Chapter 36 Selene
THIRTY-SIX
SELENE
The house was still again.
Not quiet—still, more like it was waiting to see what I would do.
I stood at the edge of the kitchen, my fingers curled around the handle of my coffee mug, half full and long since gone cold. I hadn’t sipped it in twenty minutes. The ceramic was lukewarm now, and my other hand kept drifting to the knot forming at the back of my neck.
I’d been up since six. I made Winnie breakfast and brushed her hair into pigtails that went crooked the second she put on her jacket. I packed her backpack, double-checked her folder, zipped up her coat, and tied her shoes.
All the things Austin usually helped with.
All the things I could do on my own. Things I had done on my own, for years.
I told myself I needed the time off work. That staying home these last few mornings and afternoons was good for Winnie. That I liked being the one to pick her up from school and make dinner without glancing at the clock. That it had nothing to do with needing space to clear my own head.
The truth clung to my lungs like smoke.
I hated how respectful he was being. How he’d backed off completely. I hated that I hadn’t heard his key in the lock. That there hadn’t been a quiet knock or a note left on the counter or one of his sweatshirts slung over the arm of the couch like it still belonged there.
It would’ve been easier if he’d pushed. If he’d knocked and begged and made me feel justified in keeping him at arm’s length before collapsing in his arms and begging for a chance to love him again.
Instead, Austin was giving me space, and somehow that hurt more.
My phone buzzed against the counter, and I smiled when I saw the photo.
Winnie, sitting at her desk, cheeks dusted with powdered sugar, grinning so wide I could count all her baby teeth. Her hands were covered in orange frosting, and a half-eaten Halloween doughnut sat on a paper napkin in front of her.
Below the photo, the message from her teacher read:
Big thank you to Mr. Calloway for the surprise treats! He brought enough for the whole class. We loved the spooky spider doughnuts! He also gave Winnie the sweetest note. Thought you might want to see.
A second image loaded. A folded piece of notebook paper in Winnie’s tiny fingers. Scrawled in Austin’s all-caps handwriting:
Hey bug,
I hope the spider doughnuts were spooky enough. So proud of you. Always.
Love, Austin
I pressed my lips together and stared at the screen until my vision blurred. Then I blinked and looked away, willing the tears back down where they belonged.
I set the phone on the counter. My thumb hovered above the reply, then moved to lock the screen instead.
I could hear the deep timbre of his voice in my head.
So proud of you.
Of course he knew exactly what to say. He always had.
Austin Calloway was the kind of man who listened, even when you didn’t think he was paying attention.
He was the kind of man who knew that Winnie hated plain glazed and loved anything with crunchy sugar eyes.
Who remembered which day she had library and when her spelling tests were.
Who called her his girl like it was the best honor he’d ever been given.
A man who said he loved me. A man I knew I loved with every fiber of my being.
I exhaled a shaky breath. I should have let him explain better. Maybe Elodie was right and I was letting the weight of my past shape the way I viewed the present.
Maybe I was still scared.
I stood still and listened to the thrum of my own heartbeat.
The house stayed eerily quiet.
I picked up my cold coffee and poured it down the sink. Then I pulled my hair into a bun, changed into clean jeans, and got ready for work.
By the time we made it home, Winnie’s mouth was stained blue from the cotton candy twist cone she’d insisted on. I had chosen a small espresso chip I’d barely touched—my excuse for extending the walk as long as I could.
That was what it was, after all. An excuse.
Our walk was a way to loop the long way through town, past the library and over the footbridge, to delay the inevitable moment we’d round the corner and see the duplex.
I wasn’t ready for an accidental run-in, because I hadn’t figured out how I was going to explain the jumbled-up emotions knotted in my heart and that maybe they didn’t really matter, because at the end of the day I was in love with him.
My chest tightened the second the house came into view. The pale golden light of late afternoon stretched across the sidewalk, catching in the hair at Winnie’s temple and making her glow like something out of a memory.
She skipped ahead, trailing melted drips down her wrist, and I shifted my gaze to the yard.
It was clean. Too clean.
The brittle, rust-colored leaves that had been curling along the edge of the walk all week were gone. Raked into neat piles and bagged, the grass showing in soft patches beneath.
My feet slowed. I hadn’t touched the rake. To be honest, I hadn’t even thought about the yard.
I glanced up the steps and stopped.
A simple, woven basket sat in the middle of the porch.
I swallowed and moved toward it, my fingers curling around Winnie’s sticky hand as she danced up the steps.
“Go wash up, okay, baby?” I said, and Winnie darted inside.
The screen door clattered shut behind her, leaving me in a pool of quiet. I crouched in front of the basket.
Inside were peas—still damp, their skins taut and cold—and a handful of sugar snap vines, tangled together like they’d just been tugged free. A few sprigs of basil, wilting slightly but still fragrant. And then, nestled in a dish towel in the corner, a tiny bunch of rainbow carrots.
Not the uniform kind you find at the store. These were knobby and strange, like they’d been shaped by the stubbornness of the earth itself. Crooked stems. Mud-caked ends. One of them was such a deep purple, it looked almost bruised.
I reached for it without thinking.
The root trailed like a thin ribbon, curling at the end.
It was still cool from the dirt. I let my thumb trace the ridges in the skin, the places where it had grown wild and a little misshapen.
I remembered the day we planted them—Austin kneeling in the dirt beside Winnie, brushing soil from her knuckles and promising her that yes, carrots really could come in funky colors.
He’d smiled at me over her head like it wasn’t the first time he’d imagined a future in our garden.
I didn’t cry, but I wanted to.
Instead, I sat with the quiet ache that pressed against the inside of my ribs and held that crooked little carrot like it had something important to say.
I scanned the basket again.
No note.
Nothing tucked beneath the towel or wedged between the peas and basil. Nothing that said my name. Nothing that was just for me, and somehow that absence made the ache worse.
I realized then that I wanted one. I wanted a message. A word. Some small offering that said he saw me too.
Not just Winnie.
Not just the little life we were building around her, but me.
I curled my fingers tighter around the carrot and stood.
With sure steps, I walked to his door and knocked—hard.
“Austin? Are you there? I’m sorry, I’d like to talk. Please open up.” My heartbeat drummed in time with my tapping toes. I knocked again. “Austin?”
Silence greeted me as I slunk away. The porch creaked beneath my weight as I stepped inside and let the screen door close behind me. The scent of basil followed, earthy and green, clinging to the air as I set the basket on the counter.
The carrot stayed in my hand, and I stared at it for a long moment, heart tight in my chest, and smiled.
He was still showing up, and I knew exactly what I’d say the second I saw him again.
Winnie’s thunderous footsteps pulled me from my spiraling thoughts.
“Mama! I figured it out!” Winnie declared, breathless as she made her way to the kitchen. “Our Halloween costumes. We should be the Lady of the Dunes!”
I turned from the sink, raising an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”
“Yes!” She nodded hard. “You’ll be the Lady. Like, with a long floaty dress and a crown made of seaweed or shells or something cool. Austin can be her long-lost love—the sailor who got lost at sea—and I’ll be the grizzliest, grossest sea captain ever.”
She paused, grinning. “I’ll have a fake beard and a peg leg and one eyeball hanging out.”
“Oh wow,” I said, trying not to laugh. “You’ve really thought this through.”
“I think it’s perfect,” she said proudly. “We’ll be spooky and tragic and hilarious. The best kind of Halloween.”
Her smile was blinding, so wide and hopeful it almost hurt to look at. She bounced on her toes, then spun in a little circle like the sheer joy of planning was too big for her body.
“We can all go together,” she said, nodding fiercely. “Me and you and Dad—”
She stopped.
I blinked.
Her eyes widened. “I mean Austin.” She covered her slip with a laugh. “You know what I meant.”
My heart gave the faintest lurch, and I reached for the counter behind me like I could anchor myself to it. The edge bit into my palm.
I sat down on the nearest stool, slowly, like anything more abrupt might crack me open.
“Sweetie . . .” My voice was thinner than I wanted it to be. I swallowed. “Austin, he . . .”
I didn’t know how to finish.
I didn’t want to correct her, not when I understood exactly what she meant. Not when I’d spent the last few days trying not to think about what he meant to me too.
I didn’t want to make it a lesson in biology or legality or complicated relationships that I thought were just supposed to be sex but turned my whole world upside down. I also didn’t want to dim the light in her face by drawing boundaries she didn’t understand.
So instead I offered the only truth I could manage. “He might not be able to come trick-or-treating with us, but we can ask.”
Winnie didn’t flinch. She just shrugged, casual and certain. “He will.”
The faith in her voice—so pure, so unshaken—was a sucker punch to the chest.
Winnie set her shoulders. “I know you’re sad about him for being late to my concert,” she said, climbing onto the stool beside mine. “But you don’t need to be. I already forgave him.”
My breath caught.
“You two just need to talk,” she added, swinging her feet. “It’ll be fine.”
I didn’t say anything. I couldn’t.
In her small, unbothered voice, she’d spoken the one thing I was too afraid to believe in—that maybe it really was that simple. That maybe forgiveness didn’t have to be tangled and conditional and hard-earned.
Maybe it could just be offered. Freely. Lovingly. Like a handful of crooked carrots pulled from the earth.
She leaned against me, her little head warm against my shoulder.
I looked down at her, this wise little person in a tiny body, and felt the crack deepen.
Because I wanted to believe her. I wanted to believe in a world where all it took was a conversation and a costume.
So I smiled, small and tired, but real.
“Okay,” I said. “We’ll see.”