“He is. And boyfriend.”
“So that’s why I’ve seen him climb your stairs fairly late at night,” Mrs. Green comments.
“When he climbs my stairs and why is not your business, Mrs. Green,” I say, and I’m not even trying to be kind anymore, which I know I will regret later. “And what happens in this house—my house—is not Paul Turner’s business either. If you want to continue to have a neighborly relationship with me, then I suggest you remember that. Good night.”
I shut the door firmly, but I don’t slam it. I can hear her let out a loud huff on the other side, and thanks to the single pane windows, I can hear her muttering all the way down the stairs.
“Well I never! That Jackson boy was such a delight. He wouldn’t want some Hawkins hellion in his house with his wife. I just…Oh my word. Why did he marry her?”
Half of me wants to swing the door open and really let her have it, but the other half of me just wants to go to bed and cry. I let that half win. Because my quiet night at home has turned into an emotional rollercoaster. I shouldn’t be surprised. I’ve had a lot of highs and lows since the crash. I used to burst into tears randomly for years, but I’ve been under control for a while. Everything went to shit tonight.
Mrs. Green’s words hurt. I know it’s not my fault Jackson died. I know he wouldn’t want me to be miserable for the rest of my life. I know but…My cell rings from where it’s charging on the bed side table. I see Denny’s number on the screen. “Hey Denny.”
“Sorry to call so late,” he says. “I’m on a shift and just realized it’s past eleven after I dialed. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I was awake,” I say and try to sound upbeat. “What’s up?”
“I wanted to let you know I talked to Paul and made it clear that he needs to back off or I’ll help you file that restraining order,” Denny says and his voice is grim. He hates fighting with his brother, but to be fair, he did it a lot before Jackson died. Neither Jackson nor Denny got along with Paul, but Jackson tried harder and made Denny try harder. “I’m sad to say I don’t know if it made a difference. He’s obsessed with that damn house.”
“I know,” I sigh. “Thank you, though, for the back-up. Whether it works or not, I’m very appreciative.”
“You sound down. Everything else okay?” Denny asks. “I have time to talk if you want. I’m on a break. Just sitting in my cruiser sipping a coffee outside a donut shop. You know, to keep up appearances.”
I smile at that. Denny is a police officer just across the border in New Hampshire. Although Jackson and his family moved a lot, they lived in Vermont, Massachusetts, Georgia, and Hawaii before Jackson turned eighteen. Paul, Denny, and Jackson ended up back in New England as adults, where both their parents had been raised.
“I was having a good night and a good few weeks actually, but then…I wasn’t,” I say, not knowing how much I can confess to him. Denny has been a good friend since Jackson died, and he’s said before he wants me to start dating, but now that I am I’m worried I can’t be honest with him.
“Okay…” Denny says tentatively. “So let’s investigate. Why were you having a good night? What changed that?”
“I was doing some work for a client, scouring social media for posts about them, and I stumbled onto your Instagram,” I say vaguely and bite my lower lip. “And saw that pic you have of Jackson eating lobster rolls at Hawkins.”
“Shit. I haven’t looked at that picture in ages,” Denny says.
“It was taken when we first moved to Maine and…well, moving on never gets easier. Even when you think it is, something blindsides you.”
“But you are moving on, and that’s great. No one wants you to be alone and sad forever, Chloe,” Denny says and after a pause. “So did you find someone to potentially move forward with? Is that why the guilt is resurfacing?”
“Yes,” I say and hold my breath waiting for his reaction.
“I’m happy for you, Chloe,” Denny says and pauses for a moment. I can hear him let out a heavy breath.
“Den, you’re a very good friend, and that won’t change no matter where things go with…” I bite my lip again to keep his name from falling off my tongue. I’m not ready to share too much information. “This guy or anyone else for that matter.”
A short burst of air hits my ears from Denny’s side, and I know he’s let out a soundless little laugh. I know he’s grinning cheekily right now. “This guy? I’m a good friend, but I don’t get a name?”
“Not yet. It’s new. Give me a minute,” I reply and sit up higher against my headboard. My fingers run over the butterfly bandage on my forehead.
“It’s been five years,” he says. “Of course you’re still going to have fleeting moments of survivor’s guilt but don’t let it steal happiness from you, Chloe. And when things get serious with This Guy, give me his date of birth and full name so I can background check the hell out of him.”
I laugh and Denny chuckles. “Be kind to yourself, Chloe. I have to run. Gotta keep the mean streets of Portsmouth safe. Last night a raccoon pillaged four trash cans on one street and the town is up in arms.”
“Night Denny. Be safe. And thank you.”
I put the phone back down, turn off my light, and snuggle deep under the covers. Boss is snoring at my feet, and Stevie walks up the side of the bed. She licks the tip of my nose once before curling into a ball right next to me. I’m suddenly exhausted, which is good because I drift off immediately before the guilt can seep back in.
But it feels like I’ve barely blinked when I’m awoken by my phone ringing again. My heart lurches as I bolt to a sitting position. The room should be pitch black, but it’s not. There’s a horrible orange glow bouncing off the walls which is filtering in from the gap in the curtains on the front window. The ringing stops. I glance at it and see the call was from Logan, and the time is three forty-four in the morning. And then it starts ringing again.
“Logan,” I say hoarsely, my voice less awake than I am. “Are you—”
