Carina looks off over my shoulder, her amber eyes filled with an emotion I can’t quite pinpoint. Her eyes are so beautiful. They shine with so much, but sometimes I don’t think she uses them tosee. She uses them to hide from everything that resides behind.
“I want to be the person I thought I was. It’s hard, though, because I’m terrified. Not because I’m fearful of him. I’m fearful of what he’ll do to any progress I make. I’m afraid to start making a new life if he’s going to take it away again. I’m not sure I’ll be able to come out on the other side of that. Not again,” Carina says. Her gaze flits to mine and holds. She grins. “I’m sorry for talking your ear off. Didn’t you have news? Probably better than mine.”
“This is way more important than my news, Carina. I’m happy for you.” I pick up a strand of her lighter hair that lies on her shoulder. She keeps her grin as she watches my hand. “Nothing is going to happen. He’s not going to hurt you again.”
“What if I’m not strong enough, though?”
“Strong enough to what? You left him. That’s the hardest part.”
Carina sighs and takes my hand in hers. Her gaze stays on the red, scarred skin of my hand. “What if I’m not strong enough to stay away from him? I know he’s going to try to get me back. I don’t know if I’m strong enough to tell him no. Isn’t that sick?” With her thumb, she rubs the skin between my thumb and forefinger.
I capture her thumb with my thumb. “I see the woman who you think you aren’t. You’re more than capable of handling this with ease and strength. You have support, you have a plan. You are strong enough.”
She coughs, removes her hand from my grasp, and folds her hands in her lap. “I hope you’re right, Smith. God, I hope you’re right.”
Giving her my biggest smile, I say, “I’m almost always right, Carina.”
She presses her lips to the side. “Somehow, I believe that,” Carina says, folding her hair from one side to the other. “Thank you for listening to this mess. I know that’s not in your job description. You’re a good friend to me.”
Somewhere in between email exchanges and interviews, we became friends. The kind that you can tell anything to. The kind that lasts a lifetime. I’m sure of it.
“You’re writing my story. I have to be good to you. What if you kill me off?”
She laughs, and a genuine smile graces me with its presence. I can’t help but laugh in return. The fact that true happiness exists in this day is confusing.
A small dog runs over to pick up a red ball that’s landed at our feet. “I want a cat,” Carina says.
“Because you saw a dog?” I ask with a chuckle.
She smiles and waves at the owner, who is several yards away calling for the little fuzzball. “No, I’ve always wanted a cat, but Roarke is allergic.”
Of course he is. That fucker is allergic to life. “Youcan have seven cats now. If you want.”
“Ha. Ha,” she says, a sarcastic grin pulling her lips. “The writer with seven cats. You’re trying to bury me early, aren’t you?”
I don’t respond. I just watch her in this peaceful moment. It helps ease the Megan pain buried in my chest. It’s like even my heart knows what my mind has forgotten.
Carina leans her head back when a stray sunbeam finds its way through the tree branches. It lights her face beautifully. She hums. “I was thinking last night when I obviously couldn’t sleep. With the pace of my thoughts, it was never going to happen, and I realized something. You know how in horror novels, sometimes right in the middle, there’s this really great, warm chapter to break up the gore?”
I grunt in agreement even though I don’t read horror novels. I watch her pink lips as she opens to speak again.
Her head falls to the side, and she looks at me. “You’re my warm, fuzzy middle chapter.”
The sentiment steals my breath.
“In the most proper, platonic, friendly way, that is,” she tacks on the end.
I want to tell her that it doesn’t have to be that way anymore, that even Megan knows how I feel, but somehow bringing my feelings into this conversation seems dirty and wrong. I don’t want to sully this moment with anything. Carina is opening herself to me, and inresponse, my entire heart is grateful. That’s enough for now.
I laugh. “Of course. In that proper horror novel way,” I reply.
She shakes her head.
“I should tell you a story. I’ll tell you my news another day.”
She sits up straight, excited. “That’s a great idea. I’ve written a couple chapters already. I couldn’t hold back any longer. Greenleigh is in the building. Whenever you’re ready.”
She doesn’t take out her tape recorder this time, just a small notebook and a hot pink pen. She presses it between her lips as she waits for me to begin. I decide on a funny story about my very first deployment as a SEAL. It’s when Moose and Henry became my best friends—when the brotherhood everyone talked about was defined. It involves cigars, sunburns, a wrecked four-wheeler, and a video camera.
