1917

May 24, 1918

  It was Friday at long last! We had been waiting for what felt like an eternity for it to finally arrive. The entire week had dragged on, each day blurring into the next as we counted down the hours, desperate for a break. The anticipation in the air was palpable, like the world was holding its breath just for that one sweet moment when the weekend would unfold.

  As the clock struck three, the usual office buzz faded into a distant hum, and the tension lifted like a weight off our shoulders. We exchanged relieved smiles, some of us already packing up, others making plans for the evening ahead. It was as though the whole building collectively exhaled, releasing the strain of the workweek.

  Outside, the sky seemed to brighten just a little, as if it too recognized the significance of the day. We felt the pull of freedom, the excitement of a few precious days to ourselves. Whether it was the lure of a night out with friends, a quiet evening at home, or simply the bliss of not having to check emails every five minutes, Friday had a magic all its own. At that moment, we all knew the weekend was ours, and we were ready to seize it. The wait was over.

“What do ya say we go skip some stones?” Matthew Cheshire asked in a hushed tone. He was always silent as a mouse, and you had to lean in close to catch anything he said. He wasn’t the loudest or the most outgoing, but there was something calming about his presence. In a world full of noise, Matthew was a rare quiet, a steady pulse that seemed to know exactly when to speak.

  He was a good kid, though! I had him in Algebra I, and despite his shyness, he often helped me wrap my brain around the confounding problems we were supposed to solve. Whenever I found myself stuck, Matthew would always be there with a gentle, patient explanation. He didn’t make me feel dumb for not getting it right away, and that was something I appreciated more than I ever told him.

  I looked over at him, and for a moment, I considered the simple suggestion. It wasn’t about the skipping stones, though. It was about escaping for a while—about stepping away from everything and just enjoying the quiet. I smiled, feeling a small surge of warmth for the kid who never expected anything in return.

“Sure, let’s go,” I said, my voice a little quieter than usual. If anyone understood the need for silence and simplicity, it was Matthew. I hoped that, in some way, he knew just how grateful I was for him. Although, maybe it didn’t matter. Some things, like kindness and understanding, didn’t need to be spoken aloud.

  We got to Miller Lake, and Matthew took his shirt off, stretching out on the sun-drenched shore. He settled into the grass, hands behind his head, soaking in the rays like he was trying to become one with the sun itself. I did the same, feeling the warmth spread across my skin. It wasn’t too bad, I realized. I could stand the heat. It was the cold that got to me—the biting, numbing chill that seemed to settle deep in your bones. Yeah, nothing like shivering uncontrollably, teeth chattering like a hamster caught in the snow.

  The thought made me chuckle, though the humor was fleeting. As I lay back, eyes closing against the intensity of the sun, my thoughts drifted to Roy. The old German Shepherd had been with us through thick and thin. I could still see his solemn eyes, the way he followed me around like he knew exactly how I was feeling, even when I didn’t.

  After my dad passed, Roy didn’t seem to know what to do with himself. He hardly ate his kibble, and we gave him more than enough, trying to coax him into eating, but it didn’t work. He was grieving too, mourning alongside me in a way that only a dog could. His sadness mirrored mine, and even though we never said a word about it, I knew we shared that space of quiet loss together.

  I looked over at Matthew, his face relaxed in the sunlight, and I couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief. There was comfort in these moments, in the way time seemed to slow, letting us forget for just a while. The pain was still there, lurking in the corners, but in this moment, it felt a little lighter—like the sun could burn it away, just for a while.

“Let’s skip some stones!” Matthew said excitedly, jumping to his feet.

“Alright, but I get the first throw!” I exclaimed, a grin spreading across my face. The idea of the lake’s still surface breaking with the sharp, satisfying sound of a skipping stone was just the distraction I needed.

“Sure, kid, you go cast the first stone,” Matthew laughed, his voice light and carefree as he dropped back onto the grass, lazily stretching out like some kind of feline, his limbs long and loose in the sunlight. He seemed content, almost as if he had nowhere else to be, nothing else to worry about.

  I gathered a few smooth stones from the shore, feeling the coolness of their surfaces in my hand before choosing one that felt just right. With a flick of my wrist, I sent the stone skimming across the water, watching as it bounced once, twice, three times, before sinking into the lake with a small splash.

“Not bad, huh?” I said, glancing over at Matthew, who had his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling in the slow rhythm of someone completely at peace.

“Not bad, kid,” he replied, still with that lazy grin on his face. “But now it’s my turn.”

  I stepped aside, making room for him. There was something about the simplicity of it all—no competition, no rush, just the rhythm of the lake and the stones—something that felt good for the soul. I sat down on the grass beside him, watching as he chose his stone with careful thought, his movements slow and deliberate.

  It was peaceful in a way that only moments like these could be, and I wasn’t in any hurry to let it go. He cast the stone, and I kid you not, it bounced six times in a row. The sound was almost musical, each skip hitting the water with a rhythm that seemed to echo through the air.

  My eyes followed the stone, barely able to believe what I was seeing. Six times. It was a perfect throw—smooth, effortless. I was in awe, to say the least.

  I could feel my mouth hanging open as I turned to Matthew, who was now lying back with his arms behind his head again as if he hadn’t just pulled off some kind of sorcery.

“Okay, that was insane,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “How’d you do that?”

  Matthew just shrugged, his smile barely contained. “I dunno. Just the way the stone felt in my hand, I guess.”

  He gave a little chuckle, as if it was no big deal, like six skips were just a casual thing anyone could do. I couldn’t help but laugh at his modesty.

“Alright,” I said, picking up another stone, determined to beat his record, “you might have set the bar pretty high, but I’m not backing down.”

  He grinned at me, eyes still half-closed in the lazy sunlight. “Go ahead, kid. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

  To my utter surprise, I managed to skip it a whole eight times, prompting Matt to call me a warlock.

“No way you didn’t cast a spell on that! You—you sorcerer!” he exclaimed, his voice breaking through the usual hushed tone I was so used to.

  It startled me for a second—not just because he was louder than I’d ever heard him before, but because there was this rare burst of energy behind his words. It was like seeing a flash of lightning on an otherwise calm day. His voice, though still a bit monotone, had a richness to it that I hadn’t noticed before. It carried a certain depth, like there was more to him than he let on most of the time.

  I couldn’t help but smile, happy to have coaxed such a reaction out of him.

“Well,” I said, pretending to adjust my invisible wizard’s robe, “I might’ve dabbled in the dark arts a time or two. Guess I’ve been found out.”

  I gave a mock bow, and he laughed—a short, sharp sound that caught me off guard but left me grinning like an i***t.

  Matthew shook his head, still sprawled out on the grass. “I’ll give you this,” he said, voice dropping back to its usual quiet tone, “that was pretty impressive. But next time, I’m taking the win back, sorcery or not.”

“Challenge accepted,” I replied with a smirk, picking up another stone.

  As I weighed it in my hand, I glanced at him, still sprawled out like a cat soaking up the sun. For a moment, I felt like I’d glimpsed a different side of Matthew—a lighter, freer version of him—and I was glad to see it, even if it was just for a second.

  It was time to leave, and the boys and I wished Matthew a safe trip back home. I expected him to give his usual quiet nod and head off, but to my surprise, he lingered for a moment before saying,

“I’ll walk with you. Can’t have evil demons snatching you up on the way.”

  It was such a Matthew thing to say—half-serious, half-playful.

  I laughed and nodded. “Alright then, my gallant protector. Lead the way.”

  As we made our way down the dirt path, the lake fading into the background, he began to talk about a ship called the Mary Celeste.

“Isn’t it crazy how they just abandoned it?” he asked, his voice carrying an unusual excitement.

“Indeed it is,” I agreed, intrigued despite myself. It wasn’t often Matthew took the lead in conversations, but when he did, it was always something interesting.

“Think about it,” he continued, his hands gesturing now, “a ship sailing in perfect condition, everything intact—cargo, supplies—but not a single soul onboard. It’s like something right out of a horror story.”

  I couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. “Sounds like the work of your ‘evil demons,’” I teased.

“Could be,” he replied with a chuckle. “Or maybe aliens? Or pirates? Theories are endless, but no one knows for sure. That’s what makes it so fascinating.”

  I looked over at him as he spoke, his usually reserved demeanor giving way to genuine curiosity and excitement. It was nice, walking like this, listening to his voice weave the tale of the Mary Celeste.

  He had a knack for making even the strangest stories feel real, and for once, I didn’t mind just letting him talk.

“Do you believe in ghosts?” I asked after a while, genuinely curious about where his thoughts might lead.

  He paused for a second, considering the question. “Not really,” he said finally, “but I like the idea of mysteries. The stuff we can’t explain—it’s what keeps life interesting.”

  I nodded, taking in his words as we continued our walk, the sun dipping lower on the horizon.

  In that moment, I realized how much I appreciated Matthew Cheshire—not just for his quiet brilliance but for the way he made the world feel a little more mysterious, a little more alive.

If you want, I can also do the previous chapter (the school day and purity ring scene) in the exact same style, with indents, bolding, and italics, so your two chapters are visually consistent.

Do you want me to do that next?