Page 59 of All The Ways to Miss You

“It’s still beautiful, just needs a little TLC.”

“Ada would be disappointed.” He shakes his head.

“She knows you’re doing the best you can.” When I hug him, his shoulders wobble beneath my touch. I draw back and crouch beside him. I keep a hand on his arm, rubbing its length.

“I’ve been greedy holding on to it. I did it believing she was part of this house, that our life together was this house. I tried to let it go a few years back, but it felt like I was giving Ada away. But her spirit isn’t here; I can see that now.”

“Maybe it’s because she’s been inside here all along.” I place my hand over his heart. “And in here.” I touch the side of his head. “Those are the only places she needs to be—with you.”

His teary eyes widen. “How’d you get so smart?”

“Must be from talking to you.”

He returns my smile. The ruddiness of his skin fades with his lifting mood.

“I have an idea. Why don’t you show me around and tell me how it used to look? I want to know everything.” I hold out my arm. He latches on and stands with a grunt.

We walk slowly through the living room, dining room, small kitchen, enclosed screened porch, two baths, and three small bedrooms. He shares stories about how Ada called him potato-head when she was mad at him for not taking out the trash, about where he hid her Christmas gifts, and that they stashed a time capsule in the walls, but he won’t reveal where. Inside this tiny home is seventy years of love and laughter.

Hearing him share the stories of his life, my lonely half wishes for a love so deep, like Ozzy and Ada’s, that despite everything, I would never let go. It’s too late for me now, but if it happened before, maybe my life would be different today.

twenty-six

“Ozzy agreed to sell you the house?” Aggie sits on the sofa next to me, her position mirroring mine. Her legs are folded beneath her, and she’s hovering over a plate of food. Her hand holding a fork hangs midair, while several strands of spaghetti stretch from her plate to her fork to her mouth.

“I can barely believe it myself. As soon as Lakeman signs the deal, I’ll draw up the papers.”

I’m so close to my goal, I’m giddy. My head bobs to the pop music we have playing in the background as I slurp my pasta. Red sauce splatters my cheeks. I’m carb building for tomorrow’s marathon. The race is another personal goal I’ve been working toward.

“So, when can I see my room?” She sets her plate aside and wipes a napkin across her face.

“Absolutely not,” I mumble with a full mouth.

“Why must you force me to break into your place? You know I love sleeping in your bed while you’re out.”

I know she’s kidding, or I hope she is. I glance at the ceiling, recalling every time I returned home to a messy bed when I was positive I had made it that morning. I thought I was overworked and losing what was left of my mind. In reality, I was getting punked by Aggie.

“Just remember who saved your tushie the other day with my spare key. You owe me, Cait.”

“But if we lived together, you wouldn’t need to break in. You’d have your own key, not a secret one. Wouldn’t it take all the fun away?” I try reverse psychology. Yes, I want to be free like Aggie, but not live with her. This is where I draw the line.

“Hmm.” She ponders with a scrunched face and then concludes, “I hate when you’re right.”

A knock at the door draws my attention. I swallow what’s in my mouth and pause at the following uncomfortable silence. Even the music has stopped. My gut rolls, but there’s no sense in pretending we aren’t home. Whoever it is will have already heard Aggie’s loud mouth.

“I’ll get it.” Aggie saves me by circling the sofa and darting across the room. When she swings the door open, no one’s there. She swoops down and lifts a cardboard box from the hallway’s floor. She turns it around in her hands and reads the return label.

“Looks like it’s from Maryland.” She glances at me.

I choke in surprise, having to cough a few times to clear my throat. The emails. The calls. And now this?

“Oh, don’t freak out. It’s probably just from your parents or something.”

I hurl an inquiring glance in her direction. I never revealed where they lived. I’ve never even talked about them before, much less acted like they existed.

“Okay, so I know how to use Google. I stalked you online a little bit.” Seeing my wide eyes, she huffs and admits, “All right, all right, I stalked you a lot. Okay? And I may have chatted with your cousin over text.”

“Aggie . . .” I grab a pillow, not sure if I want to nail her in the head with it or shrink to the size of an ant and hide beneath it.