4. Lucy
four
Lucy
One Month Later
I’m in trouble… big trouble. Summer break starts in two weeks, and I still don’t have another job lined up for next school year. I’ve applied to every school district within an hour of Willow Bend, and despite refreshing my inbox repeatedly, I still haven’t heard back from any of them.
I’ve already agreed to work for the summer daycare program at the preschool because I knew I wouldn’t get my first paycheck at a new teaching job until August, and I need something to get me through until then.
My poor savings account is nearly drained, and I don’t have a way to rescue it right now.
Between my appointment with the endocrinologist Dr. Pennington referred me to and the insulin pens, testing strips, lancets, and glucose tablets I have to buy regularly, I’m watching my money disappear faster than I can replace it.
The front door of my apartment creaks open as my sister steps in.
Sloane sets her purse and keys down on the little table we have by the door and kicks her shoes off as her brown eyes scan the room.
Her long, dark hair is woven into a loose and fluffy braid, a hairstyle I’ve always been jealous of.
She has a beautiful wave pattern in her hair and can easily pull off that effortlessly thrown-together look.
My hair is as straight and fine as angel hair pasta.
When I attempt an effortlessly thrown-together hairstyle, it looks like I haven’t brushed my hair in a week.
She smiles when her eyes land on me, but something about it looks hollow. “Hey, Lu. I wasn’t sure if you’d be home yet.”
I nod as I grab the remote, turn the TV down, and tuck my feet under my skirt on the couch. “Yeah, I had my endocrinologist appointment today. So, I took the afternoon off. I thought we could walk over to the coffeehouse for Thursday Night Bible Study together if you want.”
She crosses the small living room and walks through the tiny kitchen, stopping at the sink to wash her hands.
She’s a dental hygienist and a stickler about keeping the germs she encounters at work out of our living space.
“Yeah, I’d love that,” she calls from the sink.
“I might try and get a quick shower first, though.”
I check the time on my phone. “Yeah, you should have enough time.”
She bites her lip and nods, standing in the space between the living room and kitchen like she’s trying to make up her mind or work up her nerve.
I frown as I watch her shift her weight from one foot to the other. “Is something wrong?”
She sighs and crumples into the armchair beside her. “No. But… I need to ask you something, and I’m dreading it.”
I sit up and lean toward her. “What do you need to ask me?”
Her eyes dart between mine, then she focuses her attention on her fingers twined in her lap. “Well, as you know, after the wedding, Aiden and I are planning to move into a rental house that his parents own.”
I nod, which she clocks with a glance, then she continues, “The people who were renting that house from his parents moved out a couple of weeks ago and failed to mention that there was a water leak in the kitchen. There’s significant water damage and a big mold problem that they have to repair before we can move in… which might take months.”
I continue nodding, already seeing where this conversation is going. Her wedding is in July, just over two months from now. “So, you need to find a new place to stay for a while.”
Her eyes narrow, and she shrugs as her gaze drops from my face to somewhere around my right elbow. “We were wondering if we could stay here until the remodel is finished. We’d be good roommates, I promise.”
I chuckle and shake my head. “Sloane, I love you. I love Aiden, and I love the two of you together. But I will not be sharing this microscopic apartment with the two of you as newlyweds. I’ll find somewhere else to stay for a bit. It’s not a big deal.”
Her eyes find mine and widen. “Are you sure? That’s a lot to ask of you, especially now when you’re trying to find a new job. You can stay here—”
I shake my head. “Nope. Y’all need your own space, and so do I. Maybe I can stay with Reese, Em, and Skye. Or find an affordable short-term place. I’ll figure it out. Worst-case scenario—I’ll stay with Mom and Dad for a bit.”
Sloane winces. “Ooh. Are you sure you’re okay with taking that risk?”
Our parents are great, and we love them immensely.
But their parenting mode is always on. It’s not a bad thing; I just prefer to do my own laundry, pack my own lunch, and enjoy my own space without having to answer a hundred blunt questions every hour.
I value my independence too much to spend my life under my parents’ wings.
It’s best for all of us if this little birdie only comes to visit the nest occasionally.
I clear my throat and nod, trying to reassure my anxious sister. “Yes, I’m sure. I’m confident the Lord will provide and take care of everything I need.”
She releases a long breath, her shoulders dropping in relief. “Thank you, Lu. I owe you big.”
I roll my eyes and wave her off. “You do not. It’s not that big of a deal.”
She raises a brow, and I chuckle. “Okay. Maybe you owe me a little bit.”
She laughs and stands, running her hands down the legs of her bright pink scrubs. “Maybe more than a little bit. Especially if you end up with Mom and Dad.”
“Even if I do, it’ll be temporary. I can handle it.”
She crosses the space between her armchair and the spot I’m occupying on the couch, dropping a kiss on the top of my head as she strides down the short hallway. “You’re the best sister ever, Lu.”
“Yes, I am, and I expect a trophy.”
She laughs from her bedroom. “Done. I’ll have one made next week.”
“Make sure it says, ‘Lucy Jane Burke, the World’s Greatest and Most Selfless Sister.’”
My joke is met with silence, so I rise from the couch and walk down the short hallway to her bedroom door. “Do you think they could make it look like me instead of one of those faceless statues? Maybe it could—”
I come to an abrupt halt in Sloane’s bedroom doorway as I notice she’s standing frozen in the center of the room with a pair of jeans in one hand and her phone pressed to her ear with the other. Her wide, glassy eyes and trembling chin make my blood run cold. “What’s wrong?”
Her eyes meet mine, full of tears, and her chin quivers as she swallows. “It’s a voicemail from Mom.”
My heart hammers in my chest, and dread fills my stomach with a leaden weight as Sloane listens to the rest of the message.
She drops the phone onto her bed and draws a shaky breath. “She said that Violet and Landon were in a motorcycle wreck… and they didn’t make it.”
I clutch the doorframe for support as tears well in my eyes, and my breath catches in my chest. “What about Quinn?”
“She’s okay. She was with Scott. Mom said they were going for a quick ride and didn’t plan to be gone for more than an hour.”
I set my hand on my chest, trying to remind myself to take full breaths as the tears in my eyes spill down my cheeks.
Logically, I knew they wouldn’t have had Quinn on the motorcycle, but I needed to hear that she was okay.
I swallow roughly. “Did she say anything about Nate? He wasn’t working, was he? ”
Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “I hope not.”
I don’t think I’ve stopped praying since Sloane and I got the news a few days ago.
I’ve been in constant communication with God over this tragedy—begging for peace, comfort, and understanding for all of Violet and Landon’s family and friends; asking Him why something so awful had to happen to such good people; and sitting with Him in silence, waiting for answers that haven’t come yet.
I couldn’t really afford to take time off, but I also couldn’t bring myself to teach preschoolers all day.
Violet was always like a sister to me. Landon was such a nice guy—the kind of guy who inspires the qualities you add to your future husband wish list. But, surprisingly, much of my prayer time has been devoted to praying for Nate.
It started as thankfulness that he wasn’t on the fire truck that responded to the wreck—that he was spared that trauma.
But since I know Nate as well as I do, I would bet he’s been blaming himself for not being there to help.
So, I’ve been praying for his peace as well.
Now, standing in the bathroom of the funeral home, giving myself space to grieve and working up the composure I’ll need to comfort the Walker family, I find myself praying for Nate again.
After several minutes of rambling to the Lord, I give up trying to form an eloquent prayer. I close my eyes and pull in a breath, thankful that the Holy Spirit intercedes for us when we can’t find the right words to say.
I pull myself together, wiping my eyes—glad I didn’t bother with any makeup after all—and brushing wrinkles out of my black dress.
Once I’m composed and breathing normally, I step into the hallway and walk a meandering path toward the largest parlor room at the end, where the service will be held.
The visitation period technically doesn’t start for another hour, but Mom and Dad decided we should come early to bring food and sit with Scott and Kathryn for a while before everything gets started.
My slow progress comes to a halt as I hear someone taking panicked, gasping breaths. I follow the sound into a smaller parlor room. The lights are off, but with sunlight pouring through the windows, I can make out a large, very familiar outline.
Without stopping to think, I cross the room to Nate and set my hand on his upper arm.
He jumps and spins to face me with wide, bloodshot hazel eyes that have bruise-like circles under them.
His cheeks are wet, and his chest is rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths, like his body forgot how to breathe.
I raise my hands and take a step back. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”