"It was at first. I didn't like it when I first got there. I was so used to being invisible, staying quiet, making myself small. At the Hendersons and the group homes before that, noise meant attention and attention meant punishment. And suddenly I'm in this house where everyone notices everything and wants to talk about it. Where Rosalyn asks about my day every single night at dinner. Where the kids want to play games with me and include me in everything." I pause, remembering those first few months. "But I got used to it. Now I can't imagine living any other way. The silence feels wrong when they're all at school and the house is empty."
"What does Rosalyn do? When she's not wrangling all those kids?"
"She works part-time at a daycare in the mornings. Just a few hours, four days a week. Helps with the bills without being gone all day." I smile, thinking about her. "And she hums when she cooks. She doesn't even realize she's doing it half the time. Mitchell teases her about it and she gets all flustered and denies it."
"That sounds nice."
"It is. They're good people. The best people I've ever known." I lift my head to look at him, needing him to see my face. "What about you? Tell me more about your life here. The stuff I don't know yet. I want to know everything."
Jay is quiet for a moment, thinking. "There's not much to tell. My life isn't exactly exciting."
"There's always something. Tell me about Mick. You've mentioned him but I want to know more. What's he really like?"
"Mick is..." He searches for the words, his face thoughtful. "Gruff. Doesn't talk much, doesn't waste words on things that don't matter. But he shows up. Every single day, he shows up at that shop. And when he does give advice, when he actually says something instead of just grunting, it's always worth listening to."
"What kind of advice does he give you?"
"Stuff like, 'A clean engine runs better than a dirty one, and the same goes for your life.'" Jay almost smiles, a soft curve of his lips. "He's not wrong. Everything he says is simple but it sticks with you."
"What about the diner? Tell me about Betty."
"Betty's been at that diner forever. Since before I moved to town, probably since before I was born. She knows everyone's order before they sit down. She calls everyone 'hon' even the truckers who come in looking rough. She refills your coffee without asking, knows when you need space and when you need to talk. She's the closest thing I have to a friend here. Besides Mick. Maybe the only two people who would notice if I disappeared."
"That's something. That's more than nothing."
"It's not much. It's barely anything."
"It's more than you think." I settle back against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. "What else? What about after work? What do you do with your time?"
"Come back here mostly. Watch whatever's on TV. Try to sleep but usually just lie awake staring at the ceiling. Count the tiles. Try not to think too much. There's this stray cat that shows up sometimes. Behind the motel, near the dumpster where they keep the trash. Skinny orange thing, missing part of its ear like it got in a fight and lost. I started leaving food out for it a few weeks ago."
"You feed a stray cat?" I can't help but smile.
"Don't make it into a thing. It's not a big deal."
"I'm not making it into anything. I just think it's sweet, Jay. That's sweet."
"It's not sweet. It's just a cat that needed food and I had extra sometimes."
"A cat you feed regularly. Because you're a good person who sees something suffering and tries to help even when you're suffering yourself."
He doesn't respond to that. But his arm tightens around me, holds me closer.
When I can't put off leaving any longer, I force myself to get up from the bed even though every part of me wants to stay.
"I need to go. I don't want to, but I have to."
Jay sighs and nods. He doesn't argue, doesn't ask me to stay longer even though I can see in his eyes that he wants to. He knows I have people counting on me. He understands responsibility.
We walk out to my truck together. I throw my bag in the back seat and turn to face him. He's standing there with his hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched forward, looking like he's bracing for a blow. Like he's expecting this to hurt.
"Hey." I step closer, pull his hands out of his pockets, hold them in mine. "This isn't goodbye. Do you understand me? This is see you later."
"I know. Logically, I know that."
"I'll call you tonight. Nine o'clock exactly. You can set your watch by it. And next weekend, I'll be back. Friday night, as soon as I get off work. I'll drive straight here."
"I know all of that. It doesn't make it any easier to watch you leave."
