"She's gone," I tell him. "That's what happens. People leave."
He huffs and turns away.
Inside, evidence of her lingers everywhere. The mug she used still sits in the drying rack. My shirt—the one she wore—is folded on the chair where she left it.
I should burn it, but I leave it where it is.
DAY 11 ~ JANUARY 3
Day Three.
Beth calls. I don’t answer.
She calls again. And again.
On the fourth try, I answer.
"You're an idiot," she says without preamble.
"Good to hear from you too."
"She came back crying, Red.Crying. What the hell did you say to her?"
I close my eyes. "I told her I’d be here.”
"Oh, well done. Very romantic." Beth's voice drips with sarcasm. "You let her think you didn't care."
"I didn't—" I bite off the protest. "It's complicated."
"It's not." She sighs. "Look, I know you've been alone a long time. I know you think it's safer that way. But Cookie’s not going to break you, Red. She's not going anywhere unless you push her away."
"I didn't push?—"
"You pushed. Trust me." A pause. "She's miserable, by the way; she won't stop baking. She made seventeen batches of cookies yesterday. Her apartment smells like a bakery exploded."
Something twists in my heart.
‘I bake when I’m nervous.’
She’s emotional.
"She asked about you," Beth continues quietly. "I told her you were fine. Was I lying?"
I stare at the fire, at the empty cabin, at the dog who won't stop watching the door.
"Yeah," I say. "You were lying."
DAY 15 ~ JANUARY 7
Day Seven.
I dream about Martinez.
It’s the same dream I've had for three years—the explosion, the screaming, the weight of his body in my arms. But this time, when I look down, it's not Martinez.
It's Sasha.
I wake gasping, drenched in sweat, her name on my lips.
