21. Sunrise Again
Sunrise Again
Maren wakes before her alarm, the kind of early where the sky is still more gray than blue.
Sleep clung to her in pieces through the night, breaking every time her mind circled back to the office, to Reese’s voice, to the weight in her chest that hadn’t settled yet.
She pulls on a sweatshirt and drives to the lake without thinking, letting habit steer her the last few turns.
The morning air is cool enough to raise the tiny hairs on her arms as she steps out of the car.
The lake is quiet, flat as glass, barely stirring under the soft pink edge of sunrise.
Maren walks toward the shoreline, hands in her pockets, the smell of wet earth and pine settling something in her that the pool never quite reaches.
She barely gets ten steps down the worn path before she hears footsteps behind her. Not cautious. Not loud. Just steady.
Maren turns.
Reese slows from a jog to a walk, breath puffing in short bursts in the chilled air. She pushes a loose strand of hair out of her face and gives Maren a small, tired smile.
“I guess when I said I’d see you tomorrow…” Reese says. “I didn’t think it would be this early.”
A quiet laugh escapes Maren before she can stop it. “Same.”
Reese shifts her weight, stretching her calf muscles. Maren studies her for a second — the reddish flush on her cheeks, the rise and fall of her breath, the way she looks both exhausted and grounded in the same time.
“Where’s Rowan?” Maren asks.
“Still at my mom’s. We stayed there last night.” Her voice warms just a little. “She likes waking up with Grandma. And… I think my mom likes it too.”
Maren nods, letting the quiet settle for a moment.
Reese keeps her gaze on the lake as she adds, “It’s easier, staying there sometimes. Her house is next door to ours.”
Maren nods, the kind of nod that isn’t permission or agreement, just understanding. The lake is still in front of them, soft morning light spreading across its surface in thin, gold ribbons.
Reese shifts her weight from one foot to the other.
“North Carolina was…” She stops, jaw tightening for half a second.
“It was supposed to be home. For all of us.” Her voice dips, just slightly.
“But after she passed… nothing felt right there anymore. I kept trying to make it work. For Rowan. For me. But the house was too quiet. The town was too small in the wrong ways.” She lets out a short laugh with no humor in it.
“Every street felt like I was walking alone.”
Maren looks down at her shoes, giving Reese the space to keep talking or stop. Reese takes it.
“When my mom got sick last year, that was it. I packed up the house. Put what I could in storage. And we came back.” She shrugs like it was simple, but her voice betrays her. “It felt… easier. Familiar. Like the ground wasn’t moving under my feet.”
“And your mom?” Maren asks quietly.
“She’s doing better,” Reese says, and her face softens for the first time. “Not perfect. Not… how she was. But better. Some days she needs help, some days she doesn’t. Rowan likes being close. I think it makes both of them feel safe.”
The word safe lands between them, quiet and heavy.
They stand there for a moment, both looking out at the water, as if the lake can absorb everything they’re not saying.
Maren lets her gaze follow the slow ripple of the lake, the soft rise and fall of the water brushing against the shore.
The quiet settles over her in a way she didn’t know she needed.
Listening to Reese talk, really talk, hits something deep in her chest that she tries not to examine too closely.
She feels the ache of it, but also something steadier, something that feels almost like a truth resurfacing.
Maybe coming home isn’t always a choice.
Maybe sometimes it’s a pull. A place that waits for you even when you’re sure you’ve outgrown it.
She draws in a slow breath, letting the cool morning air sink into her lungs, and for the first time since yesterday’s practice, her heartbeat evens out.
Reese shifts beside her, toeing at a loose stone on the path. “I didn’t mean to dump all that on you,” she says finally, voice low. “It just… came out.”
Maren doesn’t look at her right away. She keeps her eyes on the water, lets the morning light settle in her chest before she speaks. “You don’t have to apologize,” she says. “Not for telling me the truth.”
Reese goes still. A small pause.
Maren glances over, just briefly, just enough. “I’m glad you told me, “She adds, softer than she intends. “I… want to understand what’s going on with you. With Rowan.”
Reese’s expression shifts, subtle and vivid all at once. Surprise first, then something gentler, something that looks a little like relief. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Okay.”
They stand there together for another moment, shoulders angled almost toward each other, the sunrise stretching long across the lake. It’s not closeness, not yet. But it’s something. A door cracked open.