“Good.” She nods. “Now let’s talk about how to keep him from driving you absolutely insane.”
Surprised, I let out another chuckle and she grins, but unease slithers up my spine.
“First of all, Noah is terrible at asking for help. He’ll give it all day long, ten ways from Sunday, but when it comes to him, he’ll never let on he needs help. Your job is to ignore that nonsense and be a partner.”
“Got it. Help him first, yell at him later.”
She pauses to catch her breath, and the blanket pools down behind her back exposing her gray knit sweater. Then she let out a shaky exhale, her voice turning quieter. “He loves hard. When he gives his heart, it’s for keeps. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that he means forever with you, that’s not my place and I don’t want to put that kind of pressure on you. But I will say, he’ll carry the weight of everything for you, even things he doesn’t need to.” She reaches over, her cold fingers weakly squeezing mine. “Promise me, he won’t have to carry it all alone. He’s afraid of being alone, of going through life alone. He’ll never admit it, but I know he is. Promise me, he won’t have to go throughthisalone.”
My chest aches, and there’s a part of me grasping to understand why she’s choosing now to tell me this. She’s notscaring me away, and maybe with the new year approaching, she wants to make sure she’s said what’s on her mind.
“I promise.”
She studies me one last time, nodding as if she’s made some final decision. Then her lips curve into a smirk. “The whole town is talking about how they never would’ve thought Noah would settle down … guess he was just waiting for the right person.”
I’m not sure why it makes me uncomfortable—like I’ve effectively stolen something that wasn’t mine, but I won’t apologize for it.
“Oh, and one more thing—he’s terrible at laundry. Don’t let him convince you he can do it.”
I let out a laugh, noting the empty lemonade glass in her hand. “Duly noted. Can I get you more to drink?”
She sighs, leaning against the neck pillow behind her. “Water, please. Thank you, Lily.”
I stand, she gives me her glass, and I move through the living room and into the kitchen. The lights are off and only the sunlight spills gently across the countertops and onto the floor leading to the fridge.
A filtered pitcher of ice water sits on the first shelf, and I grab it, kicking the door shut with my foot before pouring another glass. The plastic pill container sits open, the morning’s pills gone, and …huh. I didn’t have to bribe her today.
With the water back in the fridge, and her glass full, I can’t help but pop my head up to look out the front window above the sink and down the steps to the driveway. It’s silly. I know Noah’s working tonight, but still, I can’t help checking.
Turning, I walk through the living room and push open the sliding door with my hip and carefully step onto the porch with the glass clutched in my hand. The melting ice clinks against the sides, beads of condensation trailing between my fingers.
I stub my toe and water sloshes up and over the sides. I let out a curse, half expecting Ms. Sullivan to turn and give me grief about learning how to walk, but something is wrong.
She’s too still.
The wind stirs the branches overhead, and the largest gust we’ve had for the day blows in unencumbered. The late afternoon sun glows warm, casting golden light over the sawed wood, but my skin prickles with cold.
“I got your water,” I say, my voice catching.
No response.
I step closer, my heartbeat thudding heavy in my ears. The distant air smells sweet, like honey and jasmine, but it’s all wrong—too bright for this.
I stare. It’s almost like she’s frozen, her head tilted slightly to the side, eyes closed, like she simply dozed off. Her oxygen tubing is bunched under her nose, short wisps of hair escaping from behind her ears with the force of the breeze.
The glass slips from my fingers, landing on the porch with a dull thud, then rolls to the side. “No,” I whisper, dropping to my knees beside her. My hands shake as I reach out, pressing against her frail shoulder. She doesn’t stir.
“No,” I say, louder this time. I shake her shoulder again, her head rolling forward as I do. Gasping, I slap both hands over my mouth as a sharp hitch starts in my throat. “Please,” I choke out. “Please, not yet.”
The blanket clings to her small frame, and my fingers search frantically for something—anything—a heartbeat, a breath, the slightest movement. There’s only stillness.
A hollow ache opens in my chest, and I scream, shaking her once more. “Ms. Sullivan! Please! Ms. Sullivan!”
Her hands rest lightly in her lap, fingers curled as if she reached for something. My lungs burn, my ribs shake, but tearspour out of me as I dart up and run into the house for my phone. I dial 9-1-1 running back out to her.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“She—she’s not breathing. I-I think she’s gone!” My voice is breathless, and my hands shake as I keep the phone to my ear.
