Chapter 28
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Keane
Saturdays feel stagnant. There’s not much to do. I mean, I could go to the farm and help with the lavender. Nydia, the owner, says it’s pretty therapeutic. At least that’s what she said when Rowan introduced me to her. She’s the wife of Mane Cantú. The drummer of Too Far From Grace. Zeke invited me to lunch, but I don’t know if I can be around his family. Ethan, his husband, never liked me much. And then there’re the children. They seem nice, but I like to avoid anything that makes me think of my losses.
That includes happiness, beautiful women—hence I’m avoiding the yoga center—and of course children.
Sitting on the edge of the dock feels like the only thing to do right now. My boots dangle over the edge, a mug of coffee cooling in my hands. The warmth seeps through the ceramic, offering a sense of stability I can’t quite put into words.
It’s early, the air crisp and cool, carrying the faint scent of pine and lake water. I should be at peace, but the silence isn’t comforting today. It’s intrusive, pressing in its own way, as if daring me to confront everything I’ve been avoiding. The mug in my hand is solid and real, a small, tangible thing in a world that seems untethered.
I’m about to take another sip when I hear it. A soft rustle behind me, footsteps on the gravel path that winds down to the dock. My shoulders stiffen, and I glance over my shoulder, half-expecting one of the locals to be there, ready with some well-meaning but unwelcome attempt at conversation. But it’s not a local.
It’s a kid.
She’s small, maybe five or six, with brown hair pulled into uneven pigtails and a stuffed rabbit clutched tightly in her arms. It’s the girl from the other day. Okay, it’s either a ghost, or I’m not crazy. She stops at the edge of the path when she sees me, her eyes wide and uncertain. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the silence stretching out between us.
“Hey,” I say finally, my voice rough from disuse. I clear my throat, trying again. “You lost?”
She shakes her head, her grip on the rabbit tightening. She doesn’t say anything, just stands there, her gaze flicking from me to the lake and back again. There’s something in her expression that tugs at something deep inside me, something I’ve been trying to bury for months.
“You live around here?” I ask, keeping my voice low and even, like I’m talking to a spooked animal. She nods, but she still doesn’t speak. Her eyes are big, impossibly brown, and they’re studying me like I’m some kind of puzzle she’s trying to figure out.
I set the mug down on the dock beside me, leaning back on my hands. “You like the lake?”
This time, she nods again, her gaze drifting to the water. She takes a hesitant step closer, her shoes crunching softly on the ground. She’s close enough now that I notice the smudges of dirt on her knees and the way her socks bunch unevenly around her ankles. There’s something disarmingly innocent about her, something that eases the tension I hadn’t realized I was carrying.
“You think your parents will be worried about you?”
She shakes her head.
I almost snort, because if she were mine, I’d be out of my fucking mind looking for her. “Where do you live?”
She points to the house next door. Ah, so the lady isn’t alone. She has a child. Okay, so she’s probably some single mother cleaning her house and needs a little break.
“You want to sit?” I ask, gesturing to the dock beside me. She hesitates for a moment, then nods, stepping onto the wooden planks. She moves carefully, like she’s not sure if it’s safe, and lowers herself to sit a few feet away from me, her rabbit still clutched to her chest.
We sit in silence for a while, the only sounds the soft lapping of the water against the dock and the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze. I don’t try to talk to her again. Something tells me she’ll speak when she’s ready—if she’s ready. Instead, I pick up my mug and take a sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest.
“Is that your house?” Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, but it startles me all the same. I glance at her, then follow her gaze to the small cabin behind me.
“Yeah,” I say. “That’s mine. We’re neighbors.”
She nods, hugging the rabbit tighter. “We just moved in.”
“Oh.” I’m not sure what else to say to that. “You like it here so far?”
She shrugs, her gaze fixed on the water. “It’s quiet.”
There’s something in the way she says it that makes me think she doesn’t mean it as a compliment. I study her for a moment, trying to piece her together. She’s too young to hold the kind of burden I see in her eyes, but it’s there all the same, unrelenting and impossible to ignore.
Maybe her parents divorced. God knows how much it fucked me up when mine fought back when I was her age. Instead of asking questions I say, “Quiet’s not so bad. Sometimes, it’s what you need.”
She doesn’t respond, but she doesn’t pull away either. Instead, she sets her rabbit down on the dock beside her, smoothing its ears with small, deliberate movements. “What’s his name?” I ask, nodding toward the rabbit.
“Fufu Flops,” she says, her voice so soft I almost don’t hear her.
“Good name,” I say, and for the first time, she looks at me. There’s a flicker of something in her eyes—curiosity, maybe—and it’s enough to make me want to keep talking. “You bring him everywhere?”
She nods, her fingers still smoothing the rabbit’s ears. “He’s my friend.”
The simplicity of her statement cuts through me, sharp and unrelenting. I glance down at the mug in my hands, turning it slowly between my palms. “Friends are important,” I say. “Even the stuffed kind.”
She tilts her head, studying me again. “Do you have a friend?”
The question catches me off guard, and I feel a laugh bubble up, bitter and hollow. “Not really,” I say. “Guess I’m more of a quiet guy.”
She doesn’t respond to that, but the silence feels less heavy now, less suffocating. We sit there for a while longer, the sun climbing higher in the sky, the lake shimmering like a field of diamonds. I can feel the tightness in my chest loosening, just a little, and I wonder if maybe—just maybe—this moment is what I needed, too.
“Rayne,” a voice calls out, filled with desperation. “Rayne Valencia, I swear you’re going to give me a heart attack.”
The words ripple through the stillness, and I glance toward the girl sitting at the edge of the dock. She doesn’t react, doesn’t turn toward the voice. Her small figure is hunched, her legs swinging slightly above the water, her arms wrapped protectively around Fufu Flops. The stuffed rabbit is well-loved, its fur worn thin, one ear drooping as if it, too, is weary.
“That’s you?” I ask softly, not wanting to startle her.
She nods, her gaze locked on the lake, the tension in her grip the only sign she’s heard me.
“You should probably go before your mom gets upset,” I say, though the raised voice coming from the other house it obvious her mother is fucking pissed.
“She’s not my mom,” the girl says, her voice flat, distant. “She’s no one.”
Her words settle between us, raw and unguarded, and for a moment, I can’t speak. She shifts slightly, her small shoulders rising and falling as if shaking off an invisible weight.
“You should still go. Ms. No One sounds worried,” I murmur, though it feels pointless, as if I’m speaking more for myself than for her.
She stands, slow and deliberate, cradling Fufu Flops close to her chest. Against the backdrop of the lake, her frame looks impossibly small, her steps quiet as she moves with care.
“Bye,” she says, her voice soft, a thread of sound that carries across the water.
“Bye,” I reply, my own voice faltering as I watch her start up the path.
I sit there long after she disappears into the trees, her absence amplifying the quiet around me. The dock feels different now, lonelier somehow, as I sit cross-legged, staring at the lake. Its surface ripples faintly in the moonlight, the movements subtle but constant, as if the water itself is alive with secrets.
Her words replay in my mind, sticking like burrs. She’s not my mom. She’s no one.
What kind of life leads a child to say that with such finality? The thought churns inside me, an ache I can’t ignore. It feels like I’ve brushed against something far deeper than I’m equipped to handle.
I drag a hand down my face, exhaling slowly, trying to ground myself in the quiet of the day. But my mind keeps drifting back to her small figure, the way her voice sounded almost resigned, and the way she clutched that rabbit like it was the only thing tethering her to this world.
I can’t shake the sense that this moment mattered, that it wasn’t just another passing encounter. Whatever it was sits uneasily in my gut.