“Over the years, that man has broken your heart in ahundred tiny ways. It doesn’t take something huge, like an affair, to kill the love you had for him.” She lifted her chin. “I say if happiness comes, you take it. Don’t you waste one more second thinking you owe Billy any more of your heart.”
I leaned my elbows on my knees, my chin in my hands. “You really think I’m over him?”
She shrugged. “Do you miss him now that he’s gone?”
“Not a bit.” I laughed a little. I hadn’t. At all. “If anything, I’m happier without him."
“That’s because Billy took and he took and he took until he’d stolen all the love right out of you.”
I shoved my hands under my thighs. “Huh. I never thought about it that way. But I think you’re right.” It was freeing to realize that. I thought maybe I was numb or broken and a tidal wave of grief would hit me later. There were a few leaks of pain here and there, but nothing that couldn’t be plugged by belting a sad song, or eating a bowl of chocolate peanut butter swirl ice cream, or getting a hug from Anna. Maybe shoving a knife in all his tires had been more cathartic than I realized.
Momma smiled, her eyes warm. “Mommas usually are.”
I still didn’t think Silas was the least bit interested in me. He couldn’t even stand being around me most of the time. Even now, if I got too close, physically or emotionally, he bolted or shut down. And clearly he couldn’t get enough of Christy. Their FaceTime calls lasted at least two hours every night.
I closed my eyes again, so tired. This baby was sapping all my energy.
“You’ve been exhausted for a while now. You should go see the doctor.” I hadn’t told Momma about the baby. The minute she knew, she’d want to throw a parade and tell every one of her friends. I wasn’t ready to celebrate yet.
I cocked an eyebrow. “You mean Billy? No thanks.”
“Go over to Honeyville. They’ve got some great doctors there. Dr. Torres is really good. And I think they’ve got a nurse practitioner now.”
“I’m just tired because of Anna’s night terrors.” She still had them most nights. Silas and I had started tag-teaming, though. No sense in both of us losing sleep. He’d tried to take all the nights so I could rest, but I refused.
Momma's forehead wrinkled. “She’s still having those?”
I nodded.
“You need to get that girl into therapy.”
“We’ve got her on a waitlist. But it takes at least three months to get an appointment. Or four.” And that was only because this was a small town. Waits in the city were way longer. I’d checked.
Buford loped in from the kitchen and howled. “Arrooooo.”
“Buford,” I fussed, covering my ears.
Momma scratched him under the chin. “Buford just wants some attention, don’t you, buddy?” He barked, slobber dripping out of the corner of his mouth. Momma sat up suddenly. “I have an idea that might help Anna stop having those terrible dreams.”
“Really?”
“Why don’t you let Buford sleep with her? She loves this dog.”
I sat back and smiled, awed. “That’s a genius idea.” Why hadn’t I thought of it two weeks ago? “You wouldn’t mind?”
“Not a bit.” She scrubbed him on the head. “He loves Annaleise, don’t you, Bu?” His sad eyes peered up at her and he wagged his tail.
When I brought Buford back home and told Anna she could sleep with him, you would have thought I told her we were going to Disney World. For the first night since she’d been here, she didn’t fight us on goingto bed.
I pulled Anna’s bedroom door shut, dreaming of how good I was going to sleep snuggled into my king-sized bed under my minky duvet, uninterrupted by terrifying shrieks. The only thing standing between me and bed was locking the doors.
“Hey.” Silas walked out of his room wearing his typical evening scowl. I don’t know what he and Christy said to each other every night, but it must’ve been heavy. He always came out of his bedroom more troubled than when he went in. He reached over and pulled his door shut. His bicep flexed ever so slightly and my stomach fluttered. I groaned in my head.I hate you, Peyton.
“Hey.” I walked past him. “I’m going to lock up and then hit the hay.”
“Hold up a sec.”
I turned to look at him.
