She nods on a heavy swallow.
“Now, let’s get you sorted out. Do you have a pad?”
“No. I left all my stuff in the classroom.”
And her teacher never even came to look for her? The hell?
“All right. Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
I give her a wink, then I fly out the door, down the hall to my room. I close everything down and grab my purse and sweater I keep here because my room has a tendency to get cold. Then I go for the English class I think I’ve seen Stella walk into before and sure enough, her stuff is where she left it. And the room is completely empty.
Not even two minutes later, I’m back in the bathroom with Stella, who is hiding once again in the stall. “Here, hon. I have a pad you can use, some makeup wipes to clean up your legs, and a sweater you can tie around your waist to hide your skirt.”
“Thank you, Miss Wilde.”
I snort. “Stella, it’s after school hours, and I’m not only your neighbor, but we’re in the middle of a girl emergency. I think you can call me Elle.”
She doesn’t reply, but a few minutes later she exits the stall, looking a million times better. She even has a hesitant, albeit slightly embarrassed, smile on her lips. “Thank you, Elle.”
“That’s what friends are for. But my advice if you get irregular periods is to keep an extra pad on you—hide it in your shoe or somewhere on you—as well as keep a sweater or something in your locker that you can tie around your waist. Or you can always text or call me, and I’ll come running.”
Now that embarrassed smile turns broad and genuine, her eyes sparkling. “Thank you,” she says again, and I give her a hug before handing off her school stuff.
“How are you getting home?”
“It’s Wednesday. My dad works late on Wednesdays, so I typically walk home if no one in my family can pick me up.”
“Wonderful. I’m hoofin’ it too. You can keep me company.”
“How come you don’t have a car?” Stella asks as we finally—after two miles—reach our street.
“Just haven’t gotten around to buying one yet. The reason I picked this house is because it’s close to town and close to the school. Besides, I get four miles of exercise in a day this way.”
“Something tells me after the snow comes, you’re going to want that car.”
I snicker. “Something tells me you’re right.” We stop on the sidewalk in front of her house. Their house is larger than mine by a lot, but still not what you’d think of when you think Fritz.
She juts her thumb over her shoulder. “My dad bought this house when I was only a few months old,” she says, almost as if she’s reading my mind. “My mom and dad had just graduated college, and my dad was about to start medical school at Harvard. I think he’s regretted buying it ever since. We have that large fence, but it’s not always enough. Paparazzi used to camp out on our lawn for weeks. He’s threatened multiple times to buy us a place with more privacy, better security, but I don’t think he could ever sell this place. He has about fifty different sketches and designs for his dream home, but they just kind of sit in his office, untouched.”
My breath catches. “Because of your mom?”
Her eyes glass over even as she smiles. “My mom loved this house.” She shrugs a shoulder. “Or so he tells me.”
“She must have been very special.”
“Wanna come inside? See her picture? Check out my greenhouse?”
I hesitate for so many reasons. I’m dying to check out the inside of Landon’s home. To catch more of a glimpse of the compelling man who feels like a mystery I should never attempt to solve. But my curiosity about him, my intrigue, is why I should say no.
Bridget was right.
I need to keep my distance. He’s far more tolerable when I can’t stand him, and the more I’m around him—the more I learn of him—the more I worry I’ll soften my hard disposition.
But looking at Stella, her oh so hopeful expression, knowing the shitty afternoon she’s already had and the idea of her going into that big house all alone…
“Sure. I’d love to come in.”
I’ll just have to make sure I leave before Landon comes home.
However, as I step over the threshold, I wonder if I just made the mistake of my life. This house. It. Is. Everything. Everything I was afraid it would be. Perfect. Gorgeous. Expertly decorated and finished with the highest-end touches naturally. It screams wealth and money without being over-the-top.
But who cares about that?
It’s the homey feel of it. The way there are shoes sitting in a neat row by the side door in the mudroom—since that’s where we entered. The smell of vanilla and something masculine, like Landon’s cologne. The way the furnishings are comfortable and accessible and inviting without being pretentious and forbidden. The number of pictures lining mantles and walls—all family.
Stella is everywhere in this home.
It’s a living, breathing tribute to her and the love her father has for her. It’s his way of saying your mother might be gone, and we had you very young, but you’re all we ever wanted. If I was ever curious about Stella’s mother’s appearance, I don’t have to look far.
Her face is nearly in every picture. Holding Stella. Kissing Stella. Smiling at Stella.
She is a reminder of love. Enshrined for eternity. Gone, but far from forgotten.
And no matter how hard I try, I cannot contain how choked up it makes me. I can feel the ache as it weeds through me, planting roots and setting up shop. I hold in tears, but it’s an act of sheer will. One I barely master.
I lost my best friend to Lake History in the Badlands of South Dakota. History. Do you feel it? Why I took up said profession? That’s not entirely why, but it holds a place too. Her parents took us to see the national parks when we were fifteen. My parents never did anything special with Cat and me, so this was the trip of a lifetime. Erika and I shared a tent, and when I woke up one morning alone, I went searching. It didn’t take me long. Her body had washed up on the shore of our campsite.
I still don’t know what happened. All I can assume—hope—was that she sleepwalked out of our tent sometime overnight while I slept and went for the water.
Awake or asleep, I’ll never know.
Intentional or accident, again, I’ll never know.
Her parents stopped talking to me after that day. They blamed me for not waking up to stop her. Hated me for surviving when she didn’t. Erika was my star and their shining light.
All I know is that I lost my best friend that day, and Stella lost her mom in a lake, and I hate that I feel that connection, but I do. It makes me want to tuck her under my mended wing and promise I’ll teach her how to fly one day because that’s a talent we all need, and everyone deserves a person in their corner teaching them how.
“That’s her,” Stella says when she catches me standing by a picture of newborn Stella in the arms of her mother with her father smiling at them both like they’re his sun right by their side. Honestly, it’s his smile that’s holding me here. None of his smiles I’ve seen have come close to this.
“She’s gorgeous.”
And that’s no lie.