Louisa makes a soft, sympathetic sound and lays her hand over mine where it rests on the table. “Did you getanysleep?”
“Not much.” I ease my hand from under hers and sit back as Bea approaches. She seems to sense the somber mood because she doesn’t say anything as she pours my coffee. When she’s gone, I’m glad to have the distraction of adding milk and sugar to my drink so I don’t have to look at Louisa as I continue.
“You’d think after all these years and all the therapy I’ve had, it wouldn’t be a trigger anymore, but it is. Nowhere near as bad as it used to be, but I had trouble falling asleep, and then I dreamed about my mom most of the night. Nothing bad, just kind of…chaotic.”
My mom left shortly after I turned fifteen. She and Louisa’s mom had been close, and the death of her friend so shortly after her own mother’s death hit her hard. Six months after Mrs. Henshaw died, my mom sat me down one night and told me she was going away for a while and I wouldn’t be able to reach her. I was angry and confused; I needed her more than ever after everything we’d all just been through. I stayed up most of that night, trying to come up with a plan to get her to stay, but she was already gone the next morning when I woke up.
The first time I heard from her was months later when I turned sixteen and she sent me a combination birthday/Christmas card. There was no return address on the envelope, but there was a check for five hundred dollars inside. I couldn’t afford to be stubborn and not cash it since by that time, my dad had lost his job due to his drinking, and we were living assistance check to assistance check and depending on the food bank.
I never saw my mom again; her version of ‘a while’ turned into forever. I often wondered if she knew how much Dad and I struggled after she left. If she knew that things got so bad, Stella and Wesley’s parents took me in for the final year of high school so I could have some semblance of normality and routine, and be in a home where I felt loved, cared for, and safe. Over the years, I’ve tried to convince myself she couldn’t have known because if she did, it meant she didn’t care enough to do anything about it. To come home or take me to live with her, wherever she was.
My dad died of a massive coronary when I was twenty-three, and I never even heard from my mom then. Two years later, I received a phone call from a lawyer telling me my mom had died and I was the beneficiary of a substantial amount of money from her life insurance, plus all her savings. She had been living on the opposite side of the country, in British Columbia. A decade later, I still have no idea what she was doing all those years, how she made and saved so much money, or why she would pay into a life insurance policy that would be left to me after abandoning me a decade before.
I used a chunk of the money as a down payment on the house where I still live, and I invested most of the rest. Even though I’ve always had a steady job and more than enough money in my adult life, that traumatized teenager who still dwells within me is afraid to use too much of the money in case it runs out. I’ve used some of it for trips and home improvements, and I make regular donations to the center when we’re in need of funds, but otherwise, I don’t touch that money.
“I’m sorry, Hols,” Louisa says. From the look on her face, I know she wants to say more, and I’m guessing it’s not directly about my parents. We’ve had this conversation before.
I sigh. “Go ahead, say it.”
She shakes her head and picks up her tea. She holds the cup for a minute, then shakes her head again and takes a sip. “I know how difficult all of this is for you. How complicated and messy those feelings are. Have you talked to your therapist lately?”
“No. I keep meaning to call and make an appointment, but there’s so much else going on. I know what she’d say anyway. And I know part of it is whatyouwant to say right now, even though you’re trying to keep it to yourself.”
“If you know what I’m going to say, then I don’t need to actually say it, do I?” She gives me a cheeky smile that loosens some of the tightness in my chest.
“No, I guess not.”
“But…”
“Mmhmm.” I hide my twitching lips behind my mug. “Go ahead.”
“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to gently remind you of the fact it’s not your job to fund the center. Just like it’s not your responsibility to save everyone who needs saving, as much as you might want to.”
I sigh again. “I know.” And Idoknow. Intellectually, I understand that, but my heart is a different matter. It’s the same with Jordy; like Louisa’s ‘gentle reminder’, my friends have also ‘kindly suggested’ I might see Jordy as a project of sorts. The first time Stella brought it up, my reaction was indignance and denial. I’ve been working in community services in some capacity for well over a decade. I learned early on how necessary it is to compartmentalize and separate the job from the rest of your life, otherwise you’d live in a constant state of despair.
However, after mulling it over, I’d realized Stella was right, at least partly. Jordy reminds me of myself at that age in many ways, which makes it harder to compartmentalize with her. I want to help her, want to make life easier for her. She’s technically an employee, but we all know she’s more than that. Jobs like mine inevitably have some gray area and, despite my best efforts, I entered that gray area pretty quickly when it came to Jordy. I see her as a little sister of sorts, and I want the very best for her. Despite knowing I can’t solve her problems, Icanhelp her and give her some advantages she wouldn’t have otherwise. Is that so wrong?
The bells over the door jangle a second before Bea calls a greeting to Evie and Stella. Our friends pause to talk to Bea, and I turn back to Louisa.
“Can we not—”
She nods once, holding up a hand to cut me off. It’s not that I don’t want the others to know what we were discussing, but I think Louisa and I are both ready to move on to happier topics.
As the four of us sit together and the coffee finally kicks in, I relax into my seat and do my best to stay in the present moment. Thankfully, Stella does most of the talking. After everything she’s been through in the last few years—an unhappy marriage, moving back to Bellevue, struggling to find a job and a sense of purpose—it’s wonderful to see her so animated again. She gives us the latest updates on FandomTown, which is owned by Leland and his sister Felicity, and is opening in another couple of weeks.
Stella has just finished describing her and Leland’s plans for the weekend when movement catches my eye. I look up to see Wesley, Leland, and Fergus approaching the table. They greet us as they shift around some chairs so they can push the closest table over to join ours.
Louisa reaches across the table and taps my arm to get my attention. “What’s Spencer doing here?” she whispers.
My head whips up. In all the commotion, I hadn’t noticed him standing behind the others. He’s wearing a suit and tie, and he’s freshly shaved. Seeing him three times in less than a week is throwing me for a loop and causing my stomach to somersault at the same moment my heart gives a little flutter. The mixture of nerves and excitement nearly leaves me dizzy. I curse my body for its reaction to him.
“Hello, ladies,” he says, his eyes trained on me.
I murmur hello, relieved when the others give a more enthusiastic greeting. Spencer’s lips tug up on one side, as if he knows I’m stunned into near-silence by his presence.
“It’s so nice to see you all again and I wish I could stay, but I need to head to work,” he says. “Hollie, may I speak to you alone for a moment?”
“Sure.” Imagining my friends’ curious expressions, I avoid looking at them as I excuse myself and follow Spencer across the diner. He smiles and nods at Bea, who’s waving at him from behind the counter.
