Tabitha Stay With Me -

I cover her hands with mine. They are shaking.

“Please,” I say, and my voice cracks on the second syllable. I step onto the porch, the wet wood cold through my socks. I don’t have shoes on. I didn’t think to get shoes. “Tabitha. Just come back inside. We can—we can talk about it. We can talk about anything. Just stay.” tabitha stay with me

The rain doesn't knock anymore. It just starts—a sudden, heavy curtain that turns the driveway into a river of loose gravel and last autumn’s leaves. I am standing in the open doorway, the screen door whining on its hinge, and I am saying it again. I cover her hands with mine

She finally turns. Her face is pale, wet, and I can’t tell if it’s rain or tears. Maybe both. Maybe that’s the same thing now. I step onto the porch, the wet wood cold through my socks