“I promise we’ll be okay.” I have no way of knowing that for sure, but even as I say it, it feels true.
“And you ordered a lock that will work for the cellar door?”
“Yes,” I confirm. “And I’ll keep boxes on top of it until the lock gets here.”
She stares at me long and hard, her eyes bouncing back and forth between mine. I know there’s so much she wants to say, so much I want to say to her.
“Thank you,” I whisper. For so much. For everything. I don’t say that, though. I can’t speak, but she seems to understand.
She pulls me into a hug, her arms going tight around my shoulders.
This goodbye feels heavier than ever. Before, we saw each other nearly every day. Whether we were meeting for lunch, she was bringing something over for Taylor or me, or she was popping by for dinner, it was rare more than a day would go by without seeing each other in some form or another. We found excuses. It was easy enough to do when she was just a quick thirteen-minute drive across town. Now, we’re half a day’s driveapart. It feels like crossing an ocean to get to the person who has never been more than half an hour away from me our whole lives.
Still, as we load her bags in the car an hour later, I put on a brave face and hug her again. “Be safe going home.”
“I don’t want to leave,” she says, looking around. “I wish I could stay a few more days. Are you sure you don’t need me to? I could have someone else do my showings.”
I press my lips together, knowing what she wants me to say—what I want to say—but I can’t. I have to do this on my own, or I never will. “But then EJ might get a chance to outsell you this month.”
She points a long, painted nail at me. “Blasphemy.”
I cover my lips with a laugh. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you’d like, but no, we don’t need you. Go home and get some rest on something other than a mattress on the floor.”
“I didn’t hate the mattress on the floor,” she tells me, bottom lip pressed out. We’re grown women fighting against tears at the thought of leaving each other.
“We’ll come back home and visit you soon.” We both know it’s a lie. I will avoid that town until I have no other choice. I have no desire to return to a town that reeks of Lewis, a town where I can’t unsee him the way I can here.
To rid my thoughts, I suck in a deep breath. The calming scents of the lavender and rosemary plants near the porch hit my nose, my throat. I close my eyes as tears fill them.
“And you’ll call about a security system?” she asks, her voice tight and stiff.
It’s about the hundredth time she’s asked. “Yes.”
“Today?”
I groan. “Yes.”
She hugs me again, then Taylor, drying her eyes when she pulls back. “Ugh, okay. Fine. Kick me out, why don’t you? Callme if you need anything, okay? And please make sure you lock everything up.”
“We’ll be fine,” I assure her, nudging her toward her car. “We love you, and we’ll miss you. Watch your speed on the gravel, okay?”
“Now it’s your turn to worry, hmm?” she teases, pulling her phone out of her back pocket to check the time.
“Always.” I squeeze her hand and blow her a kiss.
With a final look, she slides into the driver’s seat and returns our blown kisses as she drives away. A tickle itches the back of my throat as I watch her leave, that lonely feeling sinking into my gut once again.
I throw an arm around Taylor’s shoulders as I lead her inside. “What do you say I make pasta for dinner?”
“Sure. Whatever.”
She’s sad Greta’s leaving too, even if she won’t admit it. Greta’s the closest thing to an aunt she has on either side of the family, the closest thing I’ve ever had to a sister. She’s been there for every milestone for Taylor, every school holiday pageant and every science fair.
The guilt I feel over separating the two of them, even if it’s just by extra miles, is heavy. Heavier maybe than my guilt over the divorce itself.
Inside, while Taylor lounges on the couch, I return to my bedroom. The cellar door draws my eye like a siren’s call I can’t turn away from. Everything about it keeps nagging me. An itchy feeling has taken root under my skin that I can’t ignore, a pull from somewhere deep in my gut.
Carefully, I slide the boxes away from the door. It’s heavier than I imagined as I lift it and stare down into the darkness. Using my shoe like the sheriff did earlier, I clear away the remaining cobwebs, holding onto the wall for support.
