“I’m sorry,” he croaks out, an apology for something.
Always an apology.
“You’re good. I was just looking for the bathroom.”
He sniffles, squeezing his little legs to his chest as he blinks back tears. “There’s one on the second floor. It smells like old lady perfume.”
“Old lady perfume?”
“Yeah, like my Grams.”
My lips twitch. “What’s your name?”
“Owen.” The boy relaxes a bit, his knees straightening until his legs dangle off the edge of the bed. He looks young, maybe seven or eight. But his eyes tell me he’s seen more than the average kid his age. “What’s your name?”
Hesitation grips me. I don’t like sharing things about myself—even my name. “Parker.”
“Hi, Parker.” A little smile forms on his mouth, something innocent. Something that hasn’t been stolen from him yet. “Will you be back?”
I nod. “Yeah. I’ll be back.”
We share a final exchange before I dip out the doorway and traipse back down the hall to the staircase. I hesitate in the landing, my jaw taut, my teeth clenched together, then fish through my pocket for my phone.
Opening Magnolia’s message, I finally send a reply.
Me: I did see the sunrise. But I don’t think I saw what you saw.
—EIGHT—
Me: QOTD: Pineapple on pizza? This could potentially be the turning point for us, so choose wisely.
Zephyr: It’s trash. That isn’t a matter of choice—only fact. But pickles are a different story.
Me: You passed. I’m just going to sit back and relish in your answer.
Zephyr: Punny.
Me: I think you meant cheesy. *pizza emoji*
Zephyr: Also punny.
Me: The best puns come in pears.
A smile stretches as I curl into the corner of the couch, pulling my ankles up beside me. I nibble my lip, sending him one more message.
Me: Did you see the sunrise this morning?
Zephyr: I did. But I don’t think I saw what you saw.
A sadness sweeps through me, as it always does at his reply. I’ve asked him that question every day for the last ten days, and his response hasn’t changed.
I flinch in place when Leah slides down the couch and peers over my shoulder, trying to sneak a peek at my messages. “Girl, you have that look on your face. Who are you talking to?”
“What look?” I wonder absently, closing out my e-mail app.
“That look I haven’t seen in a long time.”
This catches my attention, and I’m certain “the look” promptly fades. A sudden surge of guilt permeates me, as if I were just caught doing something wrong.
Was I?
Is it wrong to smile again, to feel a small weight lift with each passing day, to watch the sunrise every morning with hopeful eyes instead of an insatiable yearning for sunset?
Is it wrong to communicate daily with the man who has Charlie’s heart?
Is there something wrong with my heart for wanting to move forward and live a life without him in it?
Leah gives a pinch to my thigh, her gilded eyes twinkling when our gazes meet. “That’s not a bad thing, honey. That’s not a bad thing at all.”
“It feels like I’m cheating on his memory—on what we had together.” My confession is heavy, enveloping us both in a dense cloud. “It feels like a betrayal.”
“What does?”
I swallow. “Living.”
Leah runs her palm up and down my jean-clad thigh, her softness the antidote to my thorns. “Mellie, listen to me. Living is the greatest honor you can give his memory. Do you really think Charlie would want you to walk around like a zombie every day, with that smile he loved so much snuffed out?”
My eyes water.
“I know it sounds cliché, but he would want you to be happy. Truly happy. And I think, deep down, you know that, too,” she finishes.
The back of my throat feels tight and prickly, like I swallowed a mouthful of needles. “I told you Charlie was an organ donor…” I begin, eyes slipping down to the little pink polka dots on my ankle socks. “I, um, located the recipient of his heart, and we’ve been… talking.”
Leah blinks, eyebrows dipping. “What?”
“It’s all anonymous. I promised him I wouldn’t invade his privacy or ask personal questions. I honestly didn’t think he’d ever contact me back, but… he did. And it’s been helping me with the healing process.”
“Babe.”
Her tone is a little bit of love and a whole lot of warning. I continue to stare at my socks. “It’s nothing, really.”
Leah lets out a hard exhale, her lips puckering as she falls back against the couch cushions. “Your therapist and support group are there to help you heal, Mellie. This sounds… messy.”
“It’s totally innocent,” I counter.
She spears me with a pointed look. “The fact that you need to tell me it’s innocent makes me wonder.”
I clench my jaw, trying not to let her words sour the little bit of joy I’ve managed to pull from the rubble. My correspondence with Zephyr has heightened over the past week and a half, and while our conversations are vague and casual, there is still something earnest, something deeper, hovering beneath the repartee and easy exchanges. There’s good advice. There’s heart.
There’s hope.
And I think there’s something else… a blossoming connection.
Something kindred.
Something potentially messy.
Zephyr strikes me as a broken soul, much like myself, only he’s broken in a different way. Longer, maybe. His pieces are scattered in the wind, some long gone.
But broken is broken, and we cut ourselves the same.
Leah nudges me with her toes when she catches me zoned out, picking at my fingernails. “You know I’ll never judge you, right? I’m not trying to hinder any progress you’ve made. Shit, girl, nothing compares to seeing you smile again.” We share a tender look. “Just be careful. And don’t tell West… you know he’ll get all weird about it.”
Speaking of West, his timing is impeccable.
The front door busts open and my brother saunters through, a little grin unfolding when he spots Leah beside me on the couch. “Morning,” he mutters, kicking the door closed with his heel.
“What are you doing here?” I inquire, but it’s a baseless question. West always drops by unannounced.
“Dad said to take a look at your bathroom, and I finally have some free time. The master, right?”
I frown. “I’m good, West. I hired someone already. He should actually be here within the hour.”
West slips out of his shoes anyway, eyes locked on Leah. “Sweet. I’m off the hook.”
“How is Dad? I need to stop by for dinner. I’ve been so busy.”
“He’s good. Still overfeeding the dog. Still pissing off Mom.”
I let out a chuckle, despite the pit that forms in my chest when I think about visiting Mom and Dad. I love my parents, I love them so much, but they remind me of him. They remind me of the life I no longer have. When I look at them, I see dinner dates with Charlie, I see bonfires in their backyard, I see my wedding day, my father walking me down the aisle and my mother weeping in the front row.