Chapter
One
Leighton
* * *
I tiptoe up the stairs, skipping the third from the bottom, craving distance from all the guests huddled in hushed conversations as they balance small plates of finger foods and repeat words like tragic and unfair.
Between Julianna’s incessant nitpicking about what needs to be done and the guests exchanging glances and whispers at me, I need some air. My hand tightens on the banister, pretending I don’t hear their judgmental comments.
“She’s the one.”
“Single.”
“Not even a boyfriend.”
“A labor and delivery nurse.”
“You know the hours they work.”
“How will she raise three kids with that schedule?”
I slip into the master bedroom and shut the door with the quietest of clicks. I should stay out of here—the doors to their room have been shut this past week as though it’s a Smithsonian exhibit—but I’m desperate to feel Skylar, with hopes she somehow guides me from the grave.
My back hits the door, and I close my eyes, finally releasing the unsteady breath I’ve been holding since I watched a set of double caskets lowered into the ground this afternoon.
But when I open my eyes, the nightmare remains, and the peace I was hoping to find isn’t here.
To an outside observer, there’s nothing terrifying about this scene. The perfectly made bed. The picture frame of a happy couple on one nightstand, a stack of books on the other. A half full laundry hamper with clothes waiting to be washed. But the space is empty, somehow devoid of life. And worse, the entire room smells like her. Skylar’s perfume would cling to my clothes from her tight hugs, and I’d smell it my entire ride home.
I push off the door and walk over to the dresser. Five smiling faces encased in picture frames grin up at me, posed for the professional photographer she’d book for every major holiday from Easter to Halloween to Christmas. The only candid photo is the two of us from when we were younger—me missing my two front teeth, looking at her as if she was the coolest person to ever exist.
The framed photo of us trembles in my hand, and I run my finger over our faces, her laugh ringing like an echo in my head. This wasn’t our dream. Her dying at thirty-four, along with her husband, leaving behind three kids, wasn’t part of the fairytale.
A soft knock lands on the door, and before I can say come in, Callie sticks her head in the room. “Sorry, but your mom is on the hunt.”
I wave her in, and she shuts the door, flicking the lock. I put the picture down and blow out a breath, looking at my best friend.
“How am I supposed—” I ask for the millionth time between in my head and out loud to her.
“Have you eaten anything?” She doesn’t entertain my question since we both know there is no answer.
I shake my head and walk across the room to the stack of historical non-fiction books on the nightstand. A smile curves my lips, remembering Skylar taunting Patrick before their trip that he was wasting good packing space and should invest in an e-reader like hers.
“Come down and eat.”
“And listen to everyone question my ability to do this? No thanks.” I walk around the bed, peeking into the bathroom.
Skylar always meticulously organizes—organized—everything, each item having a designated spot. I don’t even put my clothes away from the laundry basket into the dresser. How am I supposed to replace her?
“They’re assholes.” I side-eye Callie, and she shrugs. “I’m not lying.”
She’s not. I lean my shoulder against the wall, and we stare at one another for what feels like an eternity. Everyone’s questions about how I’ll manage are unspoken between us. Her eyes are saying fuck them as mine say I can’t deny there’s truth there.
Her shoulders sink, and she steps closer. “Listen, this is a lot. Like, holy shit, a pivotal moment, a fork in the road, nothing will ever be the same.” I quirk an eyebrow. “So English wasn’t my best subject. What I’m trying to say is there are a lot of decisions to be made, but they’ll still be there tomorrow. You need to allow yourself time to mourn them too.”
“I think I’m still in shock.”
