Here we are, alive and able to tackle another day.
As my head hits the pillow again, I find it impossible to fall backinto slumber as I repeat the same question over and over. Because “the wind” isn’t a sufficient answer.
How did that door really open?
Amelia’s phone alarm sounds as sunrise breaks, rousing Wes, too. I’m up first, eager to check the doors, before putting on a pot of coffee. To my relief, everything is secure.
The dated machine on Mom’s granite countertop hisses and bubbles as black liquid fills its base. As I stare into it, bleary-eyed, a distant shadow crosses the glow from the living room windows. My pulse spikes—until I whip around and see Wes heading toward the kitchen.
“Whoa,” he says, hands in front of him to showcase innocence. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”
We both chuckle awkwardly.
“Clearly losing my mind over here,” I say, hopping onto the counter.
Wes walks into the kitchen, leaning his tailbone against the opposite counter. “Nah, you’re just going through a hard time,” he says. “You have infinite hall passes for crazy in my book.”
Even half awake, Wes looks impressively composed. Handsome. Put together. Maybe it’s because we’re still mere acquaintances, but he always carries himself with this respectful, relaxed ease.
“Well,” I sigh. “I really appreciate you coming out here last night. I know it’s dumb. But it made me feel a lot better.”
“Nothing dumb about it.” He waves his hand down. “I’m here for you girls. Especially with everything you’re going through.”
I smile, but the silence that follows makes me fidget.
Wes fills it. “And, hey, I don’t have to head into work for a few hours. Want me to help around here? Be Amelia’s stand-in?”
I consider it—for the extra help, for the chance to know him better. Besides, I’d prefer not to be alone all day. More hands make for faster work.
The idea of burdening him further takes over. Guilt wins.
“I’ll be all right, but thanks. Really,” I say with a grin as the pot beeps. I pour coffee into three mugs, handing him one as Amelia walks in.
“All right, kids.” Amelia smiles, taking hers. “Tonight… Back to School Night. I’ll be out late. Maybe till eight thirty? Nine? It starts at seven, so I’m going to prep my classroom after school,” she adds, pouring a splash of milk into her cup.
I open my mouth to reply but can’t.
How did I forget about Back to School Night?
Great. Alone again at nightfall…
Reading my face, Amelia adds, “Sorry that I can’t help with the house today. And that you’ll be here by yourself.” She frowns. “I promise I’ll rush home afterward. I’ll even tackle some boxes when I get back.”
Wes intervenes. “Again, I can totally help out. Or come back later,” he offers kindly. “I know where you live.”
I laugh at myself. “Guys, I’ll be fine.” And I mean it. I know I’m safe. I’m just not used to being in an actual house with multiple bedrooms and giant curtainless windows. It’s making me overreact. I can pack up a house, for God’s sake.
Wes and Amelia finish their coffee and file out of the house. It’s still early, so I decide to enjoy the rest of my cup on the deck with a book. Then I’ll spend the day downsizing Mom’s garage.
A sharp knock at the door, followed by the doorbell, jolts me out of my planning. Expecting it to be Wes, I walk over and whisk it open without thought.
Standing in front of me is a woman. It takes me a moment to place her. At least ten years have passed since I’ve seen her.
“Look at what a beautiful woman you’ve grown up to be,” says Rory’s mother, Mara, her tone gentle, chipper.
“Hi, Mara.” I beam, reaching out for a hug. She hasn’t changed much—same long chestnut hair down her back. Chic, earthy style. The kind of woman who seems to grow younger with age, probably thanks to yoga and health products from the market she owns. “It’s nice of you to come by.”
“I know it’s early, but I saw Amelia leaving with a boy and thought you might be here,” she says warmly. “I wanted to check in and see how you’re holding up. God, we’re all devastated. What a shock it must be for you both.”
