“Nothing, just... Come on inside.” He leads me downstairs to his room and I sit on the couch, tense and unnerved. Jeremy almost never worries – certainly not about me – and I think it must be something truly horrible for him to be watching me with such care.
He takes a seat across the room and rubs his forehead. “Douglas Adams is dead.”
My jaw drops open. Words come out. Lots of incoherent syllables and, then, “No. Can’t be. It has to be a mistake.”
“Hun, he died of a heart attack.” Jeremy stands up, takes a half step towards me, and then changes his mind.
“But – but he’s only 49. It’s gotta be a different Douglas Adams.” Jeremy shakes his head. “He’s really dead?” I ask, my voice small and trembling.
Jeremy nods and I burst into tears.
After awhile, after the torrent subsides, Jeremy lets me sit on his lap as I scroll through a news story he bookmarked for me. A black and white photograph of Douglas smiles up at me and my heart feels like it’s breaking a little bit. “There’ll never be another book,” I whisper and the words feel heavy.
There will never be a line I haven’t read before – something new to underline and memorize. Douglas Adams is dead and all I can do is stare at the screen in disbelief.
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