Page 35

“But the rest. The bar, the Riverview, the gallery. Paul, that is a lot of Renny.”

Everything is a lot of Renny now. More Renny than when he was here.

“He built those things,” I say. “We built them.”

“Did you?” Her expression softens. “I’m not saying that to hurt you.”

“I appreciate the intent.”

“Paul.”

“No, please. Continue explaining my life to me.”

She exhales. “I’m saying you spent years maintaining a world that was mostly shaped around him. Maybe losing some of this would be terrible. Maybe it would also make room.”

“For what?”

“I don’t know. You?”

The answer should feel kind.

I laugh once, quietly. Jessica picks up her iced tea and takes a sip. The ice shifts in the glass.

“I’m on your side,” she says.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

She is on my side. That’s the irritating part. This would be easier if she were simply wrong.

I look down at my untouched sandwich. “I can’t lose the house. I just can’t.”

She reaches across the table, then stops before touching my hand. People are all very careful with me now. Like I’m a museum piece with proximity alarms.

“Okay,” she says.

Jessica picks up her fork again. I pick up my sandwich.

Neither of us takes a bite.

Don arrives at my house with a tote full of photographs, two bottles of wine, and a bag from Sweet Stuff.

“I come bearing carbs,” he says when I open the door.

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I’m not kind.”

He steps inside without waiting to be asked, because Don treats boundaries as suggestions.

He pauses in the foyer and looks around.

People do that now. They enter the house and look for signs of change, then fake a smile when they don’t find any.

Don only does it for a second.

Then he lifts the tote bag. “Where do you want the mess?”