“Hey.” Her eyes opened, heavy lidded and glazed. “I think I’m gonna?—”
She didn’t finish the sentence before bolting straight up.
Winnie whimpered and called for her mom, but I reassured her. “Mom’s okay,” I said, even as I heard the unmistakablesound of Selene losing her last meal. “Just a stomach bug, Win. It’s nothing but a silly bug.”
I worked quickly at the bathroom sink, running a clean washcloth under cool water. Selene was slumped beside the toilet, her knees tucked beneath her, one hand braced against the wall.
She looked absolutely miserable, and when she was wrung out, Selene rested her forehead on her arm.
“Hey there,” I said, kneeling down beside her, flushing the toilet. “I told you. You need to lie down too.”
“I’m not—” Her voice broke as she reached for the cold towel I handed her. “Ugh. I’m not usually like this.”
“I know.” I rubbed her back in slow, easy circles. “You’re usually bossy as hell and a little scary before coffee.”
She gave me a weak smile.
“Come on.” I helped her to her feet, careful and slow. “Let me take care of you for a change.”
She didn’t argue that time. I lifted Selene in my arms and enjoyed the brief moment she sagged against my chest.
I tucked her in beside Winnie, both pale and drowsy, curled under the same soft blanket. I sat for a minute on the edge of the bed, just watching them breathe, unsure of what I should do next.
I’d never had to worry about taking care of anyone but myself, but I’d seen enough movies to know the basics.
I found a thermometer and checked both of their temps, confirming that whatever bug Winnie had come home with had been successfully passed to Selene. I grabbed the ginger ale from the pantry and dug around until I found some goldfish crackers and saltines. When they both drifted off again, I padded into the bathroom, rolled up my sleeves, and started cleaning.
I wiped down the counters and floor, then switched over the laundry. I rinsed out the towels and took the trash out before bleaching the toilet for good measure.
I called the school to let them know Winnie would be out for at least a day, then phoned in sick to work around nine. I didn’t even hesitate—they needed me more, and the crew would be fine without me for a day or two.
And the weirdest thing? I liked it.
I’d never been the guy someone trusted with this kind of thing. I was the “fun one,” the “casual one,” the guy who always showed up with snacks and tequila but not the one who stayed to clean up the mess.
Playing house was never part of the plan. It wasn’t sexy. It certainly wasn’t smooth. It sure as hell wasn’t easy, but it still felt like the best damn thing I’d ever done.
TWENTY-THREE
SELENE
The air smelledlike cut grass and concession stand popcorn, sweet and faintly greasy, carried on a breeze that tugged at the loose strands of my hair. It had been three days since the stomach bug had swept through our side of the duplex like a wrecking ball—three long days of ginger ale, saltines, and an attempt to regain some semblance of normalcy. Winnie was back at school, chipper and loud as ever, while I was just starting to feel human again.
I tugged my cardigan tighter around my shoulders, not because it was too cold—Star Harbor’s October sun was still warm enough—but because it felt like something to hold on to.
Winnie’s laughter pealed across the playground toward the softball field, high and bright, as she and two classmates took turns chasing each other. She was flushed, her unruly waves bouncing as she darted away from the little boy trying to tag her, her shoes kicking up small clouds of dust.
I couldn’t help smiling.
Beside me, Elodie and Kit occupied the other two folding chairs, their drinks balanced precariously on the metal armrests. Elodie had a notebook open on her lap, a pencil twirling between her fingers as she sketched something abstract and looping. Kitsat cross-legged, scrolling on her phone, the sunlight catching in her auburn hair.
“I’m so freaking excited.” Her toes bounced. “This whole Lady of the Dunes theory is starting to unravel,” Elodie said finally, not looking up from her page. “I mean, if that diary entry is real, then I was right. She wasn’t waiting for someone—she wasrunning.”
Kit snorted. “Or maybe she was just bored out of her mind and decided to take a walk.”
Elodie shot her a look full of sisterly exasperation. “You’re a romantic cynic. The worst kind.”
“I’m a realist,” Kit said. “Which you’d know if you weren’t trying to make this about tragic love and ghostly petticoats.”
