Where Love Lives

by Street, K.

  The interior walls of CDD were constructed of thick glass. I waved to Saylor as I walked past her office to Easton’s door. He was bent over his drafting table in the corner, completely in his element. Long seconds passed as I stood there. Seizing the opportunity to watch him work. The sleeves of his dress shirt had been rolled up, exposing his forearms. His hair was mussed as though he’d run his fingers through it dozens of times.

  “If you don’t stop drooling over my brother, I’m going to puke,” Saylor singsonged next to me.

  Our laughter drew Easton’s attention away from his work. He grinned when he saw the two of us standing in the doorway.

  “Molls, why didn’t you come in?”

  “Then, you would have noticed her ogling you,” Saylor pointed out.

  Heat rushed to my cheeks.

  Easton threw his sister a stern look. “Don’t you have work to do?”

  “You’re not the—”

  “You sure you want to finish that sentence, kid?” He crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Ugh. Stop calling me that.” Saylor rolled her eyes.

  I couldn’t help but laugh at the two of them. It was like watching a tennis match.

  “And yes, I have work to do, but it’s lunchtime. I might be a little late getting back. Knox has that luncheon at pre-K today, remember?”

  “I remember. Take your time.”

  “See you later, Molly.”

  “Bye.”

  “Easton?” Helen buzzed into his office.

  He stepped over to the desk and pressed the button on the phone. “Yes, Helen?”

  “I’m headed to lunch. Do you need anything before I go?”

  “We’re good. Thanks for asking.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Saylor left out the back while Helen left out the front.

  “Hi.” Easton closed the distance between us. He reached up to stroke my cheek. “You have Helen on your face.”

  “What?”

  He showed me his thumb, and sure enough, it was smeared with a fuchsia tint.

  I reached up to scrub it away. “Did I get it?”

  He nodded. “Are you okay?”

  He didn’t have to tell me what he was referring to.

  “Yes. It’s weird; I feel lighter somehow.”

  “That’s great, Firefly. Really great.”

  “I was nervous, but Dr. Gold is amazing. I’m going to do weekly sessions with her via the computer. It will be covered on my insurance, and since I met my deductible already this year, you won’t be getting a bill. But thank you so much for doing this. For giving me the push.”

  He pulled me into a hug. “I’m proud of you.”

  “I’m proud of me, too,” I admitted, returning his embrace.

  “Can you stay for lunch, or do you need to get back?”

  “Lunch sounds great.”

  Easton drove us to a new little deli a few miles from the square and bought us lunch. We ate our chicken salad sandwiches alfresco against the backdrop of the Blue Ridge Mountains. I had forgotten how much I loved Maplewood Falls. Even though Paige and I lived outside the hustle and bustle of Atlanta, it was still Atlanta.

  “What letter did we stop on?” Easton asked, dragging me from my thoughts.

  “G, I think.”

  “All right. Let’s see …”

  We continued the game we had started the other night via text. For every letter of the alphabet, we each picked a name we would never give our child, starting with that letter. It might have been counterproductive, but it was fun and much easier than picking a suitable name.

  “Gertrude,” I said.

  “Gwyneth.”

  “Hortencia.”

  He barked out a laugh. “You’re making that up.”

  “Am not. It came up in one of those baby name searches.”

  “Did you Google what not to name your kid?”

  “According to that particular site it’s of Latin origin and means garden.”

  Easton laughed so hard tears formed in his eyes.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “Little girls grow up to be ladies.”

  There was a pregnant pause before mortification painted my cheeks. I slapped a hand over my mouth, then I busted out laughing. “That’s awful,” I said when I could finally speak. “The Hortencias of the world are literally lady gardens.”

  We both cracked up all over again.

  Too soon, Easton was looking at his watch. “Are you ready to head back?”

  “Yes.” I yawned. “My sides hurt from laughing and I’m exhausted.”

  “I can give you my key. You can go to the house and take a nap if you want.”

  “No. I’m fine.” I stifled another yawn and got to my feet.

  “I insist.”

  “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

  His keys jangled as he fiddled with the ring until he was able to free the house key. “I insist. Make yourself at home.” He placed the key in my palm and folded my fingers around it.

  “Thank you.”

  I tried not to read too much into the gesture. It was nearly two in the afternoon, and it had already felt like the longest day in the history of the world. Sleep sounded like the best idea ever.

  Thirty-Two

  Easton

  I smiled when I saw Molly’s car still parked in my driveway when I got home from work a little after five. The house was quiet when I walked inside. I opened my mouth to call out her name but closed it before any sound came out. If she was still sleeping, I didn’t want to wake her.

  I looked in the direction of my room, but I knew I wouldn’t find her there. I soundlessly moved through the house to the guest bedroom where the door sat slightly ajar.

  The hinges creaked a bit when I pushed against the wood, reminding me that I needed to get the lubricant out of the garage.

  I found Molly curled in the middle of the queen-size bed, peacefully sleeping. Her brown hair fanned out against the backdrop of the stark white bedding. A pillow tucked under her head, one between her knees and another one in her arms, hugging it to her body, even in sleep. That one didn’t match the others. It was covered in a slate-gray case.

  My mouth tipped up at the corners. I would bet money, if I were to walk into the master, the pillow from my side of the bed would be missing.

  Fuck. I missed her.

  No. Not missed.

  Miss. I miss her.

  Last week, when she’d sent me the text telling me she would call Dr. Gold the next morning to schedule an appointment, I’d had my doubts she would actually do it. Thursday afternoon, she called and told the time and date, and I wondered if she would follow through. I had done nothing but doubt her all week long.

  People buried shit they didn’t want to deal with. Molly had spent years not dealing with her issues. The fact that she’d shown up today instead of canceling was huge. Knowing she’d walked into the office, sat down, and started talking instead of running gave me hope.

  Hope we would get through this. That somehow, all the broken roads and detours would make us stronger in the end.

  Feeling like a voyeur, I tore myself from the doorway and went into the kitchen. Molly would likely be starving when she woke up. I opened the fridge, taking stock of its contents. Aside from a bag of raw broccoli, carrots, and cauliflower, I had a head of romaine lettuce and a few condiments. After I checked out the pantry, I bent low to rummage through the freezer, though I doubted I would find much in there.

  What the hell?

  Small, proportioned containers of food I didn’t recognize lined the top shelf along with a few aluminum pans covered in tinfoil. I pulled out one of the pans and laughed as I read the two notes on top, both in script I recognized.

  Shepherd’s pie. Bake at 400 degrees for 30 minutes. Remember to set the timer.