Page 93 of When the Smoke Clears

“Is that a yes to going?”

She wrinkles her nose and looks around. “I’m not sure because I really need to keep working.”

“I’m here until Sunday. What if I help you tomorrow before Friendsgiving dinner?” I don’t recognize the voice or the words so effortlessly falling from my lips. It’s as if I want her to go hiking with us.

“Careful, Will.” She grabs a broom and sweeps up sawdust around the saw. “If you spend too much time with me, you might miss me when you’re gone.”

“Stop beating this dead horse.” I squat and hold the dustpan.

“You used to be more of a romantic.”

“I used to be a lot of things.”

“What happened?”

I stand and dump the sawdust into the trash bin next to her saw. “My dad got sick. And it’s made me jaded and disillusioned. My mom’s watching him slowly die, and it’s an awful end to their life together. I think ’til death do us part is cruel. Sometimes, I want to tell my mom to get a train ticket and head as far east as it will take her. Find a new life. A new man. And close the book. This story is over. It’s not a happily ever after, so why finish?”

“This is the romantic part.” Everleigh bites the finger of her glove and tugs it off.

Why do I find that so sexy?

“Wanting to be with someone until one of you takes your last breath is the ultimate love. Anything less isn’t love. It’s lust. Infatuation. Maybe companionship. But love is when you can’t buy that train ticket because a part of your heart is bound to theirs until one of you takes your last breath. And then, in that moment of unimaginable grief, freedom is born. I imagine it’s like learning to walk again. A little unsteady at first. Scary. Lonely. Then one day, you realize Celine Dion was right.”

I narrow my eyes.

She grins. “Your heart will go on.”

I don’t want to grin, but dammit, this woman isn’t just smart, she’s witty. “Are you giving me crap about Titanic again?”

“I would never.”

“Do you make Celine Dion references with your patients?”

She tucks her gloves into her back pocket. “Of course not. Most of my patients are children. They don’t know who Celine Dion is. But I knew an old man like you would get it.”

My smile falls short of believable, and I see it reflected in her eyes and downturned lips. I’m so happy to see her, but it doesn’t change what’s waiting for me in Somers.

“I’ve read a lot of books,” she says, hands folded in front.

I nod. She’s probably read more in the past month than I have in my whole life.

“A lot of theories about life. Its purpose. Where we come from. Where we’re going. But I think we know nothing. I think the deeper you go down the rabbit hole of science, the closer you’ll get to the conclusion that we’ve not even skimmed the surface of understanding life. I think we’re just here to love.”

“Love?”

Everleigh nods.

“That’s it. You think it’s that simple?”

She laughs. “You haven’t been listening. There is nothing simple about love. If it were, I would be out of a job; police wouldn’t be needed. There would be no crime. No poverty. No war. But love is complicated. So”—she shrugs—“here we are.”

“Well”—I turn away from her and pinch the bridge of my nose—“my father can’t love his way out of this. I will never get his voice out of my head, the way it breaks when he calls me in a confused state. His last shred of lucidity tells him something awful is happening. He says, ‘I don’t know what I’m supposed to do. It’s awful.’”

I blink past the burning in my eyes. Dammit. I don’t want to cry in front of her. “So”—I look at the ceiling—“what am I supposed to say to that?”

“What do you say?” Everleigh asks in a soft voice.

Again I laugh, but it’s more of a grunt. Gritting my teeth, I swallow past the lump in my throat. “I say, ‘Yeah’”—my voice cracks like his—‘“it is awful. And there is nothing you can do about it. And it’s not okay, but it’s life.’” I wipe the heels of my hands along the corners of my eyes. “When he’s dead, it will be okay. But he’s not dead. He’s . . .”