Page 73 of We Are Just Us

Vera was still talking, apologetic and kind, and Rory was reassuring her with the same steadiness he used for everything. Kieran was standing right next to them, hearing none of it.

Wife. Rory had a wife. Had been married. Had lost someone and never said a word about it.

Eventually Vera excused herself—touched Rory’s arm one more time, gave Kieran a look that was half apology—and disappeared back into the crowd.

Rory turned to him. “Kieran.”

“It’s fine,” Kieran said.

His voice came out level. Almost pleasant. The tone he’d used at his mother’s funeral when people asked how he was holding up.

Rory studied his face. “It’s not fine.”

“We don’t have to do this here.”

“Kieran.”

“Let’s see the rest of the installation.” Kieran heard himself say it like he was listening from another room. “Vera said there’s a piece in the back corner we haven’t seen.”

Rory looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded.

They walked through the rest of the exhibit in silence. Not the comfortable kind. The kind that had weight and edges and a shape they’d both have to acknowledge eventually.

Kieran stopped in front of pieces he didn’t see. Nodded at things he didn’t register. He was aware of Rory beside him, the warmth of his shoulder, the careful distance he’d opened between them.

I don’t know this person.

A plain, disorienting fact that didn’t make Kieran angry…yet.

He’d built a version of Rory in his head, assembled from porches and beaches and shared meals, from the way he laughed and the way he touched and the things he chose to say, and that version never included a wife.

A dead wife.

A grief so large it apparently reshaped Rory’s entire life, and Kieran hadn’t even known it existed.

What else don’t I know?

They left around nine-thirty. The night air was cool and smelled like jasmine. Kieran breathed it in and felt nothing.

Outside, Rory said, “I should have told you.”

“Yeah. You should have.”

That was all. The muffled sound of the installation still humming through the warehouse walls behind them, and neither of them moved.

“I’m parked on Vulcan,” Kieran said.

“I’m around the corner.”

Another silence. Then Kieran turned and walked toward his car. He didn’t look back. Rory was still standing there, watching him go. Kieran knew it without looking back.

He drove the ten minutes home with the windows down and the radio off, but the silence stretched it longer. When he pulled into the driveway, Rory’s side was dark. His truck wasn’t there yet.

Kieran sat in his car, hands on the wheel, staring at the two front doors. Twenty feet apart. Both dark.

Then he went inside.

The dogs greeted him with their usual chaos, Hank nosing his hand, Mabel doing her full-body wag, and he crouched down and let them climb over him.