Small Miracles
an excerpt

From Chapter Seven:

And on he went, talking about the joys of that singular joy on a cold day. Soup. Of all things. What about hot chocolate? That was at least sweet. More interesting than soup.

I wanted to tell him this as we walked home, but my mind became preoccupied as we passed the church. I glanced at Gordon and then to the ground, feeling guilty, and Gordon seemed to sense this. But he said nothing, as Gordon always did, and I wondered why he wasn't just leaving now. I knew that's where his situation was now. I kicked a little stone, and the path remained straight. The bouncing roll of the pebble was our soundtrack.

"Gordon?"

"Yes?"

And a thousand things ran through my mind, things I wanted to ask him, things to offer him, sympathies and apologies and all sorts of things were ready to jump out of my mouth and run around Gordon, waiting one by one to be answered and accepted and any kind of thing that he spat back.

"Why soup?"

Gordon shook his head, smiling a small smile that made me want to laugh, and then he ruffled his black hair and looked at me.

"Because it's warm."

And that was that.