Grace sat at the kitchen table, both hands wrapped around her water glass, staring at nothing. She looked wrung out. Emptied. But also somehow lighter, like confessing the secret had lifted some of the weight she'd been carrying.
"What do you need?" I asked, sitting across from her.
"I don't know." She laughed, but it was hollow. "I don't even know where to start."
"Doctor's appointment. That's first."
"I know. I've been putting it off."
"We'll make one this week. I'll drive you if you want."
Grace looked up at me. "You don't have to do that. Drive me, I mean. I can handle it."
"I know you can." I took a sip of coffee that had gone cold. "But you shouldn't have to."
She was quiet for a moment. Her thumb traced the rim of her water glass.
"Sixteen years," she said finally. "And I still don't understand you."
"What's to understand?"
"You just lost Sarah. You're dealing with your own stuff. And here you are, offering to drive me to doctor's appointments." She shook her head. "Most people would've stopped showing up by now."
I thought about that. About the summer I was fifteen, when my father died, and my whole world cracked open. She showed up with a box of cinnamon rolls and sat with me while I stared at nothing. She didn't try to make me talk. Didn't tell me it would get easier. We sat shoulder to shoulder until the silence felt less like drowning.
She probably didn't even remember. It was one afternoon out of thousands. But I'd never forgotten.
"You sat with me once," I said. "After my dad. You didn't have to, but you did it anyway."
Grace's brow furrowed. "Owen, that was?—"
"Sixteen years ago. I know." I shrugged. "Some things you don't forget."
Grace's eyes filled again, but she blinked the tears back. "I don't deserve you."
"Don't say that."
"It's true."
"It's not." I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine. "You deserve someone who shows up. Everyone does. I'm just glad I get to be that person for you."
She stared at our hands for a long moment. Then she turned hers over, laced her fingers through mine, and squeezed.
"Thank you," she whispered.
"Always."
We sat like that for a while. The kitchen was quiet around us, the morning light streaming through the windows, the sounds of breakfast service continuing in the other room.
Somewhere deep in my chest, a voice whispered:Is this enough? Will this ever be enough?
I pushed it away. This wasn't about me. This wasn't about what I wanted or what I needed or the hollow space that Sarah had left behind. This was about Grace, and what she was facing, and being the friend she needed me to be.
That was enough. It had to be enough.
I helped her to her feet, and we went back to work.
The B&B didn't stop just because Grace's life was falling apart. That was one of the cruel things about running a business. The world kept turning, no matter what was happening in your personal life.
