EPILOGUE
Six months later...
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“I JUST WANT TO CHECK on the cake one more time. I won’t take a minute.”
I froze mid-stride, trying to make sense of the voice I only heard in my dreams anymore. The voice—and the woman it belonged to—I’d tried desperately to forget about for the past couple months. I didn’t smell cookies this time. No warm toasted butter or sugar smell. Maybe I was imagining things.
“Of course, I’m happy to go with you. We can meet Alex and Elena back at Charlotte and Ford’s as soon as you’re satisfied everything is as perfect as I know it is.”
It was too many names to track. I couldn’t make sense of what she was saying, but I knew that voice.
I heard that voice at least once a week, sometimes more often when things got hard.
Kindra—she insisted I call her by her first name—had been my therapist since I moved to the city.
She was kind and smart, and I was grateful every day, I’d found her.
Therapists couldn’t be friends with clients; I knew that, but sometimes, she was the closest I had.
She asked me about my work in way that made it seem like she was genuinely interested, and she didn’t pity me or make me feel small.
And she was standing in front of me next to the woman I’d seen in the café months ago who looked like a Celtic princess and made me think of things I could never have.
“Elijah?” Kindra’s voice called me out of my fog and back to the present. “It’s good to see you.”
“You, too.” I managed the two simple words without letting my nervousness show. Not because of Kindra, because of the woman standing next to her. The woman I couldn’t shift my gaze away from.
“We should get going. My friend and I have a wedding cake to check on.”
“Meredith.” The name was out of my mouth before I had a chance to think of what it would mean.
Both women looked at me with matching expressions—part curiosity with a larger part concern.
“How did you know her name?”
“You go to the same coffee shop I do,” I said, directing my answer to Meredith. “I heard the barista call your name.” It was the truth. I always told the truth. It was the only way I could keep track of things.
“Oh, I’m sorry I don’t remember seeing you. It’s nice to meet you Elijah.” Her voice was clear and sweet.
Now that I’d heard her say my name, I’d have a much harder time forgetting the voice or the woman. Not that I’d succeeded so far.
“I’ll leave you to your cake,” I said, nodding in a way I hoped was reassuring. “Good night, ladies.”
“Good night, Elijah,” said Kindra, the tone of her voice made it clear we’d be revisiting this encounter in her office.