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by Alicia Best

  “I really should go,” she says, stepping back as her eyes shift between Holly and I. “But I know we’ll see one another more often in the future.”

  After brief goodbyes, Patty leaves us alone.

  This time, although she will continue to bear a heavy heart from the agonizing loss of her only child, Patty’s back is a little straighter. Next time we run across each other in the grocery store, we will be able to smile and greet one another instead of turning and hiding.

  That thought alone is comforting.

  Holly’s hand reaches up to rest on my shoulder, her fingers slowly trailing down my arm to twine our hands together. She steps closer, her cheek pressing into my strong arm.

  “Are you doing okay?” she asks as the hush of the fall evening creeps over us again. “That was a little crazy.”

  I turn my head, pressing my lips against her forehead. Her flesh is warm and soft against my lips.

  “I am.” I answer honestly, meeting her eyes as she tips her head back to gaze up at me quietly. “I feel like a different person now, like I’ve yanked my head out from underground where I’ve been hiding. It’s like I can see my marriage differently now, like I see her differently.”

  I’m still in pain. Much like Patty, I will carry the loss of my wife forever. Sarah will remain a sad scar on my heart, though one that I can now remember with more fondness than guilt.

  “I just wish I would’ve been able to realize all this while she was still alive,” I continue, feeling my jaws clenched tightly. “Then maybe she would’ve had a chance at happiness too.”

  Holly squeezes my hand, and I shake my head.

  “Don’t worry. I won’t fall back into that way of thinking, of brooding over what I could have done differently and what life could be now. It is what it is, and what I’ve learned from this will stay with me forever.”

  Her full lips slowly curve into a smile. “That’s such a beautiful way of thinking.”

  “It’s something Sarah knew.” I chuckle. “She told me sometimes. ‘Look for the good, Everett.’ That’s how she dealt with negative news stories or when one of us had a bad day. I’ve only just remembered it now.”

  “Now is all that counts,” Holly murmurs sagely, and I turn to wrap my arms around her, holding her tightly against my chest.

  For the first time in so long, I finally feel like I am whole and complete.

  I finally remember what it feels like to be alive, and nothing can take that from me.

  Chapter 17

  Holly

  Everett is asleep, and I can’t stop staring at him.

  His muscled body stretches along the length of my couch, the quilt that he’d wrapped me in just the other night tangled around him now. Slowly, his chest rises and falls, his lips parted in peaceful breath.

  He looks so tranquil and calm and handsome that I can’t look away. I’ve been standing beside my coffee pot with the carafe in one hand and a chipped pink mug in the other for at least ten minutes now.

  Without even having to say it aloud, our plans had changed last night after running into Spencer and Patty. I don’t think either one of us could imagine going out to a nice dinner date after the events that had unfolded.

  Instead, I called Charlotte at the restaurant to whip us up some soup and salads to go, and we grabbed them on our walk home. We’d sat on the carpet at the little coffee table in my living room and eaten while channel surfing. It was relaxing, quiet, and warm. It was just what we needed.

  He hadn’t said he didn’t want to go home and sleep alone in his empty house, and I hadn’t asked. I’d never been one to deny anybody shelter when I had it to offer. He didn’t have to say it for me to see what he needed.

  His body twitches, just fractionally, his lips pursing as his face crinkles. With a yawn, one of his deep, dark eyes cracks wearily open.

  He grunts when he spots me staring, slowly pushing up so that he’s half-sitting. He leans his body one way, then the other, stretching.

  Quickly, I fill my mug and then snag another to fill before crossing the living room and handing it over.

  “How’d you sleep?”

  Before speaking, Everett gulps down a hearty swallow of the coffee before grimacing and smacking his lips.

  “It’s hot.” He frowns, like his bleary eyes had been unable to recognize the steam rolling off his cup.

  I just roll my eyes, taking a much smaller sip of the soothing Arabica. Just bitter enough to make you sigh and smooth enough to keep you drinking. Just how I like it.

  “I put a little salt in with the grounds when I brew it.”

  He arches an incredulous eyebrow, setting down his mug and stretching his strong arms up over his head. “That sounds ridiculous.”

  “It’s a thing. Google it. It makes it smoother. That’s why my coffee’s the best in town.” I narrow my eyes, daring him to argue.

  With a chuckle, he tugs back the blanket and starts to get up before he sinks back down again abruptly.

  “I don’t have to go to work,” he muses, half-bothered and half-contented. “The library’s closed. Spencer told me I had a week to get my stuff and close shop, but I bet he’ll be waiting there to start trouble.”

  Choosing my words carefully before I speak, I gently pat his still sleep-warm knee. “It’s probably better to stay away, if you think that’s the case.”

  I didn’t want to make him feel like he wasn’t allowed to go back to Sarah’s library one more time, like it would bother me somehow. It wouldn’t. While I can’t completely understand the depth of Everett’s loss, I will try my best to be sympathetic.

  “I’ll think about it.” He shrugs. “But I guess today I can start my new job hunt.”

  “Where will you start?” I nudge his thinking.

  “I was a great engineer and now, I realize, I miss it.”

  “So back to engineering it is?” I challenge him.

  He runs a hand through his hair, then turns his face to look back at me.

  “I think so, but I’ve been out of the game for so long. I’m probably so behind. After all, who’s going to hire me for an engineering position when all I’ve got on my resume for the last six years is a failing town librarian?”

  “Remember what you said last night? Years of grief move differently. I don’t think you’re going to be as far behind as you think, if you give it a chance.”

  “I will.” His voice is quiet, but earnest. “No more hesitating. No more fear. I’m not that man anymore, living the life of a turtle.”

  My hand moves on its own, brushing strands of his hair from his eyes. At some point, he’s going to have to go back to his library and get his things. He’s going to have to go back to his home and face the memories there. But today is about the future; it’s about looking ahead and remembering dreams that he has put on hold.

  “Turtles may move slowly, but forward is still forward.” I’d read that in a book once.

  Everett smiles that beautiful, quiet smile that makes a spark roll all the way down my spine. Hope shimmers in his eyes like a jewel through rocky earth. Bit by bit, it’s being unearthed.

  “I’ve got to go to work, but you can stay here as long as you want if you lock up when you leave,” I finally say, after I’ve contemplated calling into work sick just to spend more time around him. But my kids have a test today, and they need me.

  “I won’t stay long,” he promises, but I don’t care.

  He can stay forever if he wants to.

  My heart leaps abruptly at the thought of what could come for the two of us. We are walking forward, our backs finally to the wind instead of against.

  As I start to climb to my feet, Everett reaches out, his palms sliding over my hips. His fingers hold the fluttering chiffon of my blue blouse, gliding like warm pebbles across my prickling skin. With gentle firmness, he pulls me all too willingly down into his lap.

  Cradling my body against his, one of his palms cups my chin, drawing my face to his. His velvet lips capture
mine in a tender, chaste embrace, his arms tight around me.

  Never in my life have I felt more safe or more grounded.

  “Now get out of here,” he chuckles, breaking from the kiss only for a second before stealing one more.

  I can only giggle breathlessly, letting him help me back onto my feet. I feel like I’m walking on air, like the ground under my feet doesn’t exist. He walks me to the door and opens it for me as I collect my bag and purse.

  There is one more lingering kiss at the door, and my floating body drifts on a breeze of sheer joy all the way down the steps of my tall apartment building.

  When the outside door opens, the breeze is cold, but I’m so filled with the warmth of happiness that I don’t even feel it. I’m humming, I realize with a start, a cheery little tune vibrating in my throat.

  I pause on the sidewalk outside my apartment, shielding my eyes with one hand while I lift my chin and stare up the walls of the building towards where my unit sits in the middle of the fourth floor.

  I wave, even though I doubt Everett’s gazing down at me from the window, and then I press my palm to my lips and blow a kiss, just in case.

  It’s like I’m a kid again, like my heart has never been hurt, like it’s a clean slate.

  Again, joy wells up in me, and I have to clasp a hand to my heart because I feel so full I could burst.

  I’m so caught up in this moment that I don’t hear the footsteps behind me. I don’t notice that someone has approached me until ice-cold hands wrap around my upper arm, dragging me backwards into the alley behind my apartment so fast that I can only manage the smallest scream.

  Chapter 18

  Everett

  Holly’s apartment is small and slightly chaotic, a little like her.

  The walls aren’t the muted ivory or distant grey that you would typically find in a home these days, but instead, she has painted them a pastel pink that reminds me a little of blooming flowers in spring. Matching, vibrantly-colored drapes flutter from the open windows which gaze out over the modest skyline of Shady Piers. A pair of bookcases, heavy with well-read books, rest against the wall.

  Though winter will soon be blowing into town, her apartment is as warm and welcoming and cozy as her smile.

  It’s nice to be here, in a home without the shadows of my marriage lingering in every corner, but I do have to go get a few things from the library before Spencer has the whole place destroyed. I have a feeling he won’t settle until every book in that place is out of his sight.

  I want to tell him that he won’t be able to escape his grief by bringing that building down, but at this point, I’m thinking the less I see Spencer Tate, the better off everyone in this town will be.

  Unlike Holly, I don’t care whether or not he’ll get voted in as mayor. It’s not like I’d vote for him anyway. I’d rather just keep to myself about it.

  I walk the perimeter of her home, where the flowery fragrance that follows her is woven into every silken thread of the place, until I come to the little end table beside her couch.

  There’s an envelope resting on the wooden surface, torn open with hasty fingers. The letter within has been taken out once, then hastily crumpled and refolded and shoved back into the fragile packet of paper.

  I’m not the nosey type, really I’m not, but when I see Michael Brock’s name on the letterhead, I just can't resist.

  Gently, I pick up the letter and turn it over, brushing a thumb across the senator-hopeful’s typed name.

  “What a waste of space,” I mutter aloud, shaking my head at the name of the cat kidnapper before inspecting the letter that he’d sent.

  A rather simple cease and desist is spelled out in twelve-point Times New Roman font, accusing Holly of stalking and harassing Michael, even though she’d run states away from the humiliation of what happened and had yet to step foot back in the city since.

  She’s signed the papers, but made no effort to mail them back. Judging by the date at the bottom of the form, she doesn’t have long before it expires. A creased, yellow post-it note rests on one of the pages with distinctly feminine handwriting scrawled across it.

  We WILL take legal action

  if you don’t send this back immediately,

  Ms. Burke!

  Apparently, Holly isn’t convinced that they will or doesn’t care.

  Shaking my head, I set the envelope back down, giving it a little pat with my hand. We are going to get that cat of Holly’s back, even if we have to go to New York ourselves and steal it away under the cover of nightfall.

  How’s that for a cease and desist, Michael?

  Making sure that I have my house keys, I grab my coffee mug off the table and take another sip before setting it back down. It was simply the best cup of coffee I’d ever had.

  Chuckling, I step outside and lock the door, debating whether I should go by my house or the library first.

  In the end, I decide to wait until I hit the sidewalk and let the road take me wherever. It’s not like I’ve got a deadline to stick to or a job to show up at. I would enjoy that uncertainty for a day or two, until it got boring. I couldn’t really go with the flow for long. I needed a purpose, a place to be every day at nine in the morning.

  The doors of the apartment complex glide open, the blue, morning sky greeting me. A few fluffy, grey clouds are forming over the city, slowly creeping across the sun. By evening, it will be just cold enough to cuddle up under a blanket and sip some cinnamon tea.

  I send one look up the street in either direction, still debating just where I want to wander off to, when I hear a faint cry.

  The noise isn’t more than a small squeak, so delicate and tiny that I wonder if it is a kitten mewing. Curious, I glance over my shoulder towards the side of Holly’s apartment building, waiting for some little creature to wander out to see if I had a snack. As I look for it, I see a shadow lurching faintly down the path.

  Normally, I would turn and walk the other way so as not to bother anyone who may just be smoking a cigarette or taking a call of nature, but there is something off about the movement of the shadow. When it jerks one way and then the other, like it's fighting something, I have to check it out.

  I haven't taken more than two steps towards the alley when I hear a faint, familiar click.

  My dad had been a hunter. He and I weren’t close, and his penchant for needlessly killing animals was probably the cause of part of the rift between us, but he’d taken my brother and I hunting on several occasions. Blake was more into the sport than I was, so I generally just followed them around, toting whatever needed to be toted and trying not to watch as they shot down their prey.

  It was because of those early childhood memories that I knew the sound of a cocking gun.

  My feet move on their own, propelled forward almost mechanically as I burst around the corner. It wasn’t a smart thing to do, but it happened before I could even take a breath or think.

  As my body rounds the corner, Spencer whirls towards me, one of his hands trapping Holly against the wall. The other holds a silver handgun that gleams under the fading November sun.

  “Keep back!” He waves the gun in my direction. “I’m going to fix this, once and for all, right now,” he shouts huskily, shaking Holly.

  His palm is shoved against her mouth, the weight of his body pinning her to the brick wall of her apartment. She struggles, claw marks from her nails on his cheek. He doesn’t seem to notice the blood dripping down his jaw.

  My heart thunders hard against my ribs, making my ears ache with the intensity. The whole world seems to spin, and all I can see is Holly in danger, like red, flashing lights are exploding over her head.

  “Spencer, you have to put that gun away—” I whisper.

  “I just want her to leave!” he shouts back, waving the gun so hysterically that my heart goes from being lodged in my throat to sitting in my stomach so fast that I choke and throw both my hands up in front of me.

  Holly gives another strained cry t
hat is muffled by Spencer’s shaking hand, and he whips back around to face her.

  “You threatened to ruin my campaign: to turn Shady Piers against me. I can’t have that happen! It’s all that I have! I won’t let you!”

  “She’s not going to ruin your campaign, Spencer,” I say firmly, my voice rasping through my tight throat. I’m not even sure if he can hear me. All I know is that I have to get that gun. I have to get Holly. “You don’t have to hurt her. If you do, there goes your campaign, there goes everything. You’re going to get thrown in jail, and you’re never going to get out.”

  Spencer drags in a breath, his whole body shaking like a leaf.

  “I don’t want to hurt her,” he whispers, turning blazing eyes back towards me. “But I can’t lose the election; I can’t lose anything more than I already have.”

  “I know, Spencer; I know this is hard. I know you loved Sarah, but hurting Holly won’t make it better.”

  “She made me do this!” he shouts, rattling Holly roughly again.

  Holly is as pale as a ghost, her eyes locked on the gun as it waves around, her body limp as Spencer jerks her about.

  “Let Holly go. Let me have her. She doesn’t deserve this. You know that. You’re not mad at her, you’re mad at me.”

  Spencer tightens his grip on her and then abruptly shoves her away. With a cry of panic, Holly stumbles toward me but falls to her knees, her arms outstretched desperately towards me. I scoop her up, grabbing her and shoving her protectively behind my own body.

  But Spencer isn’t pointing that gun at either of us now; it’s turned towards him, pressed against his temple.

  His frantic movements slow, and suddenly, he’s standing still and poised like a statue, his brown eyes locked on me.

  “I can’t do this anymore,” he croaks hoarsely. “I can’t fight it. I want it to be over. I want to be with Sarah.”

  “Sarah wouldn’t want you to do this, Spencer!” Holly cries, her cheek bruised where Spencer had grabbed her so roughly. She peers out from behind me, her body shaking intensely as she presses against me. “She would want you to be happy, just like she would want Everett to be happy!”