“Goodness, I’m so sorry.I had no idea.”He shifts in his seat, sliding his chair back slightly.“You look like you could use a hug.”
Just when I thought I had it under control, his words break me.I can do nothing but nod as tears escape down my cheeks.
Lou pulls me close, his steady hand patting my back rhythmically.His tweed jacket feels rough against my cheek, smelling faintly of old paper, a hint of pipe tobacco, and the reassuring scent of time itself.It feels like being held against something solid that has weathered many seasons.
When he pulls back, he slides the paper napkin out from under his mug and hands it to me.
“Thanks.”I sniffle, taking it.“Sorry about this.”
“Oh, no need to apologize for having a heart,” he assures me kindly.“Especially when it’s clearly been broken.”
I nod slowly, dabbing the napkin under my eyes to stem the flow of tears.“Pretty sure I’m done with love,” I mumble.
“That’s like telling the tide not to come in,” Lou replies, a sad, knowing smile on his lips.“Love isn’t something we choose, my dear.It chooses us.And we have very little say in the matter.”
“Great,” I blurt out, the word dripping with bitterness.
“Life’s greatest purpose is to find your heart’s equal in another,” he explains reverently, his voice regaining its gentle conviction.“To find with whom your own true love lies.Don’t rob yourself of that journey because you’re scared of getting hurt again.”
“A little break would be nice,” I confess, attempting a giggle that comes out quivery.
Lou chuckles, patting my shoulder.“The good news is, it won’t kill you.”His shoulders shake with light laughter that rubs off on me, making me giggle genuinely this time.
“Thank you, really,” I tell him with a timid grin.“And for this.”I pick up the stuffed envelope.
“No need to thank me, my dear.”He returns my smile, reaching for his book.“It is absolutely my pleasure.”
“Coffee?”I offer as I stand up.
“Oh, no more, thank you.I should be on my way.”
“Well, have a great evening, Lou.”
“You as well, my dearest Amy.”
I watch Lou head toward the front door and give him a small wave.
The fragile warmth of our conversation lingers around my weary heart.
THIRTY FOUR
CLUTCHING LOU’S THICK envelope, I walk down the hallway to my office.Inside, the reality of my situation ambushes me.The crumpled coat, still draped over the couch.The open suitcase in the corner, waiting.
The sight steals the fragile warmth my conversation with Lou had given me.
I place the envelope on the desk, my fingers lingering for a second on the lumpiness of the papers inside.
This matters.
This is real support, tangible proof people care about Maddy’s Place.It should fill me with renewed determination.I should tear it open, count the names, feel a surge of hope.
But I don’t.
The only thing I feel is the dead weight of the phone in my back pocket, heavier than this entire envelope.
Just check one more time.
The thought is automatic, a nervous tic I can’t seem to control.
