“Thanks,” she says sweetly, grabbing it and pulling a desk drawer open. “I had it made the day you got here, but I hadn’t seen you come out till now. Did I say that right? It’s Miss Adaire?”
“Just Lou is fine, but yeah.”
“Lou, great.” Keys chink together as she shuffles through the drawer. “I’m Claire.” She withdraws another bronze key and hands it to me. “Here you go. Should work better than the last, but if there’s a problem, feel free to let me know.”
I slip it into my pocket and smile back. “Thanks.”
“Absolutely!”
She’s looking at me with kind, wide eyes, eager to continue talking, and it’s sweet, really. Just like the nurse at the hospital and like everyone else in this town seems to be so far. But I don’t yet have the energy to keep up with such enthusiasm, so I thank her, wave goodbye, and head back toward the front door.
A crisp breeze hits the bare skin on my hands and neck when I step outside. It wafts through my hair, and I fold my arms around my chest, shivering as I walk. ApparentlyLA coldhas a vastly different meaning thanKansas cold. This is going to take some getting used to.
It’s the first week of January, but the trees and shops are still decked out in red, green, and yellow Christmas lights. A woman pushes past me with her young daughter, muttering something about bringing a scarf next time, and an attractive couple holds hands as they wait to cross the street. There’s nothing sad in these people’s eyes, nothing but signs of contentment, and it brings a slight smile to my lips. It might be silly, but I imagine a young Grams walking beneath the colorful lights, wearing that same expression on her youthful face. Maybe holding Mom’s small hand as they walked through the neighborhood.
After dropping off the postcard, I notice a library to my right and decide on a whim to step inside. This is the longest I’ve gone without a phone, thanks to Tuttle Creek Lake. I figure I should at least check my email in case the realtor has news on Grams’s house.
Check-in at the front desk takes a while, but then I claim an open computer in the corner and log in to my Gmail account.
Two unread emails: one from the realtor and one from Bobby.
I start with the realtor, hoping against hope there’s good news, even if it has only been a week since I listed the place. It’s a short email, informing me that he’s just sending an update and there haven’t been any hits yet. I groan. The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can put it behind me and try to move forward. I type up a quick reply to let him know I’m without a cell phone but can be reached at the Ashwick Inn or by email.
I know I could get a new phone, but I don’t want to just yet. I kind of like being disconnected right now. Jamie won’t be affected by it. We were nine years old when we met through the pen pal program at our separate public schools—mine in LA, hers in Simi Valley—and communicating through good old-fashioned letters is a tradition we’ve proudly stuck with since.
I return my attention to the computer and open Bobby’s email.
Baby, I get it, alright? But you don’t have to ignore my calls and texts. Just wanna make sure you’re okay, see where you ended up. Look, I know it’s been rough but you don’t have to deal with this shit on your own. You know you can always come back to me. I know how to take care of you. Come on, just hit me up.
I let out a long sigh. He rarely calls me ‘baby’ in person anymore, not since we broke up, but he likes to sneak it into texts and emails. It’s only been four days since I left. Just how many times has he tried calling and texting me?
Sure, it only took one day for me to drive into a lake and practically die, but he doesn’t know that.
Maybe I shouldn’t be so hard on him. After all, he and Jamie are the only people left to check up on me now. There’s something that gets under my skin about the way he does it though, like I can’t be out on my own. And,I know how to take care of you, really? Yes, Bobby, for a long while there, you did know how to take care of me. But over these last couple of years . . . I think we both know what that line really means: I know how to take care ofhim.
I sit up straight and pull my shoulders back like I have something to prove. I don’t know where it comes from, but the words just come popping into my brain, rolling down my arm and out of my fingers until I have a fabulous load of crap typed up on the screen in front of me.
Bobby,
I’m doing well. Found the perfect town in Kansas for me to clear my head. Think I’m going to settle in for a bit, get comfortable. Get a job. Thanks for your concern, but I’m doing great on my own. No need to wait up.
Lou
I hitsendwith a smug smile on my face, but it’s wiped away by the time I exit the library and step back into the fresh winter air. I’m not doing great on my own, unless being a great liar counts.
Claire is still standing behind the front desk when I get back to the inn, and she smiles and waves when she spots me. “Miss Adaire!” she calls, as if we hadn’t seen each other only twenty minutes ago.
“Just Lou,” I remind her.
“Right, sorry. How was your walk?”
I settle somewhere in between the truth and a lie when I answer, “It was nice, thanks.”
“Gorgeous in the winter, right? It’s my favorite season.” I nod in agreement, surprised that we have something in common. “The holiday cheer, winter festivals, family bonding—it’s just so magical, so full of hope and love.” She stares out the window dreamily, blue eyes sparkling, and suddenly we are back on different wavelengths.
“Something like that, yeah,” I reply, amused by her pink and fluffy cotton candy take on things, and begin to turn toward the stairwell.
“Miss—uh, Lou?”
