Mrs. Clifton headed upstairs, and Darlene sank into one of the dining room chairs. And just like that, one of her problems was solved.
She grinned to herself. Eleanor had wanted her to get some help with the B&B. And Eleanor always got what she wanted.
Chapter26
Mark opened the door to his apartment, holding his breath, unable to actually step over the threshold.
He pushed the door wider but remained frozen in the doorway. The apartment sat exactly as he’d left it when he headed to Magnolia Key—Sarah’s favorite throw draped over the arm of the sofa, her reading glasses still perched on the side table next to her usual spot. He’d never been able to actually pick them up and put them away.
The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the windows, catching dust dancing in the air. His chest tightened as he finally stepped inside, his footsteps echoing in the stillness.
“I’m home,” he whispered, a habit he couldn’t break even after two years. Sarah used to call back from wherever she was, usually her office or the kitchen.
The silence pressed in around him. Her presence lingered everywhere—in the carefully arranged bookshelf where she’d organized their collections by genre and color, in the small potted herbs that had long since withered on the kitchen windowsill.
He moved through the living room, trailing his fingers along the back of her armchair. The fabric held the phantom impression of countless evenings she’d curled up there, reading his latest chapters and offering gentle critiques.
In the kitchen, her favorite coffee mug still sat on the counter. He’d never put it away, but couldn’t actually bring himself to use it.
Their bedroom door stood slightly ajar. He paused, his hand resting on the doorframe. Sarah’s perfume bottles lined her dresser, gathering dust. Her robe hung on the back of the door—as it had for two years—and for a moment, he could almost see her wearing it, padding around their bedroom on lazy Sunday mornings.
The bed remained perfectly made, hospital corners crisp, just the way Sarah insisted upon. She’d always teased him about his messier tendencies, lovingly smoothing the wrinkles he left behind.
“I miss you,” he said softly, sinking onto the edge of the mattress. “Every day, I miss you.”
The bedroom walls held their shared life—photos from their travels, the framed cover of his first novel that Sarah had surprised him with, and her diplomas alongside his awards. All those years of memories surrounded him, each one both precious and painful.
A knock sounded at the door and he got up, wondering who even knew he was back in town. He crossed the rooms and opened the door.
Savannah held up a bag. Its enticing aroma immediately surrounded them. “I got takeout from Frank’s. Your favorite. Pastrami sandwiches.”
“How did you know I was here?”
“Your agent told me. Are you going to ask me in?”
“Sure, come on in.” He stepped aside and led her into the kitchen. “Wine?”
“Yes.” She nodded as she grabbed some plates out of the cabinet and he poured them some wine. They sat down at the table and he stared at the food. A meal he’d shared with Sarah so many times.
He attempted a smile and picked up the sandwich. Savannah had no way of knowing he hadn’t had a pastrami sandwich from Frank’s since Sarah died. They ate in silence for a while. He was grateful she wasn’t peppering him with questions.
She finally leaned back in her chair, sipping on her wine. “So… you’re back.”
“I’m back.”
“Do you think you should be back?”
“What are you talking about? You’re the one who insisted I come back and give the keynote speech.”
“I do want you to give the speech. I think it will be good for you. Maybe bring you some closure. But…”
“But what?” He glared at her.
“But… you’re never going to move on if you don’t get rid of this apartment.”
“Get rid of it?”
“It’s like some kind of memorial or monument to Sarah. You still have all her things out. It’s like she’s… like she’s still here.” Savannah reached over and took his hand. “But she’s not here. Not anymore. You need to… to try and move on.”
