They stayed like that for a long while. When Kathleen finally pulled back, her face was blotchy and her eyes red.
“I didn’t tell you because I was afraid,” she admitted. “Afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
“I might not understand everything,” Rhonda said gently, “but I know how it feels to lose someone you weren’t ready to see go. And I know that loving someone—really loving them—is never foolish.”
“I thought she’d come back.”
Rhonda sighed. “I don’t know if she will, but you must decide what kind of person you’ll be for her if she returns.”
Kathleen blinked. “What if she doesn’t?”
“Then you’ll survive that too. Your father and I will be here for you. You don’t have to get over this quickly or pretend you’re fine.”
Kathleen gave a soft sob that turned into a hitch, and then another. “I don’t know how to move forward.”
“You don’t have to yet,” Rhonda said, brushing her hair from her forehead. “You have to sit still long enough to feel it. That’s how healing starts. Can you stay with us for a couple of days?”
Kathleen nodded. “Ted can look after things.” She leaned against her again, closing her eyes. For the first time in what felt like days, she let the silence be comforting rather than crushing.
They sat there as the light faded, the soup untouched, the world on pause. It was enough for the moment.
It was nearly six when they heard the front door open and close. A moment later, her father’s voice called, “Hello?”
“We’re in here,” Rhonda answered softly.
John Knowles appeared in the doorway, still in his overcoat, a folder tucked under one arm. He took one look at Kathleen curled on the couch and his face changed.
He stepped inside, set the folder down, and knelt in front of her. “Rough day?”
Kathleen gave him a tiny nod.
“Want to get out of here for a drive?” he asked gently. “You and me. No questions.”
She nodded again.
He rose, kissed Rhonda’s cheek, and said, “I’ll take her somewhere quiet.”
Fifteen minutes later, they were in his car, heading out of the city. Neither spoke much. Kathleen stared out the window,her head against the glass, watching the light fade over the buildings.
He took the back roads, avoiding traffic, letting the car coast through the hills. Eventually, they turned into a narrow gravel path marked with a faded wooden sign: Grey Oak Sanctuary.
Kathleen blinked at the familiar name. “I haven’t been here for years.”
“I brought you here every weekend when you were a kid,” John said as he parked the car.
They stepped out into the cold, late afternoon air. The sanctuary was quiet, except for the distant murmur of water and birdsong. A wooden boardwalk wound through the wetlands, flanked by reeds and lines of thin trees.
They walked in silence for a while, side by side.
Then John said, “I don’t know what happened, Katie, and I won’t pry. But I know the look on your face. I’ve worn it often enough myself.”
She didn’t reply, knowing he wasn’t expecting her to. They kept going until they reached a small viewing platform, where they leaned against the railing to lookout over the water.
“I still come here when things get too much at the hospital,” he said. “It’s not much, but something about the birds makes everything feel better.”
Kathleen gave a small, broken laugh. “I used to think they were secretive, like they had their own codes.”
“They probably do,” John said. “Just not ones we get to learn.”
