Chapter 41
I carry the journal upstairs, pausing at the threshold of Erin’s bedroom before forcing myself to cross it.
I start to slide the book into a desk drawer—hoping to never look at it again—then stop.
The last thing I want is for Phoebe to find it, read it, and start asking questions I’m not ready to answer.
I shove it in my bag and sit on the edge of the bed, trying to banish the images crowding my mind—images of Mick and Erin together.
I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, thinking of Erin and me, in this very spot, sharing secrets—not keeping them.
—
That night, sleep comes in shards. My dreams are piecemeal but vivid: Erin calling my name from the orchard, Phoebe laughing somewhere I can’t reach, Mick’s silhouette dissolving into snow.
—
Before dawn, I’m up for good. I want to call Dean and tell him what I found out. But once again, I decide he deserves to hear it in person. I send him a short text instead, saying I can’t wait to see him later. I’ve never meant it more.
I head downstairs and feed Hank, letting him out the back door. The sky is the color of pewter, dew beading on the grass. Hank noses the ground, tail sweeping, oblivious to the wreckage.
I jog to my parents’ house, take a quick shower, and pack my suitcase. Then I lock up and drive back to Joan’s in the rental. It’s hard to believe Dean just left yesterday. It feels like a different lifetime.
I park in the driveway and go back inside.
With nothing left to do, I brew a pot of coffee, trying to keep my mind as blank as possible.
—
A little after ten, I hear Joan and Phoebe coming down the stairs. I take a deep breath and put on a smile that feels like a mask.
“Morning!” I say as they round the corner.
Phoebe wipes her eyes, then blinks. “Are you leaving today?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“When do you have to go?”
“In a couple of hours.”
“When will you be back?”
“Very soon. And in the meantime, we can start talking about New York,” I say.
She smiles.
I smile back. I can’t wait to get her to the city—a place without a land mine buried under every memory.
—
I make pancakes for breakfast. Phoebe and Joan chat while they eat. Joan sounds lucid this morning, and I cling to it.
I clear the dishes, then text Mick: Leaving the house at 12. Can you be here for the handoff?
He texts back: No problem.
—
A few minutes before noon, Mick’s truck pulls in. I’m standing in the driveway with Phoebe and Hank.
Mick parks and steps out. He looks like he hasn’t slept.
“Morning,” he says, his voice rough.
“Good morning, Mick!” Phoebe says.
I look right past him before turning to hug Phoebe.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you, too,” she says.
I climb into the car and pull out of the driveway with a quick goodbye honk.
In the rearview mirror, Mick waves beside Phoebe as if nothing has changed.