Chapter Seven Lily #2
Even though he’d be embarrassed to have me admit it out loud, Bryce was one of the sweetest boys I’d ever met.
He asked for my advice about things at school—drama with friends and a girl he thought was pretty.
He checked in to see if he could help clean up dishes after dinner.
And as much as he teased his sister, he was constantly looking out for her, in little ways that had me on the edge of melting into a happy pile of goo.
At the base of whatever smelly-preteen-boy antics he participated in, Bryce was kind, and that was the best sort of kid to have around.
And Maggie?
I’d decided quite quickly that Maggie was my platonic child soulmate.
She was adventurous and quick-thinking. She had a voracious thirst for knowledge and wanted to know how and why I did everything. The moment I suggested anything, she was instantly game. And she was constantly asking about the places I’d lived, the things I’d experienced.
“Whoa, what’s this?” she asked, scrolling through the pictures on my phone.
I nested in next to her on the couch. “That’s Sedona. Beautiful, isn’t it?”
She nodded, zooming in on the shots I’d taken of the red rock formations. “You like hiking?”
“Sometimes.” I tapped on another one. “That was too hard for me, so I didn’t make it all the way up, but the view at sunrise was incredible.”
“Wow,” she breathed.
Bryce popped up from his spot on the floor. Larry had inched close enough that Bryce could gently scratch his back.
“What’s that?” He pointed to another series of pictures higher up in my camera roll as his sister scrolled.
“That’s the lighthouse in Holland, Michigan.” I picked one of the pictures so he could see it. “Lake Michigan was pretty rad. I visited a couple years ago when I was trying my hand as a travel influencer.”
“My dad and uncle were born in Michigan.”
“Yeah? I liked it there. People were nice. Only spent a few weeks along the lakeshore and then made my way back down into Chicago for a while. Turns out, I hate social media, so I didn’t last very long and I sure didn’t make any money doing it.”
Maggie nodded, eyes wide. “It’s a jungle out there.”
“What did you do in Chicago?”
I smiled. “Worked as a barista for a few months. A friend of mine from high school let me crash at her place; then when the weather started turning cold, I hightailed it back south. Stayed in New Orleans for about six months.”
“I think I’d forget all the different places if I moved around so much.” Bryce lingered on a photo of the beach, zooming in on the swell of the waves and the blood-orange sunset that made the water glow.
“Sometimes you forget details, yes.”
“Don’t you want to remember everything?” Maggie asked. “I would.”
“Every new place I go—even if I’m just visiting for the weekend—I get a postcard,” I told them. “I have a book I can take with me because it’s easy to pack. And on the back of each postcard, I write down my favorite things from that place. Memories I don’t want to forget.”
“Cool,” Maggie breathed. “Can we look at it sometime?”
“Sure.”
“Where’s your favorite place you’ve ever lived?” Bryce asked.
“That’s a hard question to answer,” I told him. “They’re all really different. The sights, the food, the people.”
“Where are people the nicest?” he asked.
I pulled in a deep breath and let it out as I thought about that.
“I tend to find a few nice people everywhere I go,” I answered.
“But I spent about five months between Michigan, Illinois, and Iowa. They were really friendly. Big fans of bringing over casseroles when they see someone new in the neighborhood.” I tilted my head. “And banana bread.”
He leaned down to kiss the top of Larry’s snout, and that little shit dog gave him such an adoring look, I couldn’t help but shake my head. If I tried that, he’d probably bite my face off. “Why didn’t you stay there?”
“Winter,” I said seriously. “I’ve made it this long in my life avoiding it.”
The kids looked at each other. “Lily? I hate to break this to you . . .” Maggie said slowly.
“I know. Why did I come here?” I glanced outside, where a few inches had fallen overnight.
It was beautiful, sure. Everything was blanketed in white, fluffy shit, and yes, I could admit that it did make the Christmas vibes stronger.
More Christmas-y. “I guess I wanted to try something really different this time. Even if it means all that cold stuff.”
“Dad told us all about lake-effect snow before we moved here. He used to live in Michigan, so he knows all about it.”
“Yeah, I don’t know what that means.” I glanced between them. “Isn’t that just normal snow?”
They shook their heads. Profusely.
“Huh. Well, I guess I’ll figure it out, won’t I?”
“It’s a Great Lakes thing.” Bryce hopped up and transferred Larry to his lap. “At least you can go sledding in snow. Can’t do that anywhere else.”
“I’ve never gone,” I told them.
Oh, how their little eyes brightened. “You’ve never gone sledding?” Maggie asked. “Can we go now? There’s a super-fun hill a few blocks over behind a church.”
I glanced between them. What was it with these two? They held a strange power over me, and I wasn’t quite sure how it happened. “We have a few hours until your dad comes home,” I said slowly. “And you still have to finish homework.” They held their breath. “But yeah, let’s do it.”
Which was how we found ourselves walking home six blocks in the dark, our winter clothes soaked and heavy, my feet giving the distinct, prickly feel of hypothermia or . . . whatever happened to people who didn’t know how to dress for snow.
“I can’t believe you wore those shoes,” Maggie laughed, most of her face covered by the red-and-white scarf tied tight around the bottom half of her face. Her snowpants made a loud swish, swish, swish sound as we turned onto their street.
“I thought they were waterproof,” I told her.
“That doesn’t mean they’re winter boots.”
“Well, I know that now.”
“You could’ve borrowed some of ours. My dad has boots in the mudroom,” Bryce said, scooping up some snow and packing it into another snowball, which he tossed into the sled he was dragging behind him.
“I think they would’ve been a little big for me, dude.” I shivered. “How do people survive in this weather? I think my feet are going to fall off.”
“Can we go to our house?” Maggie asked. “I know it’s not close to bedtime, but we should put our coats and stuff into the dryer so they’re ready for school tomorrow.”
Bryce’s eyes widened as he slowly came to a halt. “We haven’t even done homework yet. Dad’s gonna be pissed.”
“Your dad won’t be home for a while,” I assured him. “We’ve never missed getting it done, right?”
“Right,” they answered. Bryce jogged ahead, hitting a bump in the sidewalk that sent his pile of snowballs flying.
“I’ve got the key,” he yelled.
As Maggie and I walked up the driveway, I tipped my head back to study their home.
There’d been no need for me to go in there yet.
All week, Barrett had made a concerted effort to be home in time to get them showered and in bed.
I’d get his text around 8:30; then the kids would pack up their stuff, trudge across the yards, and wave when they’d unlocked the door.
I’d watch from the front window until Barrett’s headlights appeared on the street before retreating back into the suddenly quiet, empty house.
One week, and it was starting to feel weird when I was there by myself.
That feeling would pass, eventually. It was just part of my normal routine: miss the place I’d left and let the next fill that gap.
The gap left by these two would be bigger, though. A scary sort of big I’d never encountered.
I shoved that thought aside, refusing to follow it any further.
Bryce held the front door open as we toppled into the house, and Maggie and I shimmied out of our boots on the large rug in the entryway.
The warm air had me moaning in relief. My kingdom for a hot bath.
I thought about the large soaking tub in Scott and Patty’s bathroom and made a mental note to try it later.
The kids disappeared into the mudroom, and I carefully shrugged off my puffy coat—which was far more fashion forward than it was functional, as it turned out—and rubbed my hands together once I’d set my wet gloves on top of the coat.
It was a two-story entryway with a large staircase leading up to a second floor—wood floors and trim stained in a warm color, and nondescript tan walls that could stand a freshening up.
The room to the left was set up as a den of sorts, or maybe an office—two walls of bookshelves and an overstuffed leather couch facing a TV mounted on the wall.
A desk was tucked against the other wall, but nothing on its surface gave away any hint of who might use it.
There wasn’t much in the way of art that I could see on any of the walls, but on the shelves, there were framed pictures of the kids.
Maggie and Bryce as toddlers, with missing teeth and painted faces.
At a beach, their arms slung around each other.
In front of a Christmas tree, holding matching stuffed animals.
I rubbed my hands up and down my arms and shivered, glancing longingly at a fuzzy blanket draped over the arm of the couch.
“Fuck it,” I muttered, pulling it off and wrapping it around my shoulders. Next to the couch on the floor was a pair of overlarge house slippers, lined with sherpa and covered in soft black material. I shoved my feet in and sighed at how much warmer they made my poor little toes.
“We’re gonna go change, Lily,” Maggie called, the sound of their feet pounding up the stairs drowning out my murmured reply.
The pictures were mostly of the kids, Barrett rarely appearing in any of them.
Because he was behind the camera? Or because he wasn’t there?