So was mine. I kissed her forehead again, knowing that action did little to fix anything. But it was the only thing I knew to do. Only thing I knew how to offer. And it felt grossly inadequate. Pathetic even.
But as pathetic as my response was, Iwasresponding. And I wasn’t having to grit my teeth through it. I wanted to be there for her and couldn’t imagine walking away.
The realization was monumental.
Last night, I’d let myself feel things I’d buried. Which made Miranda’s feelings a lot easier to swallow. I closed my eyes against my own surge of emotion, taking a deep breath of her hair.
If only this hadn’t come too late.
But Pat’s words from the night before hit me, encouraged me to keep on:You’ll have an opportunity day after day to prove how far you’ve come.
I didn’t deserve for her to stay. ButIwould stay. I would be the anchor I should’ve always been. Be the one she could count on when everyone else walked away. Not because Iwanted to manufacture the outcome, but because this precious woman in my arms deserved it.
She cried for a long time on the foyer floor. I’d only let go once to fetch her some Kleenex. Eventually, her crying slowed and all her energy went to hiccups. I brushed hair off her face. She wiped her nose with her seventh tissue. There was a little damp pile on the floor next to us. When she spoke, her voice was froggy. “I’m sorry, Jack.”
I shook my head. “Why are you apologizing?”
She shrugged.
“You’ve gotnothingto be sorry for.”
She nodded then asked a feeble question. “Was he alone?” A renewed sob pressed in. “Please tell me he wasn’t alone.”
“No. Cynthia and Bob were with him.”
“Thank goodness.” She relaxed in my arms. She sniffed. “I’m going to be so sad without him.”
“I know you will.”
“He was the greatest friend I’ve ever had.”
“I know.” Why did I keep saying that? It was stupid.
She cried for a few more minutes. The tears had lost some momentum now. Her arms laid limp by her sides. “I’m so tired. I don’t even know if I can move.”
“Don’t then. I got you.”
I slipped my arm behind her knees, the other behind her back. She gasped in surprise as I lifted her off the floor. She settled her head on my shoulder as I walked to my room.
“Your room?”
I eased open the door, my voice falling to a whisper. “Kacey is in here.”
She needed to go to the bathroom so I placed her on her feet in front of the sink and clicked on the light. She stood, her bun flopping to the side, face puffy. Our gazes locked through the reflection ofthe mirror.
Something shifted in her expression. “Are you…are you staying in your room too?”
“If you want.”
She nodded once, slow, and I shut the bathroom door.
I hurried up the stairs to grab her toothbrush and pajama bottoms. Two things I knew she wouldn’t want to sleep without.
When I returned and softly knocked on my bathroom door, she opened, dabbing at her eyes again with toilet paper.
“Here.”
She gave a sad, grateful smile. “Thank you.”
