25. Kate
Chapter twenty-five
Kate
I never knew a place could stay exactly the same and still feel so different.
The gravel crunches under my pointed mules, like it does every day, but lately, it sounds is somehow louder. Sharper. Like it's trying to fill the silence Noah left behind.
Parker drags his feet beside me, his little hand sweaty in mine. His dinosaur backpack, bright green with faded stegosaurus spikes, bobs against his back with each sluggish step. The late afternoon sun paints the road in soft gold, and the light that usually feels warm and alive feels wrong.
The cottage comes into view, and automatically, my gaze goes to Noah’s driveway, and once again, his truck isn’t there. Again.
It has been fourteen days now. No texts. No random drop-ins. No Blaze trotting up the hill. And T-ball? He hasn’t shown up to a single practice.
I miss him. More than I’ve ever missed anyone. But I know he wants to be alone, so I don’t chase after him.
Parker stops walking just before I open the low gate, his grip tightening around my hand, “Mom?”
His voice is small, paper-thin, and shaking at the edges. I already know he’s about to ask the same question he’s been asking every day this week.
I swallow. My throat’s already starting to ache. “Yeah, baby?”
“Coach Noah isn’t here again.” He looks up at me, eyes wide and glassy. “Is he ever coming back?”
Goodness.
I crouch down in front of him, the gravel biting into my knees through my satin skirt. I push the hair from his forehead; he needs a trim again. His cheeks are still flushed from the walk, nose smudged with a bit of dirt. My sweet, messy boy.
“I don’t know, Parker,” I whisper, because I’ve run out of ways to lie to him gently. “I hope so.”
He chews his bottom lip, trying to hold it in. “Did I do something bad?”
I flinch, and I know he sees it even though I try to hide it. I pull him into me, pressing his small body against my chest, wishing I could absorb the ache and pain.
I realize I’ve underestimated how much Noah and Blaze have come to mean to Parker, and I blame myself for hurting the two people that mean the most to me in the world while trying to protect them.
“No, baby. Not even close.” My voice breaks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
He pulls back to look at me, his eyes searching my face. “Then why doesn’t he like me anymore? Why doesn’t he come home to play with me anymore?” His voice cracks, barely holding itself together.
Something twists low and mean in my gut. I brace myself against the sting.
“He does like you,” I say, clutching him tighter. “He loves you. He’s just… going through something.”
Parker sniffs. “Is it ‘cause of me?”
“No. Never you.”
He doesn’t answer, just stares at the ground like he’s trying to find something to hold on to in the dust and rock.
I stroke his back, trying to steady my voice before speaking again. “Hey. How about we stop by Maddox’s? Emily’s probably got cookies with your name on them.”
He hesitates.
“That will make you happy, wouldn’t it?” I press. I hate making him sad.
Then he nods, quietly and slowly.
I pull out my phone and call Emily. She picks up on the second ring.
“Hi Emily, how are you?” I try to sound upbeat as I smile at Parker. He doesn’t smile back. “Where are you? I was hoping Parker could see Maddox.”
“I’m home,” she says. “Taking a break from stirring jam, but I would love some company.”
“That’s awesome,” I breathe in relief. “We’ll be there soon.”
“Perfect, I shouldn’t have kicked Knox out of the house so early.” She draws in an exaggerated breath, “But now, I’m glad I did. We can have some girls’ time.”
Girl’s time does sound good.
“On our way.”
We take the detour, cutting across the sloping path that separates the property from hers. Her place sits nestled behind an unruly hedge of wild roses that seem hell-bent on reclaiming the walkway. Thorns attempt to snag my skirt as we pass, and the scent hits me, sweet, wild, tangled.
The shutters on the little cottage are sky blue, peeling in places, but they make the place feel… lived in. Real. There’s a wind chime near the porch that catches a breeze just as we approach, sending a soft tangle of notes into the air. Light and a little off-key, like laughter through tears.
The front door opens before I can knock.
Emily takes one look at me and frowns. “Oh, honey.”
She steps aside, waving us in without a word. Her apron’s smeared with something red that I guess is the strawberry jam, and her hair’s tied up in a messy bun that’s half slipping down the side of her head.
“Maddox is out back, kiddo. Go find him,” she says, ruffling Parker’s hair.
He hesitates for a second, then bolts through the house toward the backyard. I hear the door slam, then the muffled thump of feet in the grass.
Emily waits until he’s out of earshot. “Are you okay? You don’t look good.”
“I don’t?” I rasp out, trying to smile. It doesn’t hold. “I thought I always looked like a model in front of a magazine.”
She smiles and tilts her head toward the kitchen. “C’mon.”
Inside, her kitchen is exactly what I need and don’t deserve; it’s a cozy chaos. Bunches of dried herbs hang from the beams, brushing against the tops of my shoulders.
There’s a smell in the air, lavender, clove, something sweet baking in the oven. The counters are covered in jars of jam, baskets of apples, and a cutting board stained with beet juice.
She gestures toward the old wooden table, its surface worn and scarred, a deep crack running through one side. I drop into a chair, hands limp in my lap. The seat creaks under me.
Emily pours tea into a chipped yellow mug, the steam curling into the space between us. Chamomile, maybe. Or something stronger. It smells like the kind of peace I've forgotten.
She slides it over. “You know Noah’s been sleeping at the station, right?”
I close my fingers around the mug. The ceramic is hot. It burns, but I don’t let go because I know he’s doing that because of me.
“You know why?” I ask, not daring to meet her gaze.
“I do, the whole town probably knows the reason,” she says, settling across from me with her own cup. “It’s about who you are, isn’t it?”
I press my lips together. “Do they hate me?” Deep down, I want to ask if she doesn’t hate me.
She gives me that look, half exasperated, half sad. “They’re not idiots. They’re curious. But they’ve seen you bring cookies to the T-ball games and finger paints to school," she squeezes my hand, firm and sure, "they know who you are now , Kate. And they like her.”
I take a sip of the tea. It burns all the way down, but I welcome it.
“Don’t you mind? Ava and Rachel must be mad at me.”
“I definitely don’t mind having a rich heiress as a friend.” Emily’s voice is playful and teasing. “And if there’s something Ava and Rachel are mad about, it’s because you’ve been hiding away and they miss you.”
“They do?” I can’t keep the surprise out of my voice. I thought they would be angry.
“Yes, we all do.” Emily lays a reassuring hand on mine. “You don’t know how glad I am that you’re here.”
My chest swells in happiness but sinks again in the same breath. If only Noah could come around, too.
“He’ll come around.” Emily’s voice softens, and it’s like she’s reading my mind.
There’s no need to deny, I’ve come to accept that Emily has her way of knowing things. So, I just shake my head. “I don’t think he will.”
She leans back in her chair, studies me like she’s watching something fall apart in slow motion. Then, quietly, she says, “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?”
The words hit harder than I expected, and I look down at my tea, the herbs floating like pieces of something broken. I don’t answer. I don’t have to.
I really do love him.
She squeezes my hand, her hand soft and warm over mine. “Noah loves you too, and if there’s something I know, it’s the fact that Noah doesn’t love halfway, Kate.”
I’m finally able to raise my head, and Emily continues, “When he lets someone in, that’s it. Just give him time.”
I blink hard, trying to will the tears away. “I don’t think time is the problem.”
Emily smiles softly and knowingly. “It’s never just time. It’s fear. It’s hurt. It’s pride.” She shrugs. “But love always gets louder than all that.”
She stands and moves to the cabinet, rummaging around until she finds a small cloth bundle. “Dried valerian and lavender. Brew it tonight and sleep for real.”
I take it from her, the crinkle of the herbs soft in my palm.
She rests a hand against my cheek as though I’m still a child. “Leave Parker here. Maddox could use the company, and you look like you need to remember how to breathe.”
“Are you sure? I don’t want to impose.” It sounds nice to actually sleep, but I won’t inconvenient Emily for my comfort.
“I’m doing this for a selfish reason, actually.” She leans in like she’s sharing a secret. “Maddox tends to forget I exist once Parker is around, I could use the time to get some work done.”
I smile and nod, swallowing the lump in my throat.
“Thank you, Emily.” I reach out for a hug. “I’ve never had a friend like you, I don’t take it for granted.”
Emily hugs me back warmly before shooing me away and for the first time in days, I don't feel so alone.
“Now, go. I’ll bring Parker in the morning.”
“Thank you,” I say again.
As I step toward the door, the sound of kids laughing floats in from the backyard, and I force myself to breathe in and out.
The walk home is slow, more drag than stride, my pointed mules scuffing against the dirt path as twilight creeps in over the trees. Parker’s laughter still rings faintly behind me, echoing off the wild hedges and crickets starting up in the fields.
I don’t turn around, not even when I hear Maddox yell something incoherent. I just keep walking, one foot in front of the other, letting cooling air wrap around me.
The cottage comes into view through the dusky haze, its porch light flickering on automatically as if to say, Welcome home, even if it doesn’t feel like one tonight.
Inside, the air feels stuffy and still.
I toss my keys onto the entry table, then head straight for the kettle. The herbs Emily gave me crinkle softly in my palm as I pull them from my pocket; I can smell the valerian, lavender, but there’s also something earthy I can’t name.
The scent rises as soon as the hot water hits it, curling up around my face like a lullaby I’m not ready to listen to.
I leave it steeping, the mug sweating gently on the counter, and tug my blouse over my head right there in the living room.
My bra’s the next to go, it feels sticky, and unnecessary.
Finally, I shimmied out of my skirt and let it fall where I stand, somewhere between the coffee table and yesterday’s unread mail.
The closest piece of clothing in reach is the one I haven’t let myself remove. Noah’s shirt.
It’s still draped over the back of the couch, rumpled and soft with wear. I hold it for a second, fingers brushing the faded fabric, the collar stretched a little from where he used to tug at it absentmindedly, and I pull it over my head.
It still smells like him. Smoke and cedar and his clean scent.
I stand in the middle of the room for a moment, feeling ridiculous. Exposed.
I shake the feeling away before going to take the tea and sip slowly, it’s bitter, grounding, and floral. It’s almost as if I can feel it trying to talk my body into slowing down, even when my mind is clawing at the walls.
After finishing the entire cup, I realize that slowing down is the last thing happening.
So, I cross to the corner of the living room where I keep my class supplies, sheets of construction paper, old sketches, mason jars filled with buttons and feathers, and googly eyes.
I dig out the pieces for next week’s mosaic project and set them on the table, just to give my hands something to do.
By the time I’m done setting up, I realize it’s still not enough.
I pull out the tray of resin molds I’ve been ignoring for weeks, press dried wildflowers into place, and slide them into the oven. I’m not even sure why—it just feels like something to do. Something to fill the space he left.
Then I flop onto the couch, pulling my knees up, trying to convince myself I’m just resting my eyes.
But the quiet is thick now, too quiet.
The house creaks like it’s settling into the sadness, too, and the only light left is the oven’s warm glow across the tiles.
Noah’s shirt clings to my skin as I shift, breathing in against the collar. I don’t realize my eyes are closing until I feel the heaviness take over, pulling me under.
Then, finally, quiet.