Page 11

Selfish.

The lump in my chest pulls tighter. I rub slow circles over my heart with the heel of my hand, like that will somehow help. It doesn’t. The hardest part isn’t forgetting. It’s what forgetting means. The man deserves to be remembered every day. “I’m so sorry, Dad,” I softly say to myself. The tears come quietly, the way they always do when I think of him—not a sob, just a slow, steady stream I don’t bother wiping away.

He was taken too soon. Pneumonia, of all things. Something treatable. Something that, caught early enough, a course of antibiotics could have handled. But he was stubborn—God, he was so stubborn, and by the time his body started failing, there wasn’t much anyone could do. I had begged him to see a doctor. He’d waved me off with that look he had, the one that said he’d been taking care of himself long before I came along, and he didn’t plan to stop now. I was angry at him for that. Angry at myself for not pushing harder. Angry at the illness for being stronger than my prayers, because he was supposed to be the strongest person I knew. I hate myself a little for yesterday. For how easily I’ve set him aside. Like he’s something I could just put down and come back to later.

My breath drags in deep. It doesn’t help.

Without a conscious thought, I reach over and pull open the nightstand drawer next to me. Two orange prescription bottles roll around in the drawer. The plastic feels cool pressing against my palms as I wrap my fingers around both.

I think about him the way I always want to, laughing at something stupid on the TV, his eyes crinkling at the corners. But that image never stays long. It always gives way to the other one. The one I carry like a stone: standing in the Bitterroot Mountains, his ashes lifting into the wind. The man who had once filled every room he’d walked into was gone. Scattered. Beautiful and terrible all at once.

The white cap comes off easily. I tip the first bottle into my palm, orange ovals, my sleeping pills, maybe fifteen or so, and watch them in a cluster in my hand. I let the empty bottle drop. It rolls under the bed and disappears. Then I open the second one. The small white pills spill out to join the others, and I can’t tell you how many there are. Orange and white, all mixed together. I lean forward. Tears fall onto my wrist. Squeezing my eyes shut, I try to hear his laugh. I try to remember the way his eyes crinkled when he was proud of me. But those images are already fading at the edges in the folds of my mind, the way they always do, feeling more distant. Feeling the loss one more time, like I’m losing my dad all over again.

I know what these pills can do, how I’ll get sleepy, the kind of sleep that doesn’t demand anything, or make you remember, or carry the weight of being the daughter who started to forget, who just needed to be with the person who’d raised them. I let myself imagine it: slipping under while the world goes still. No more grief. No more guilt. No more waking up to a calendar that reminds me of the day my world crashed around me. That’s all I keep thinking about, being next to my dad.

Just quiet. Just nothing.

Just gone.

My drip coffee is already brewing when I pull out the dairy order from the cooler, barely missing the Oberweis truck by minutes. My hardware store doesn’t open for hours, so starting my day at Kitty’s cafe seems logical to stretch my day and keep my mind busy. Knowing Kitty usually starts her day with caffeine, I turn on her espresso machine and start to craft Kitty’s latte. I’m not the best, but I’m learning. Then a knock rattles the back delivery door. “Be right there.” I kill the steam on the espresso machine, wipe my hands down my cargo pants, and pull it open.

Loriann stands there, a crate of baked goods in her arms. Her face says I’m the last person she expects to see. “Kitty’s upstairs,” I say. She swallows hard and shoves the crate into my chest, harder than necessary, her face instantly flushing red.

“Oh! Sorry, I just—This is—Um.” Her eyes drop to the crate, then snap back to mine. “Sorry. I know who you are. The whole town does. The hardware grump... The nickname. Not that I—I didn’t mean, maybe I did? It’s just...” She pauses her rambling, then jabs at the crate as it offends her. “Baked goods. In there.”

I chuckle softly. Loriann and Kitty are in a working partnership, and if my girl, Kitty, is happy and her customers stay happy, I won’t have to deal with the unhappy ones. So, I smile, nod, resist the muffins, and stay focused.

My girl. Kitty is mine.

"I’ll let her know. Thanks, Loriann." As I say her name, a fresh, deep flush spreads up her neck to her cheeks. I don’t mention it. If she starts avoiding this place because of me, Kitty won't forgive me. "Does Kitty know what’s in here?" I nod at the crate, changing the subject.

Her blush softens, then her fingers start to fiddle with her necklace, twisting the chain as if it owes her. "It’s our routine now, you know? Fridays are scones and hand pies. She just knows." Loriann bites her lip. "Saturday’s order is in there, too. All labeled. Labeled for three years now." A nervous laugh. "Same order. Three years. Crazy, right?" She looks away before I can meet her eyes. I watch her lift her necklace and nervously bite it.

I nod briefly. "I’ll set these out for her. Thank you, Loriann." Using my foot, I shut the door as she turns and walks away. Through the door, I hear her exhaling. That has me smiling to myself with a short snort.

The crate smells amazing, tempting me to grab a muffin for Kitty, almost. Instead, I place the crate on the counter, then reach for her latte. At that moment, the orange fluff of a cat darts down the stairs, her meows sharp and urgent. “Hungry, girl?” I ask, even though I already know that isn't it. She chirps back—it’s not the lazy kind, more of the urgent kind—and starts circling my legs, winding tighter with every pass like she’s trying to tell me something.

Sunny darts for the stairs, pausing to glance back and check if I’m following. The other cats, stirred by her urgency, start following as well. Even Mr. Ned, who’s slow and usually unbothered, picks up his pace. His belly swings low as he lumbers toward me. That detail catches my attention. Mr. Ned never hurries for anything. Sunny Buns tears up the back stairs, her tail swooshing with agitation. The other cats follow, forming a small thundering herd of paws on the back stairs. I race after them, still holding Kitty’s latte. My pulse quickens even before I consciously sense something is wrong.

I take the narrow stairwell fast, Mr. Ned wheezing behind me. Exposed brick. Worn oak steps groaning under my weight. At the top landing, every cat sits in a tight cluster outside Kitty's door. Waiting. I glance back. Mr. Ned is struggling up the last few steps, his round cartoon eyes meeting mine as he pauses to catch his breath. Then Sunny buns stands on her hind legs and paws at the doorknob. That’s when I hear it, soft, muffled crying. My training kicks in without me thinking. I am alert, already moving.

Latte in one hand, I turn the knob with the other and push the door open. The cats don't wait; they bolt in. Even Mr. Ned finds himself nudging between my ankles and disappearing into the room.

“Kitty,” I call out. The cats race down the hall, the latte spilling down my hand. Kitty’s small sounds pull me forward. She is on the edge of the bed, head down, forehead pressed against her fists, shoulders shaking. Tears falling. “Hey.” I set the latte on her dresser without looking at it. “I’m here. I didn’t go anywhere.” Her eyes are rimmed red. Tears carve raw paths down her cheeks. I reach out, and my touch makes her flinch. She wipes her nose with a trembling fist, her whole body shaking from the inside out.

“I’m so s-sorry,” Kitty whispers. She tries to swallow it down, but her body won’t cooperate. More tears. More shaking. I don’t know what to do with my hands.

“No. Don’t.” I cradle her face, thumbs trembling against her skin, catching tears that leave streaks of heat on my hands. "Talk to me. Please. What’s happening? You’re wrecking me; I’m right here, sweetheart." My voice breaks on the words. I press my lips to the temple on her head and breathe her in. Her hands shake violently. Then, one white pill slips, hits the floor, and the moment splits in two as my heart falters. My eyes move from the floor to her fist. Those blue eyes of hers are still closed. The tears fall. I take a slow breath, the kind you take when you need to steady your body, then I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Gently. Carefully. Her eyes open. Regret. Shame fills the space between us. A chin that won’t stop trembling as she mouths sorry again. I ease her fingers apart. Valium. Ambien. A small, deadly pile of them in her palm.

Cold panic surges through me. I know that haunted gaze. Live with it, bleed with it. The darkness behind her eyes is an old, vicious friend, one I recognize immediately. Instinct screams: call for help. The other voice, deeper, demands I not leave her. Not for a second.

Sunny Buns presses close, chirping, as if pleading for me to understand. Kitty jolts. A gasp tears from her throat, eyes, then sound reason hits. “Oh my god,” she stammers, horror dawning thick in her voice. “I didn’t mean—I just—I wanted to—I didn’t.” Her palm opens, dropping every deadly sin onto the floor. She folds in on herself, words fracturing, body shaking until she nearly doubles over.

Years of PTSD therapy with Todd taught me to name what I am seeing. Depression. A trigger that almost becomes something else. What if I hadn’t been here? My knees are screaming from the floor, but I’m not moving. Not for anything. I’ve fallen for this woman, hard, and without permission. It’s her grief that is all over her face. She starts talking.

“My father died three years ago, yesterday. I felt so lost...” Her voice cracks on the last word. “I had to leave Seattle. I thought if I put enough miles between me and grief, the loneliness wouldn’t follow me.” I don’t say anything. I just listen. Really listen. “Being with you helped me forget, and then when you weren’t here when I woke up, and then I saw…” She inhales a deep breath. “I saw that I missed the day he died, and it felt like I should follow, you know? I can’t explain it. Just sadness filled my heart.”

Those beautiful liquid blues look up at me, my fingers still wrapped around her wrists, and then she says, “I see love with you,” as if the words surprise even her. Her tears finally dry up as we look at each other closely.