Chapter 38
November, LA
Heart Without a Home by Magnolia May
“Hunter? Hi, it’s Gracie.”
“Oh my God, Gracie. How—how are you?”
“I’m good. I just…I wanted to see how everything was going. With TIFF…and everything.” I wince. “The premiere’s tomorrow, right?”
“Yeah, tomorrow. Hang on a sec.” A door closes, and the line goes quiet. “It’s so good to hear from you. Really wish you were here.”
“Actually, that’s the other reason I called. I had a cancellation and thought, maybe if it wasn’t too late, I could…I don’t know…” I roll my eyes. Just spit it out already.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
“I’m saying…maybe I could come?”
He hesitates, and my heart cracks wide open.
I clutch my chest. “Oh God—you weren’t serious. It’s tomorrow, and we haven’t talked in—”
“Hey, no. No, Gracie. I was just looking up flights.” His voice softens. “I’m smiling so hard right now.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. How soon can you get to the airport?”
I glance at the time and stop my audiobook. “Just when it was getting good,” I mutter. It’s only been out a couple weeks, but I swear I could recite the damn thing. Especially this fantasy bullshit at the end.
Maggie never called back, not that I expected her to. And I wrestle with calling her every fucking day. But what would be the point?
Instead, I stalk her on Goodreads—her only social media. I read her reviews, the occasional questions she answers. I stare at her picture. Her hair’s a few inches shorter, worn straight, and she’s still so goddamn beautiful it hurts.
“Miss you,” I whisper, then set my phone on the nightstand and swing my legs over the side of the bed.
I stand there a second, eyes zeroing in on her book on my dresser. It’s too quiet without the AC. Too still. Like the whole place is holding its breath. I need one of those noise machines. Maybe a fan.
“Maggie May” starts up, and I glance down at the text from Gabi.
Sorry for the late reply. I actually chartered a yacht for Thanksgiving this year. The entire Martin clan stuck on a boat for a week. Can you imagine? You should come
I don’t think Hannah’s ready for that, I tap out. Give everyone my best and keep your brother away from the Captain Morgan
Guess I need a turkey too.
I throw on a shirt and cross the hall to my sister’s room. “Han? You up yet?”
A rhetorical question I’ve never once gotten an answer to.
Wonder what it’ll be today. Headache? Stomachache? I knock on her door and hear her moan behind it.
“I don’t feel so good,” she says. “I think I have allergies.”
Allergies. That’s new.
“I think you’re allergic to math.” I nudge the door open and lean against the frame. “Come on, Banana. It’s Friday. You’ve only got a few hours with Miss Lois, and then tonight’s the big slumber party,” I say, tacking on a smile.
“Stop calling me that.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Noted. Ignored, but noted. What do you want for breakfast?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You need to eat something. You barely touched your dinner last night.” I start picking her dirty clothes up off the floor. “I could pull out the waffle maker. We have blueberries. Strawberries too, I think.”
“Maybe later.”
Her therapist says to give it time—that she’ll eat when she’s hungry. But Hannah’s stubborn.
And that worries the hell out of me.
“All right, well, get up and get moving.” I toss the clothes in her hamper and carry it to the door. “Miss Lois will be here soon.”
Heart Without a Home by Magnolia May
Audiobook, Chapter 38
“You are a sight for sore eyes,” Hunter says as I drop my duffel on the foot of his bed. I didn’t ask if I should get a room, and he didn’t suggest it.
“You look good,” I tell him. “Love the beard.”
He drags a hand over his jaw. “Yeah? Maybe I’ll keep it.”
Hannah’s voice pulls me out of my audiobook. I press pause and toss the shirt I was folding back into the dryer.
“I didn’t feel like it,” she says as I round the corner into the family room.
The table’s littered with school stuff. Books, papers. Hannah’s tablet—dead, if I had to guess.
“Sweet pea, no one feels like doing homework.” Lois pushes an open book toward her.
Hannah snaps it shut.
I slip my hands in my pockets. “What’s going on?”
“Someone’s been slacking on their math assignments,” Lois says, shooting a glance at Hannah. “I let it slide the first few times, but…” She shakes her head. “I guess I shouldn’t have.”
I pick her bag up off the floor, eyes fixed on my sister. “Why don’t you take the afternoon off, and I’ll make sure she’s caught up by Monday.”
“I don’t mind staying.”
“Nah,” I say. “I’ve got it. I’m sure you could use a break.”
I walk her out. She gets into the driver’s seat, and I set her bag in the back.
“You could use a break,” she tells me. “You’re a handsome young man who never leaves the house. I’m sure that phone of yours is full of pretty girls’ numbers. Call one. Take her out. I can keep Hannah.”
I force a smile. “Thanks for the offer, but you’d be wrong about that.”
There’s only one pretty girl I want to take out, and that’s never going to happen.
Back inside, Hannah’s slouched in her chair, spinning her pencil like a top.
I take a seat beside her. “What’s going on, kiddo?”
She shrugs.
“Are you having trouble? Do you want me to get you a tutor?”
“I just don’t want to do it.”
“I can assure you almost nobody wants to do math.” I reach for her hair to ruffle it, but she jerks her head away. I pretend that doesn’t sting. “How ’bout some lunch first? I got some of those mini tacos you like.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“What about a mozzarella and pepperoni grilled cheese?”
“No thanks.”
The washing machine chimes. I let out a long sigh and push back from the table. “Get to it, then. And Han,” I say, tapping the book she’d slammed shut, “I never want to see you treat Miss Lois like that again.”
Two hours later, I’m still doing laundry—and Hannah’s still sitting there, pencil still spinning, page untouched.
I want to scream.
If her mother were here, she’d cancel the sleepover.
If her mother were here, she wouldn’t need to.
I press a kiss to the top of her head. She doesn’t pull away, and I chalk it up to a small victory.
“Hey,” I say, dropping into a chair. “I know you’re struggling. I’ve been there. But we have to keep going.” I take her pencil, and she finally looks up at me, eyes shining—and God, it fucking guts me. “It’ll get easier. One day, I promise.”
She blinks, and a tear slides down her cheek.
I wipe it away with my thumb. “I love you, Banana.”
“I know.”
“Go get ready for the party.”
Heart Without a Home by Magnolia May
Audiobook, Epilogue
“Hunter,” I say, pressing his hand to my stomach. “I’m pregnant.”
“You’re—you’re what?”
I smile. “You’re going to be a dad.”
“Maggie May” cuts through my audiobook, and I yank my phone from my pocket.
Can you come get me? Hannah’s text reads.
Are you ok?
Just come get me pls
I load the last two dishes in the dishwasher. Then I’m out the door, racing to Sherman Oaks. When I pull up to her friend’s house, the porch light’s on, but the driveway’s empty. Hannah’s standing in the middle of it. Alone.
I roll the window down. “Where’s Mrs. Chang?”
“Getting pizza. Can I sit up front?”
“No. Where’s Maya?”
“Her room, I guess,” she says, climbing in the back.
I watch her put on her seatbelt through the rearview mirror. “You want to tell me what happened?”
“Not really.”
“What about dinner?” I ask as I pull away from the curb. “Want to grab some In-N-Out?”
“I already ate.”
“I thought you said her mom was picking up pizza?”
She stares out the window. “They had chips.”
Chips. I guess that’s better than nothing.
When we get home, I pull into the garage but leave the car running, engine humming in the silence.
“Hey, you want to DoorDash some banana splits and watch a movie? I think that Freaky Friday sequel’s out.” I glance at her over my shoulder, and she’s doing that thing with her collar again—her tell when she’s trying not to cry.
She shakes her head.
“Han, give me some help here. I’m trying my best, but it’s like, ever since I got back from Toronto, you’ve been piss—peeved at me. Are you upset that I went?”
“No.”
“Is it because Thanksgiving’s next week?”
“No.”
“Then what is it?” I meet her eyes in the rearview. “What did I do?”
“Nothing.”
“I had to have done something.”
A jogger passes, and the neighbor’s dog goes off.
“Maya told me her mom made her invite me,” Hannah says.
I twist in my seat. “What? She’s your best friend.”
“Not anymore.”
“Since when?”
“Since I quit soccer.”
Jesus.
I dig the key fob out of the cupholder, squeezing it in my fist. “Kids can be cruel. I went through that too when I—”
“Stop doing that,” she shouts—so loud it makes me flinch. “I’ve been there, Hannah. I know how you feel, Hannah.” She glares at me, eyes welling up. “No, you don’t. You don’t know anything.”
“Han…”
“You were older. And a boy. It’s different.” Her voice wobbles, and tears spill down her cheeks. “I want my mom, and you can’t give her back to me.”
“Maggie May” blasts through the speakers, twisting the knife.
She’d know what to do.
Hannah wipes her eyes. “It’s Uncle Cade. Aren’t you going to answer it?”
“You want to talk to him right now?”
She shrugs.
Of course she does. It’s the illustrious Uncle Cade.
I pick up. “Cade, what’s up? You’re on speaker.”
“Hey guys. How’s my favorite niece?”
Hannah tries for a smile. “Good,” she says, but with her stopped-up nose, it comes out like guhd.
I grab the Kleenex from the console and hand it to her.
“I know this is last minute,” Cade says, “but Jane wants to do Thanksgiving at the new place. If you don’t already have plans—”
Hannah leans over the seat. “We don’t have plans, do we?”
I give her a look.
Please, please, please, she mouths.
“We don’t, actually.” I reach over and brush the damp strands from her cheek. “When?”
“Soon as you can get here, man. Jane’s mom’s coming Sunday. Bring swimsuits. And something to ride in.”
“Ride?”
“Horses. We’ve got some killer trails out here.”
My sister smiles—for real, this time.
“Sounds good. I’ll figure something out.”
The call ends, and Hannah’s arms ring my neck—another victory, only this one doesn’t feel small.
I hold on like she might change her mind. “I love you, Banana.”
“I love you too.”
“Go get started on your math homework. I’ll be in soon.”
“Okay.”
Once she’s inside, I crank “Fade Into You” as loud as my car can handle and pull up Maggie’s picture on my phone.
Then I slump forward, head pressed to the wheel, and fucking cry.