“He was Ethan’s best friend.”
“I know.”
“He promised Ethan he’d look out for us.”
“I know that too.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
“The problem isn’t gossip.”
She lowered her voice.
“The problem is that when someone saves you often enough, you can stop realizing how much of your life they’re holding together.”
That irritated me.
“Ryan isn’t controlling my life.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“Then what are you saying?”
Jenna looked directly at me.
“I’m saying grief makes boundaries blurry.”
I grabbed my coffee.
“Thanks for the therapy session.”
“Claire—”
“I’m fine.”
I walked out.
But her words followed me home.
And the next afternoon, standing beside Ryan’s swimming pool while my daughter pointed behind his ear and called him Daddy, they came roaring back.
“Lily,” I said softly, kneeling in front of her. “Ryan isn’t Daddy.”
“But Mommy—”
“I know you miss him.”
“No.”
She twisted around, pointing toward Ryan again.
“Look behind his ear!”
Ryan immediately touched the side of his head.
That movement made my heart start pounding.
“What is she talking about?” I asked.
“Claire…”
“Ryan.”
People were beginning to notice us.
He glanced toward the house.
“Maybe we shouldn’t do this here.”
Do what?
That was the first thought that went through my mind.
There shouldn’t have been anything to “do.”
I reached for Lily.
Ryan stepped back.
“I need a second.”
Then he walked away.
Not casually.
Not because he was embarrassed.
He practically escaped into the crowd.
I watched him cross the patio.
Something was wrong.
I knew it.
Lily grabbed my hand.
“Mommy, Daddy’s little star.”
“What?”
She pointed behind her own ear.
“The little star.”
My chest tightened.
Ethan hadn’t had a star tattoo.
He had—
A compass.
I stopped breathing.
When Ethan was nineteen, he had gotten a tiny compass rose tattoo behind his left ear.
It was barely larger than a quarter.
Most people didn’t even know it existed because his hair usually covered it.
But Lily knew.
When Ethan carried her on his shoulders, she would touch it.
When he rocked her to sleep, she would rub her finger across it.
Sometimes she called it Daddy’s little star because she didn’t understand what a compass rose was.
I looked across the yard.
Ryan stood near the outdoor kitchen talking to Cole, his business partner.
The late afternoon sun hit the side of Ryan’s face.
And then I saw it.
Behind his left ear.
A tiny black compass.
My knees nearly gave out.
Same position.
Nearly the same size.
Almost the exact same design Ethan had worn for twenty years.
Except Ryan’s skin around it was faintly pink.
His tattoo was new.
“Mommy?”
I barely heard Lily.
I was staring at Ryan.
Why would my husband’s best friend suddenly tattoo my dead husband’s mark onto his own body?
Then I heard Cole laughing.
I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop.
I was simply close enough.
“You’ve officially lost your mind,” Cole said.
Ryan shook his head.
“It needed renovating anyway.”
“The entire upstairs?”
My attention sharpened.
Cole continued.
“Two bedrooms, a playroom, new bathroom—you’re rebuilding half the house for people who don’t even live here yet.”
Ryan noticed me.
His expression changed instantly.
Cole followed his gaze and stopped talking.
For people who don’t live here yet.
I felt cold despite the summer heat.
Ryan was single.
He had no children.
No girlfriend that I knew of.
So who was the upstairs being built for?
He started walking toward me.
“Claire.”
I backed away.
“I’m leaving.”
“Wait.”
“I forgot something at home.”
“You just arrived twenty minutes ago.”
“I need to go.”
“Claire, please.”
He glanced at Lily.
Then touched the back of his ear again.
That tiny nervous gesture told me everything I needed to know.
Whatever was happening, Ryan knew I had seen it.
I picked Lily up.
“Thank you for inviting us.”
“Can we talk?”
“Not tonight.”
“Claire—”
“Not tonight.”
I walked out before he could stop me.
Lily fell asleep in the car.
At home, I carried her upstairs, changed her into pajamas, tucked her stuffed rabbit beneath her arm, and kissed her forehead.
Then I went into the hallway closet.
There was a blue plastic storage box on the top shelf.
I hadn’t opened it since Ethan’s first birthday after his death.
Photographs.
Old letters.
Concert tickets.
Random things I had been unable to throw away but couldn’t bear to see every day.
I carried the box downstairs.
For almost an hour, I searched.
Then I found the photograph.
Ethan and Ryan at nineteen.
They were standing outside a tattoo shop near Lake Briarwood.
Ethan had gauze taped behind his left ear.
Ryan was beside him holding a soda and laughing.
I found another photograph taken later that afternoon.
Ryan’s head was turned toward the camera.
His left ear was completely exposed.
Nothing behind it.
No tattoo.
I remembered the story Ethan had told me dozens of times.
They had agreed to get matching compasses.
Ryan had chickened out when he saw the needle.
Ethan never stopped teasing him about it.
So why now?
Why more than twenty years later?
Why after Ethan died?
And why hadn’t Ryan told me?
I barely slept.
At 7:12 the next morning, my phone buzzed.
A message from Ryan.
I owe you an explanation.
I stared at it.
Then replied.
I’m coming over.
Ryan opened the door wearing sweatpants and an old college T-shirt.
He looked exhausted.
“I figured you might come.”
I stepped inside.
Then stopped.
On the counter beside his coffee machine sat Ethan’s old stainless-steel travel mug.
I had seen it there dozens of times before.
That morning, something about it made me angry.
It felt like Ethan was everywhere inside Ryan’s house.
His mug.
His photographs.
His memories.
And now his tattoo.
“Turn your head.”
Ryan sighed.
“Claire—”
“Turn your head.”
He did.
There it was.
The compass.
Fresh black lines.
Exactly where Ethan’s had been.
“When did you get it?”
“About five months ago.”
“Why?”
Ryan stared at the floor.
“Because I should have gotten it twenty years ago.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“Yes, it does.”
“No, Ryan. My daughter saw her dead father’s tattoo on your body and started calling you Daddy in front of forty people.”
His expression twisted.
“I know.”
“You terrified her.”
“I know.”
“You terrified me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He walked into the kitchen and sat down.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he rubbed both hands across his face.
“When Ethan and I were nineteen, that tattoo wasn’t just some stupid vacation idea.”
I stayed standing.
“What was it?”
Ryan gave a sad laugh.
“We thought we were invincible. We said no matter where life took us, we’d always find our way back to each other. That’s why Ethan picked the compass.”
I remembered Ethan telling me something similar.
Ryan continued.
“When the guy brought out the needle, I panicked. Ethan got his. I didn’t.”
“He thought it was funny.”
“I know.”
“He teased you for years.”
“I know.”
Ryan looked toward the travel mug.
“But after he died, it stopped feeling funny.”
His voice cracked slightly.
“I kept thinking about every stupid promise we made when we were kids. Every trip we said we’d take. Every thing we assumed we’d have time to do later.”
My anger softened despite myself.
“So you got the tattoo.”
He nodded.
“I went back to Lake Briarwood alone.”
“You copied Ethan’s?”
“I brought an old photo.”
“Why hide it?”
“Because I knew how it looked.”
“How what looked?”
Ryan’s eyes met mine.
“Like I was trying to become him.”
The room went silent.
“Were you?”
“No.”
His answer came immediately.
“God, no.”
“Then why did you go pale yesterday?”
“Because I’d forgotten about Lily.”
“What about her?”
“That she used to touch Ethan’s tattoo.”
