“I’m sorry for how I reacted earlier,” she says suddenly, her voice small, eyes fixed on my arm as she keeps wrapping it.
I keep still, worried that any movement might spook her into silence.
“The smallest things can trigger me,” she continues, smoothing the tape over the gauze. “Even after four years, I haven’t learned to control it. And it gets worse when Penny’s not around. It’s as if all the emotions I have to keep bottled up in front of her want out.”
I search for the right words but don’t have any. “I don’t know what to say without it sounding like an empty platitude,” I finally admit. “But you can be yourself around me—no need to keep anything bottled up. If you want to scream, scream. If you need to break things, just ask, and I’ll hand you a bat.”
She looks at me now, eyes intense. “How are you like this?”
“Like what?”
“My grief is ugly, and it makes everyone around me so damn uncomfortable… all the time… and I’ve learned to hide it, to push it aside and pretend it’s not there even when I’m with people I’ve known for years. And we just met, and you’re sitting there telling me you have no problem with it. How?”
“I can handle messy emotions.” I hold her gaze, letting her see that her past doesn’t scare me. “I prefer ugly that’s real to pretty things packed up with a bow to hide what’s underneath.” I almost put a ring on the last truth I was afraid to face; I’m not making that mistake again.
Lily smiles, but it’s tinged with sadness. “You’re doing it again,” she accuses softly.
“What?” I ask, genuinely confused.
“Being too charming.” She secures the last piece of tape and sits back, her work complete. “It’s time for bed, Lieutenant.”
We both stand, and she walks me to the door, holding it open for me. I hesitate at the threshold, gripping the handle of my toolbox with both hands.
The porch light casts long, uncertain shadows around us.
“Same time tomorrow?” she asks, voice thin as she nods toward my bandage.
I nod. Neither of us moves.
Then she adds quietly, “Bring a dry shirt next time.”
Her gaze flickers to the wet fabric clinging to my chest almost regretfully, giving me a little spark of hope.
I laugh, relieved she’s making jokes again. “Hey, it was dry when I arrived. Your sauce attacked me.”
She smiles—a real one, but it’s still tired around the edges. I want to say something brave, but I step out into the cool darkness with a final wave and turn away. The click of her door closing behind me rings in my ears.
I head down the walkway, my chest pinched in the best and worst way, replaying our weird evening together and wishing that goodnight didn’t have to mean goodbye.
7
LILY
In the morning quiet, my patio chair creaks as I settle deeper into it, wrapping both hands around my coffee mug. Sunrays slice through the palm fronds, painting zebra stripes across my bare legs. I close my eyes and inhale the bitter steam, letting the calm seep into my bones. No need to entertain anyone. Or frantic searches for missing toys. And no negotiations over how many bites of breakfast must be consumed before leaving the table. Just forty-eight hours of freedom stretching before me like an empty highway.
“Good morning, dear!”
I nearly launch my coffee into orbit. Agatha is leaning over her railing, decked out in one of her colorful kaftans.
“Sheesh, Agatha.” I cough out a sip of coffee that went down the wrong pipe. “You scared me.”
“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” She beams, unapologetic. “Perfect for enjoying some fresh air.”
“It is,” I agree, mourning my shattered moment of peace. Agatha is lovely but also the worst chatterbox.
“Soooo”—she draws out the word—“did you get the sink sorted last night?”
I take another sip of coffee, buying time. Her chipper tone has me on high alert; she must already know the answer and has probably monitored the comings and goings of my apartment from behind her curtains. “I did. Josh fixed it for me.”
