Chapter 32
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
ROWAN
There’s a festive hum in the air as I steer a sweet little beagle mix through historic downtown Sycamore Falls. The sidewalks are busy but not chaotic — couples bundled in scarves, kids clutching hot chocolate, shop doors chiming as people pop in and out with full bags and wide smiles.
It’s nothing like Chicago.
There, I’d keep my head down. Earbuds in. Anonymous in a sea of rushing bodies.
Here, I make eye contact. I say hello to Grandma Estelle outside the café and wave at a little boy I recognize from taking Jemmy to story time.
After only a few months, I know names. I know stories. I know who just got engaged and whose son made varsity.
I know which chapters in Grandma Estelle’s latest book have the spiciest bits.
I almost feel like I belong.
Almost.
I refuse to admit I actually do.
Because I’m not supposed to belong.
I’m not supposed to plant roots or grow attached to towns with charming downtown stores and handsome single dads.
I’m just supposed to follow my joy.
Which is exactly what Groucho Barx is doing, his nose to the pavement as he drags me toward the bakery like he’s on a mission from God.
“You are not subtle,” I inform him.
He sneezes and doubles down, attempting to pull me inside.
“Fine. I’ll get you a pup cup on the way back.”
His ears lift and his tail wags. With the future promise of a treat, he allows me to steer him away from downtown, the noise fading behind us. Unlike last week, I make a deliberate turn that avoids the cemetery.
Especially today.
What would I even say if I stood in front of Cora’s headstone?
Hi. You don’t know me, but your husband is extraordinary in bed. And don’t even get me started on that thing he does with his tongue. You know what I’m talking about.
Not exactly appropriate.
Instead, I follow a quieter street until we reach a small park a few blocks away. With almost everyone downtown or at the Christmas festival, the park is essentially empty, allowing me to unclip Groucho’s leash to let him run free, as if he doesn’t have a care in the world.
As if he’s not worried about when the next time he’ll be able to do this might be.
This is what I admire about animals. They don’t worry about things in the future. Their sole focus is on what’s in front of them right now. And right now, Groucho’s sole focus is on chasing after the tennis ball I throw across the field.
I inhale a deep breath, savoring the simplicity of this moment.
Cold air in my lungs. Sunlight filtering through bare branches. A dog losing its mind over felt and rubber.
Then my phone rings, cutting through the peaceful silence. I reach for my cell, Emily’s name popping up on the screen. I almost don’t answer.
Not because I don’t want to talk to her. But because I have no idea what I’m going to say.
It’s why I’ve been avoiding her since I found the letter all those weeks ago.
I’ve sent her the occasional text, assuring her I’m okay and have been really busy with the kids. But I can’t put this off forever.
So instead of sending her to voicemail, I answer.
“It’s about damn time you picked up,” she says immediately. “When you first left, we talked daily. I was practically your emotional support human. Or therapist. Or life coach.”
“All of the above,” I reply with a smile. “And I’m sorry. I’ll do better. But in my defense, I wasn’t responsible for keeping two kids alive back then.”
“Speaking of which… How’s that going?”
“Good,” I say automatically. “Great, really.”
There’s a brief pause on the line. The kind only your best friend can weaponize.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
I part my lips, unsure how to begin updating her on everything. If I even want to. But I’ve been keeping the truth locked inside for too long now. At first, I didn’t think it mattered. Convinced myself I could just pretend I never saw that letter.
But last night changed everything, even if I tried to convince myself it didn’t. We still crossed a line.
And I’m still keeping a huge secret from Hayden.
One that’s getting heavier and heavier with every day.
“Things have gotten…interesting.”
“Oh, my god. You banged your boss.”
“Emily!” I spin in a slow circle, scanning for witnesses. Just a jogger in the distance and a squirrel whose sole focus is on stuffing acorns into its mouth.
“You did, didn’t you? I can hear it in your voice.”
I try to suppress the smile stretching across my face, but fail miserably. “You’re right. I did.”
“It’s about damn time!” she shrieks so loudly I have to hold the phone away from my ear. “This is what you wanted when you left. Find your joy, remember?”
“I found more than joy with him,” I admit, my cheeks warming despite the cold. “It was… incredible. I didn’t know sex could be like that.”
“Because you weren’t with the right person. Now you are.”
“We’re just having fun. Living in the—”
“In the present. Yes, yes. I’ve heard the speech.” She sighs. “But you’ve been there two months, Ro. The longest you’ve stayed anywhere else was, what? Eight days?”
“Ten,” I correct.
“There’s a reason you’re still there. Maybe he’s the reason, but you’re too scared to admit it.”
“He’s not… It’s not…” I trail off, my body physically fighting against saying the words.
“What were you saying?” she taunts.
It’s a good thing she didn’t do a video call. Lord knows what she’d see on my expression if she did. She would have probably already figured out the truth.
I blow out a long breath as I bend to retrieve the tennis ball Groucho just dropped at my feet. Then I throw it once more before returning my attention to Emily, bracing myself for this conversation.
“He might be part of the reason I stayed.”
“I knew it!”
“But not how you think.” I pause, chewing on my bottom lip. “I found something when I was cleaning one day.”
“Okay…”
“It was a letter, Em. My letter.”
“What do you mean? What letter?”
“The letter.”
I don’t have to embellish for her to know what I’m talking about.
Emily sat with me as I wrote every draft of that letter. Watched me rewrite sentences until my writing was barely legible. You’d think someone who used to write motions and legal briefs could handle a personal letter.
But nothing I’ve ever written felt as heavy as this one.
As important.
“Why would he have—” she begins, but stops short. “His wife.”
“I have her heart.”
It’s the first time I’ve spoken the truth out loud to anyone, and it feels both freeing and suffocating at the same time. Because the person I want to tell doesn’t want to hear them.
“Oh, my god,” Emily whispers, momentarily speechless, a feat for the woman who always knows what to say. “Does he know? Your hottie, single-dad, fuck-buddy boss?”
I laugh, grateful for the break in tension. If there’s anything Emily’s good at, it’s cutting through a difficult situation.
“He has a name. It’s Hayden. And no.”
I fall onto a nearby bench as the wind picks up slightly, rustling dry leaves across the grass.
“He told me he doesn’t want to know who received her organs. Because if something happened to them, it would be like losing her all over again. In his mind, he’d rather enjoy the peace of mind in knowing his wife saved four lives and leave it at that.”
“But doesn’t your situation complicate things?” Emily replies softly. “It’s not like you’re a stranger. You're living in his house. Taking care of his kids. Sleeping with him.”
“I know. And a part of me wants to tell him,” I admit as Groucho sprints back toward me with the ball in his mouth.
“But I also want to respect his wishes. He’s been stuck living in the past for so long, but is now becoming more present.
I don’t want to do anything to pull him back, ya know?
Plus, I won’t be here forever. Soon, the wind will change, and I’ll fly away to my next destination. ”
I expect her to laugh at my Marry Poppins reference.
She doesn’t.
“But you like being there. Like being with him.”
“We agreed,” I tell her. “We’re simply enjoying ourselves whenever the mood strikes. No future.”
“What happens if you want more with him? If you want a future? Or if he does?”
“He won’t. He—”
“You can’t control what he feels or thinks,” she interjects.
She’s right. I can’t. But I can control what I feel and think.
“I can’t think about a future with him. Won’t think about a future with him. He’s already lost his wife. I’m not selfish enough to make him get attached to me, only for him to lose me, too. Because he will lose me.”
“You don’t know that. You could defy the odds and outlive us all.”
I smile at her optimism. Normally, I’d hold on to the same hope. But I’m more than aware that a heart transplant isn’t a fairy tale. It’s a borrowed miracle with a timer no one can see.
“We both know the statistics. I’m lucky if I live to see fifty. I’ve made my peace with that.”
Mostly.
Some days.
Other days, the weight of it wears on me.
“The best thing for me to do,” I continue, forcing a brightness into my voice I don’t entirely feel, “the only thing for me to do is live in the present. Because making plans for a future I know I won’t be a part of? It’s too hard.”
The line goes silent, and I sense she wants to argue with me.
But she knows better.
And she also knows the reality of my situation, despite her hopes I’ll somehow defy the odds.
“So I’m just going to keep living in the now. Collect moments. Collect joy. Collect really, really good orgasms.”
It’s silent for a beat. Then Emily snorts a laugh. “Well, if this grand philosophical acceptance includes mind-blowing sex, I fully support it.”
I giggle, the heaviness easing just enough. “It absolutely does.”
“Good.” She’s silent for a beat. Then she asks, “You’re okay, though?”
“I’m okay,” I assure her.
And not to make her feel better. But because I feel okay. Better than okay.
Not fearless.
Not invincible.
But choosing joy anyway.
And right now joy looks a lot like a beagle demanding a pup cup and a single dad who promised to punish me later.
I’m more than okay with that.