Megan’s fund grew.
He refused to become its public face.
Lily did not give him a choice.
At thirteen, she created a school presentation about the organization.
She titled it:
THE GIANT BIKER WHO STOLE MY LEMONADE BUSINESS
Cole attended.
Sat in the back.
Horrified.
Lily told the class everything.
Not private medical details.
The cookie.
The stand.
The five hundred dollars.
Megan.
The notebook.
At the end she said:
“People think Mr. Maddox helped me because I was sick.”
“He did.”
“But that's not why we're friends.”
“We're friends because he was sad once and I had a cookie.”
The classroom laughed.
Cole looked down.
Lily continued:
“So if somebody looks scary or mean or different, maybe ask if they're sad before deciding.”
Cole looked up.
That sentence struck him.
After the presentation, he told Rachel:
“She makes me sound emotionally unstable.”
“You are.”
“Good point.”
Lily grew.
High school.
College applications.
Cancer became something in her medical history instead of the center of every week.
She remembered pieces of illness.
Hospital corridors.
Bad-tasting medicine.
Pink cap.
Cole.
The lemonade stand.
She did not remember many of the worst nights.
Rachel was grateful.
Cole remembered all of Megan’s.
That never changed.
Grief softened.
It did not leave.
On Megan’s birthday every year, Cole disappeared for several hours.
Rachel never asked where.
One year Lily did.
He answered.
“Cemetery.”
She nodded.
The following year, she asked to come.
Cole hesitated.
Then agreed.
Megan’s grave was simple.
Name.
Dates.
A small engraved wrench below.
Lily placed a chocolate chip cookie beside the stone.
Cole stared.
“You know squirrels are going to eat that.”
“Then squirrels get a birthday present.”
He laughed.
They sat.
Lily was sixteen.
Almost the age Megan had been when she started working in Cole’s shop.
She asked:
“Do you ever feel bad that the fund got big because she died?”
Cole looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Me too.”
“You didn't make her die.”
“I know.”
“What do you mean?”
Lily picked grass.
“Sometimes people say my lemonade stand started the fund.”
“But Megan started it.”
Cole nodded.
“She did.”
“And sometimes they say I inspired it.”
“She wrote the idea before she met you.”
“I know.”
Cole smiled.
“You're worried you're getting credit that belongs to her.”
“Yes.”
He looked at Megan’s stone.
“I think she would hate all of us talking about who gets credit.”
Lily laughed.
“Probably.”
Cole continued.
“Your cookie didn't invent the idea.”
“Your lemonade stand didn't either.”
“But both pushed me to do what she'd already asked.”
He looked at Lily.
“That's how people work.”
“One person leaves something unfinished.”
“Somebody else carries it.”
“That doesn't erase the first person.”
Lily looked toward the cookie.
“I wish I remembered her.”
Cole’s expression softened.
“She remembered you.”