13. Winnie
WINNIE
Monday felt wrong, the way missing a stair felt wrong. Just enough disruption to throw a person off balance.
I was buttoning the cuffs of a black blouse while rain dripped off the cottage roof, my tea cooling on the counter, and for perhaps the fiftieth time that morning, I caught myself thinking about the Lawrences.
Had Bianca finished the astronomy textbook I’d lent her before Easter weekend? Had Billie stopped insisting jellybeans counted as a breakfast carbohydrate? Did CJ remember to write down the eel-smuggling story before inspiration escaped him entirely?
It wasn’t just this morning that I had been thinking about. I’d spent the entire weekend thinking about them, which was terribly irritating.
Somehow a three-day holiday weekend had me wandering around my cottage, missing a family that wasn’t mine.
Sighing, I picked up my sunscreen.
The disruption in routine had unsettled me more than I’d thought.
The day off for Good Friday had sounded lovely in theory.
It would have given me time to myself, to garden and reorganize the apothecary shelves in my pantry and finally finish preserving the citrus peel I’d candied earlier in the month.
I’d done none of that. Instead, I’d spent most of the weekend thinking about Conrad drunk in the soft glow of the speakeasy.
About the way he’d looked at me when he thought I wasn’t paying attention.
About how startlingly good it had felt to be fussed over.
To have a chair pulled out for me. A drink remembered.
A hand offered automatically when I stepped down from the curb.
These were all small and normal things. But they were also dangerous things.
I capped the sunscreen bottle and stared at my reflection in the window over the sink. “You are being ridiculous,” I informed myself.
Conrad Lawrence was a lonely widower who’d had slightly too much bourbon after several years of functioning exclusively as a father and corporate machine. It was natural that he’d become affectionate. Humans were creatures built for companionship. Warmth naturally sought warmth.
That did not mean anything larger was happening. And even if it did?—
No.
Absolutely not.
I knew better than anyone what happened when immortals confused temporary belonging with permanence. I’d spent nearly two centuries learning exactly how much attachment a person could survive losing.
By the time I arrived at the Lawrence house Monday morning, I had successfully convinced myself I was perfectly composed again. The confidence lasted approximately forty-five seconds.
The children were behaving suspiciously. Billie bounced in her chair hard enough that the legs squeaked against the hardwood floor every few seconds, and CJ and Bianca kept exchanging meaningful looks.
Conrad also noticed it. He stood at the counter, pouring coffee into a travel mug, his eyes narrowed at his children. “What are you plotting?”
“We’re not plotting,” Bianca said.
CJ nodded solemnly. “This family has developed an unfair bias toward plotting.”
Billie slapped her hands over her mouth.
Conrad looked alarmed. “Why are you covering your face?”
“I almost telled.”
“Told,” Bianca corrected automatically.
CJ sighed heavily. “The English language is dying before our eyes.”
I slipped off my gloves slowly while studying the three children. They practically vibrated with contained energy. If this had been our first week together, I would have assumed they were preparing psychological warfare. Now, though, I knew the difference between malicious chaos and excited chaos.
This was excited chaos.
Conrad shook his head and returned to his coffee.
He looked good this morning, far less tense than he had months ago. Less exhausted around the eyes. Softer. The weekend stubble along his jaw certainly didn’t help matters. Neither did the memory of him laughing in the speakeasy.
I looked away immediately.
Dangerous. This was very dangerous.
“Text me if someone catches fire,” Conrad said, picking up his briefcase.
Billie raised her hand. “What level of fire?”
“Any level of fire.”
His eyes flicked toward me. It was barely a second, a glance that most people wouldn’t have noticed. So help me God, I noticed. He looked away so quickly and deliberately, I wondered if he was also remembering the raw emotion of the other night.
Neither of us had acknowledged it since. Which somehow made it worse.
Once the children left for school, quiet settled over the house. Usually, I enjoyed it, but today I missed their noise and chaos.
I spent the morning in the kitchen, reorganizing the refrigerator and planning lunches for the week.
Eventually, though, exhaustion overtook my desire to take care of the little details that’d been overlooked in my three-day absence.
I retreated to my casket and slept so deep that I was disoriented when I woke. Then I saw the time. “Oh dear.”
I sat upright immediately. The children would be arriving home from school any minute.
I hurried through my usual routine with practiced efficiency, adjusting my sleeves and securing my hair as I walked into the house.
I’d just got myself calm and settled in the kitchen when the front door burst open.
“Winnie,” Billie screamed.
“In here!”
Heavy footsteps thundered the foyer, then three children appeared at once.
“We have to go outside right now,” Billie announced.
“Hello to you as well.”
“Hello. We have to go outside right now!”
“There may or may not be developments in the backyard,” CJ said.
“Hmm.” I raised an eyebrow. “Would anyone like a snack first?”
“No.” Billie shook her head vehemently.
“Yes,” Bianca said simultaneously.
CJ groaned. “We can have snacks later.”
Definitely a conspiracy. “Why are the three of you behaving like raccoons with unlimited access to multiple garbage cans?”
Billie grabbed my hand before I could continue interrogating them. “Come on!”
I allowed myself to be dragged through the kitchen and mudroom, Bianca and CJ exchanging increasingly excited looks.
The moment the back door opened, I stopped walking. The raised beds were where they’d always been, stone pathways curving between patches of spring herbs and freshly turned soil. The climbing roses near the fence had begun blooming in pale white clusters.
But that wasn’t at all what caught my attention. No, what caught my attention was the gazebo that now stood near the far end of the yard beneath the old oak tree.
It was beautiful. Dark wood with elegant lines. Professional-grade shade scrim stretched across the open sides.
The fine mesh softened the late afternoon sunlight into something muted and safe. I would be able to see through it clearly enough to watch the children running through the yard, but the direct brightness wouldn’t strike my skin painfully.
My breath caught. “Oh.”
The children beamed.
“Surprise,” Billie yelled.
“We wanted you to be able to stay outside longer with us,” Bianca explained.
CJ spread both arms dramatically toward the structure. “Behold. Your goth gazebo.”
I laughed helplessly before I could stop myself.
Billie seized my wrist again. “There’s more.”
Of course there was.
They pulled me into its cool shade. Hooks had been installed beside one support beam, perfectly positioned to hang parasols.
“You always lean your umbrella against the porch or prop it in the dirt,” Bianca explained carefully. “Daddy said hanging it would be easier.”
My chest tightened. Oh, it was so thoughtful of them. So thoughtful it overwhelmed me.
The side curtains could be adjusted individually depending on the angle of the sun.
One side had darker layering than the others where the afternoon light would strike strongest. And near the entrance sat a small wooden cabinet.
Confused, I opened it, pressing my hand to my lips when I saw the bottles of sunscreen lined up inside.
And not just any sunscreen. The exact brands I preferred to use.
The mineral one I preferred for everyday wear.
The fragrance-free imported formula. The expensive Korean brand I’d once mentioned lasted longest when it was humid.
For one completely absurd moment, I thought I might cry over sunscreen.
“He noticed,” Bianca said beside me. I closed the cabinet carefully.
Something deep inside me hurt suddenly.
“Daddy said you always look uncomfortable outside,” Billie added. “But you still come anyway because you like hanging out with us.”
Oh.
Oh no.
I swallowed hard.
CJ leaned against one of the wooden posts, watching me with unusual seriousness. “He wanted you to have somewhere comfortable too.”
Mine.
The thought arrived unwanted and immediate.
No.
Absolutely not.
Nothing here belonged to me. Not the house. Not the children. Not Conrad.
I was an employee. This was temporary, human, and fragile. End of story. I’d learned long ago that immortality and permanence were not remotely the same thing. People built lives, then they aged out of them. Families would shift, children grew… humans died.
And the immortal remained.
Alone.
Eventually moving on or getting left behind.
I had spent decades perfecting the art of loving lightly enough to survive departures. If I had no roots, no permanence, it didn’t hurt so badly.
So why did this hurt so much?
Why did a shaded pavilion built with my comfort in mind feel like someone was pressing directly against every lonely place inside me?
Billie suddenly launched herself into my arms. Then Bianca hugged me too, not at all as tentatively as usual. CJ joined after half a second of pretending he absolutely was not emotional.
“We want you outside with us more,” Billie mumbled into my shoulder.
The children squeezed me tighter. Suddenly, memories rose up uninvited. Small, rented rooms in boarding houses. Lovers who liked excitement but never permanence. I had lived a hundred temporary lives.