reaches out to touch my hand. This time I let him, seeing as we had shared a special moment. Even though it jumpstarts my racing pulse again, I get the feeling it comforts him more than me. "Maybe you're right, Bria. Maybe there's more to the accident than what we were told."
My mind buzzes as I seek to process what I have just seen. All I can do is nod and watch Ryan bound up the stairs. The basement, warm and still, seems to have a life of its own, pulsing with revelation and surprise. I remember the root beer float.
As I sit on the counter sipping my float and breaking up the lumps of vanilla ice cream with a spoon, I look out the window at the sunny, ordinary day. Cars whizz by, people walk their dogs, someone is dragging their empty recycling can back up their driveway, and I hear a lawnmower rev up. The incongruity of normal life rattles me.
I down the dregs of my float and, for the rest of the day, bury myself under the bedcovers and listen to the comforting beat of my heart.