Chapter 29
twenty-nine
LYDIA
Will: Lydia.
Will: I’m so fucking sorry.
Will: I need to talk to you. Answer the phone and you’ll never have to hear from me again. Promise.
Will: Goddamnit. Please, Lydia.
Iwake up to the sound of pounding on my door. At first, I think I must be dreaming it, like I’m caught somewhere between sleeping and waking, and my mind is going haywire. So I roll over, bury my face into the pillow.
But then it comes again. Bam. Bam bam bam.
This time, I jerk awake. Pushing myself up on my elbows, I stare groggily at the clock on the nightstand, willing the numbers to make sense.
It’s two thirty in the morning. I’m not sure what woke me, but I lay awake, mind racing and tears soaking my pillow, until almost two—so I know it had to have been something.
I listen again. Someone’s pounding on the door.
Fear seizes my gut. Frantically, I swipe through my phone and pull up the Ring doorbell app. No way am I, a single woman home alone, going out there to answer that damn door without knowing who’s out there.
When the camera comes on the screen, my heart speeds up.
Because there, right on my front step, is Will Holloway, looking raw and undone and as ruggedly sexy as ever.
Pounding on my door. There’s something electric about him I can’t quite place—something in the way he carries himself, the broad span of his muscular shoulders.
Or maybe it’s his deep blue eyes that somehow manage to sparkle despite the fuzzy camera graphics. I don’t know.
I run to the kitchen and grab a rolling pin.
I don’t know what he’s here for. The tender man I thought I knew would never hurt me, but now…
I’m not sure I ever knew Will as well as I thought I did.
And it never hurts to play it safe. Still gripping my rolling pin, I stand on the inside of the door, trying to find my voice.
I’m not stupid enough to just open the door when a man pounds.
“What do you need?”
The pounding stops, and I hear Will’s voice from the other side of the door. “Oh, thank god. I thought you’d never wake up. Lydia, I’ve got to talk to you. Please open the door.”
A harsh laugh escapes my chest. “Why should I? So you can break my heart a little more?”
“No. So I can look you in the eye and tell you what a complete fucking asshole I’ve been. That I’m crazy about you. That I’ve been crazy about you from the minute you spilled that damn coffee all over me and stole my heart.”
I unlock the door. Open it. And there is Will, staring out at me from the most broken, sapphire eyes I’ve ever seen in my life.
He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move. Just takes me in, his gaze clinging to mine in the most disarming way possible.
The electricity that radiates off him is absolutely intoxicating.
The corner of his perfect mouth turns up slightly. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey.”
I have no idea what to say. With the way he’s looking at me, I can barely think.
“I’m sorry.” Will rakes a callused hand through his hair.
“You have no idea how fucking sorry I am. And I know there’s nothing I can say that will fix it.
I fucked up. You gave me your trust, and I broke it—and I get it if you want me to get the fuck out, so you never have to see me again. I don’t expect you to forgive me.”
Will pauses. The moonlight filters down through the brittle, bare branches of the trees, casting a silvery glow around us. The neighborhood is quiet. There’s no world in which his wild pounding didn’t wake anyone else up, but so far, no one’s stirring. It’s just me and him.
Will continues, and I swear I hear his voice crack. “But Lydia, I have to tell you something—even if you don’t forgive me—because you need to know. It’s important to me that you know.”
I swallow. No one’s ever looked at me the way Will is looking at me right now. “Know what?”
“That I will do whatever it takes. Be whatever you need. Give up whatever I have to. Because you’re worth so much more than you give yourself credit for. You’re worth everything.”
He takes a step forward, closing the space between us. He looks down at me, runs a gentle thumb along my jawline. His chest is so close, so warm even in the bite of the autumn night air, I can feel his heart beating.
“Lydia.” His voice is soft, rich. And his eyes. Fuck. They’re like ocean waves, and he’s gazing at me so tenderly I can hardly breathe.
“Yeah?” My lips move, but I’m honestly not even sure if I’m making sound.
Will tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear. His fingers tangle in my loose hair, cupping the back of my head gently. “I’m done trying to fight it. I’m crazy, off-my-rocker, seeing-things madly in love with you.”
His lips skim my forehead, and he pulls back to look at me.
He’s got this small, almost nervous smile going, but he doesn’t wait for me to speak.
He presses the pad of his finger to my lips.
“I had some help tonight. From someone who knows you really well. I’m going to give you two some time, okay?
If you want to see me at some point, even years down the road, I’ll be here.
And if not…” He runs a hand through his hair.
“If not, that’s alright. I’ll respect it. Just love yourself for me, okay?”
All I can do is stare at him. My body’s all tingly, my heart’s racing, and I’m met with the overwhelming urge to chuck the rolling pin away and wrap my arms around his solid waist. Pull him close and bury my face in his chest. Breathe in his spicy, pine scent.
But Will just presses something into my hands, kisses the top of my head, and turns and walks back down the sidewalk.
I watch him get into his pickup and pull away before I look down at what he just gave me.
It’s a worn, faded copy of the twenty-first Nancy Drew book: The Secret in the Old Attic.
I’d know it anywhere—it’s just like the one my mom and I used to read together all those years ago. I suck in my breath. Is this…?
It has the same frayed corners, the same half page ripped out in the back.
The M on the title is almost completely rubbed off, just like in the copy we used to read.
Holy shit. How did Will know my mom and I used to read this book?
And how the hell did he get his hands on it? And who the fuck was he talking—
My thoughts stop mid-sentence. Where just a moment ago Will stood on the sidewalk, I swear I see a shimmering streak of silver light.
I blink a couple times. Maybe I’m seeing things.
But the shimmering mist is still there, and it’s dancing, rippling, swirling toward the book.
Will said he had help tonight. I’d thought he meant the book had helped him somehow, but now I’ve got a strange feeling that he meant something else entirely.
He said someone who knows me. He said you two should have some space.
And then I realize, with a jolt of joy and wonder and utter disbelief, that there’s a reason this silvery mist seems so excited for me to open this book.
“Mom?” I whisper. I must be going batshit crazy.
But the book flips open, almost on its own, and I know she must have done it. I watch as she flips through the pages until she finds what she’s looking for. An envelope with my name on it.
With shaking hands, I tuck the book under my arm and open the envelope.
There’s a letter inside, which I can already see is laced with Mom’s delicate, loopy handwriting.
A wave of longing hits me. It’s been so long since I’ve seen that handwriting.
I can almost see her slim hand, imagine it moving across the page.
Unless this mist can somehow hold a pen, my mom must have written this for me years ago.
I unfold the paper and begin reading.
Dear Lydia,
If you’re reading this, it means you’ve had to say goodbye to me.
Straight out the gate, the tears come. I wipe them away and continue on.
It also means that there are tons of things we didn’t get to do together. Experiences we didn’t get to share. Conversations we never got to have. This letter will never make up for the time we don’t have, but I hope it’ll be comforting. I hope you can read it and feel me nearby.
I won’t get the chance to show you how to be a woman—and being a woman can be tough.
But you can do it. You are my strong, strong girl.
I don’t know how your dad’s going to do without me, but there’s one thing I’m sure of, and it’s that you are going to come through this an even stronger, even more loving person.
Take care of your dad for me. He needs you, even if he doesn’t show it.
Which reminds me… When it comes to taking care of people, please take care of yourself, but don’t become so strong you don’t let anyone else take care of you.
When the time comes—many years from now—make sure you find a man (or woman?
!) who loves you deeply. Who puts you first. And don’t settle for anything less.
You are worthy of being someone’s #1 priority, and I need you to promise me you’ll remember that. Okay?
And Lydia? I may not be with you in person, but I promise you: I won’t be very far away.
In fact, I suspect that if you only just talk to me out loud, I’ll be able to hear it.
I thought you might want a tangible reminder of me, so I’m putting this note inside our special copy of Nancy Drew.
Any time you feel alone, just crack it open, read a few pages, and remember how much I love you.
All my love,
Mom
I stare at the note a moment, swiping desperately at the tears to keep them from soaking through the paper. My hands are shaking, but I feel strangely light. Like there’s been a boulder in my stomach these past twenty-five years, and now it’s suddenly lifted.
It’s all so crazy, but… it’s real.
Mom. This handwritten note she never got to give me before she died. Our copy of our favorite Nancy Drew book. The swirling mist that still hovers on my doorstep. Mom’s not at the library. She’s here with me.
I reach out a timid hand toward the mist. It wraps around me, entwining with my fingers.
This form of my mom is physically colder than she used to be, but every bit as warm inside.
A sense of peace washes through me, and we stay like that for a moment longer, relishing in this strange, wonderful experience of each other.
“What do I do?” I ask. It feels weird, but I know she hears me.
The mist unwraps itself from my hand. It gathers itself up, and it’s almost like Mom is looking me straight in the face.
Then the silvery plume curls backward, whirling, spiraling down the steps.
She makes a beeline across the sidewalk, and comes to a hovering stop in the driveway, right where Will’s truck was just parked.
Mom waits a minute, making sure I’m picking up what she’s laying down. I shake my head at her, chuckling. And, I swear to god, the mist crackles, looking like one of those fountains kids light off in the street on the Fourth of July. I’m pretty sure Mom’s laughing at me.
Then, with a little twist, the plume of silvery mist begins to rise. Up, up, up… I watch her twirl, getting farther and farther away, like sparks floating up from a bonfire.
And then she’s gone. The last shimmer of silvery light has faded.
I set the Nancy Drew book on the kitchen counter and pull on a pair of Keds. Mom may not have used words just now, but she got the message across. I know what I need to do. Not even bothering to grab a jacket or lock the door, I take off down the street like a bat out of hell.