Chapter 46
As we pull out of the orchard, the sun hangs low, turning the horizon gold. The truck rattles over the gravel, the rearview mirror catching the last gleam off the apple rows. Behind me, Phoebe hums, the tune half-formed, her forehead pressed to the window.
Mick glances over his shoulder. “Want to stop by the Waters and visit Gram?”
“Yes!” Phoebe says.
As we drive, Mick and Phoebe play Twenty Questions while I watch the scenery blur by, thoughts of Erin’s journal creeping back in.
I shut them down once again, determined not to let my grudge color the day.
It feels disloyal to Phoebe—and to the version of myself who just swore in front of a judge that I would put this child first.
When we pull into the Waters, the sky has deepened from gold to rose.
Inside, we’re escorted into the memory care wing. We find Joan in a chair by her window, her legs wrapped in her yellow quilt.
“Hi, Gram!” Phoebe says, rushing in.
Joan blinks, her eyes cloudy at first, then clearing with recognition. “Hi, sweetheart.”
Phoebe kneels beside her, curling her fingers over the armrest.
“Guess what, Gram? Billie’s moving to Wisconsin!”
Joan looks up at me. “Of course she is.”
Mick and I exchange a glance.
“Erin always said you’d come back one day,” Joan continues, her voice thin but even.
My breath catches. Mick goes still. Phoebe smiles.
“She was right,” I whisper, leaning in to kiss her cheek.
As Joan’s gaze drifts back toward the window, I look at Mick and feel something shift inside me—not quite forgiveness, but a recognition that things are rarely black and white.
—
On the drive home, Phoebe tells me about a science project that’s due next week and asks if I’ll be back in time to help her. I tell her yes—that I’ll return Monday morning. Mick focuses on the road, one hand on the wheel, the other on the console.
When we pull into the driveway, Phoebe runs inside.
Mick turns toward me. “Are you coming in?”
I shake my head. “I should get back. I’ll call Phoebe to say good night.”
He nods. “Can I drop you at your parents’?”
“No, thanks. I’m in the mood to walk,” I say, though I don’t open the door.
He looks at me, then clears his throat. “That was wild—what Joan said tonight. It almost felt like Erin was speaking through her.”
“I know,” I say, a chill running through me.
He exhales. “Billie—I know you’re still mad at me—”
“I’m less mad than I was,” I say, meeting his gaze.
“I hope so. I really am sorry.”
“I know you are. And one day, we can talk about it all. For now, we need to focus on Phoebe.”
He nods. “Well, thank you for showing me some grace—and for stepping up the way you have. I know it’s not easy to put your life on hold.”
“You’re welcome,” I say. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
We sit in silence for a beat before I say goodbye and slip out of the truck.
I take my time walking back to my parents’ house. The night is quiet and, for a moment, uncomplicated.
—
I find my parents at the kitchen table. My mom heats up lasagna, and I eat while they ask practical questions about how the next six months will look. I tell them about my plan to work remotely—and Dean’s promotion—explaining that we’ll probably do long distance until permanent custody is settled.
All the while, I’m relieved they don’t know about the questions still hanging over us.
After dinner, I head upstairs to get ready for bed. I call Phoebe and tell her good night, then debate whether to call Dean. My thumb hovers over his name. Then I set my phone on the nightstand and crawl under the covers, letting the silence sit between us.
—
The next morning, my alarm goes off at six. I shower, pull on jeans and a sweater, then zip my carry-on.
Downstairs, my mom hands me a travel mug of coffee and a banana.
“See you soon,” she says.
“Yep. Monday,” I say with a sigh.
She gives me a serious look, then says, “I know this is hard. But you’re doing the right thing.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, thinking of Dean. “I really hope so.”
—
On the way to the airport, my dad talks about the Brewers and the road construction near downtown. I murmur responses, but my thoughts are already back in New York with Dean.
At the curb, my dad gets out, pulls my bag from the backseat, and hugs me hard.
“Text when you land,” he says.
“Always.” I blow him a kiss, then turn and roll my bag toward the sliding doors.