But the night before that, she sat in the middle of her bed with Lennox’s photo in front of her, eyes fixed on the glass—on his eyes—talking to him.
“I have a doctor’s appointment tomorrow, and going will make all of this real,” Rylee whispered to the photo in front of her. “What would you say to me right now?”
She swore she felt Lennox’s steady, comforting presence lingering in the air the way it did on the good days—warm, quiet, and familiar.
“I’m not prepared for any of this… at all, Lenny.”
The kids were asleep in their rooms, the brownstone quiet. Rylee’s bed was still made, and she was showing no signs of pushing back the covers to drift off to sleep. She wasn’t tired.If anything, she was too awake for this late hour. But her mind was inundated with questions, all centered on the baby growing inside of her.
“And through it all, I can’t help wondering what you would tell me,” she admitted, lifting the photo now and brushing her finger down his face. “Because I think I know what I want, but then I don’t know if you’d want me to want that. I don’t feel I know how to honor you and still move forward.”
She placed the photo back on the bed and tossed herself onto her pillow, eyes fixed on the ceiling now.
And maybe that was what scared her most…
Wanting this baby.
And wanting Xander there with her right now, too.
“Well,” Mr. Walker began, focusing on the children. “Who wants to paint downstairs in the studio so Mommy can have that talk with Grandma?” He looked to his wife, then Rylee, and winked. “…and Grandma can tell me all about it after?”
Rylee giggled.
“Me! Me!” both Nova and LJ shouted, jumping up with their hands raised.
“Perfect,” Mr. Walker replied, nodding toward the basement where he kept his art studio. “I’ve got everything set up already. Let’s go.”
As they cleared out, Mrs. Walker nodded toward the kitchen and led the way, Rylee following close behind.
The Walkers’ brownstone was her second home. It was a place she’d spent a lot of her life, from the time she learned to walk to that moment there, with the children whose father was a man she’d been friends with since birth.
The residence breathed artistry. Mrs. Walker’s elegance danced through the décor, with soft linens and textured upholstery, while Mr. Walker’s wild color splashes—in both paint and spirit—nailed their personalities to the walls. Literally.
They were artists... Mrs. Walker, a retired ballerina turned studio owner, and Mr. Walker, an acclaimed portrait and landscape artist whose work was displayed across New York City.
For a brownstone, it was surprisingly airy. With an open floor plan, velvet furniture, and larger-than-life windows.
Rylee loved it here. Loved it even more because she got to see pieces of Lennox everywhere… because everywhere in this home held memories of her and Lennox’s time spent here, from childhood right up until his death.
“Coffee?” Mrs. Walker asked as Rylee settled into a seat at the kitchen table.
Rylee smiled. “I’ll take some tea. Anything you got should be fine.”
“Tea?” Mrs. Walker folded her long arms and leaned her lower back against the counter opposite the table. “NowI’m worried.”
Rylee scoffed a laugh.
“My biggest coffee drinker in the family is asking for tea.” Mrs. Walker winked as she rounded the island, heading for the stove. “Luckily for us, I just made some tea shortly before you got here, so the water’s still hot in the kettle.”
“Perfect timing,” Rylee said softly, running her hand along the surface of the table.
She traced a small stain on the wood, her mind drifting. She remembered exactly how it got there… from the science project she and Lennox did back in middle school. His mother had told them to work in the living room, but of course they didn’t listen. The vinegar and baking soda from their volcano had eaten into the table. The Walkers were able to salvage most of the surface, but that one spot remained. Stubborn… just like them.
“So,” Mrs. Walker said, placing the tea in front of Rylee. “What’s going on, baby girl?”
Rylee tucked her lips into her mouth and rubbed them together.
“You call me on a Tuesday and tell me you need to talk.” Mrs. Walker reached across the table, taking Rylee’s hand. “I’m silently panicking.”
