Rosie slipped her arm around my shoulders. “If you don’t see a future together because you don’t share Miller’s feelings, then, yes, break up. If you feel peace and relief that it’s over, then you know you’ve made the right choice. But if your heart is empty, if you miss Miller already, if you wonder if you’ve made a colossal mistake, give him a chance.”
“I don’t know what to do.” My tears returned, and I rummaged in my pocket for yet another tissue. I did not have peace or relief or anything but tears, confusion, and alotof bloating over my excessive stress-eating.
Rosie handed me a cookie, as if reading my mind. “If you’ve broken up with Miller out of hurt—but mostly because you were scared, then tell him. Let him in.” Now her eyes were sparkling with moisture as well. “Hattie, take it from me: Life is short. We’re not promised tomorrow with the ones we love. What I wouldn’t give for just one more day with Chase. Yes, Miller messed up. But you have the opportunity to love and be loved.” My sister hugged me tightly to her side, her voice quaking. “If it’s the real thing, then see it through. Don’t toss the chance at love away out of fear and anger. It’s time to stop living the easy old patterns and do the hard work of embracing the new. If you want to heal that inner child, then give her a happy ending. Give her all the love she thinks she doesn’t deserve.”
“Because she does deserve it,” Sylvie said. “And so do you—every part of you.”
“At least I have you girls.” I threw my arms around the lot of them and tugged them to me. “I love you.”
“We love you too.” Sylvie kissed my cheek and gave me that knowing smile. “Be brave enough to trust someone else to love you just as fervently and true.”
I don’t know how much time passed in our little love knot. Their words soaked into my heart and filled me as the encouragement continued. These women were my family, my very best friends. They treated me like their own—because I was. Their advice sounded so simple, but in reality, it was not. I would lose more sleep the next few nights thinking of Miller and trying to decide what I really wanted. I knew I’d go see Buck, and it was probably time for a conversation I’d waited over twenty years to have.
I loved both men.
But I wasn’t sure both truly loved me.
“Oh, Rosie.” I dashed away the last of the tears with the back of my hand. “I messed up your big reveal. You didn’t tell everyone the name of the shop.”
“I’m dying to know,” Olivia said. “Please put me out of my misery, so I can finalize our PR details once and for all.”
Rosie’s bewitched gaze surveyed the store, from the new chandeliers that had just been installed to the vintage shelving she’d recently found at an auction. I imagined her seeing the space as it would be, filled with words and books, readers and dreamers.
“The Lost Story Bookshop,” she said with finality, her mouth tipping up in a smile I hadn’t seen since before the loss of Chase. “That’s her name.”
“The Lost Story Bookshop.” Olivia tried it out a few times, letting the sound flow from her articulate tongue. “I like it.”
“How did you decide on that?” I asked.
“I’ll tell you the full tale one day soon, when I’m ready.” Rosie slipped her arm through mine and leaned her head on my shoulder. “But for now, I think we all are writing our stories—every one of us. This will be our home base, our place to share our own chapters of where life is taking us.”
“Let’s make ’em good ones,” Sylvie said.
Rosie looked to me, and what passed between us was a silent understanding of hurt and loss, a mutual hope for lives stronger than our pain. She sighed contentedly and grinned. “The very best.”
Chapter Forty-Three
Two days passed like paint drying, like watching a tree for leaves to turn, like waiting at the four-way stop while Gladys Smitherdink drove her 1964 International tractor through town on her monthly trip to buy dog food and malt liquor.
Miller hadn’t so much as called or texted, and I knew that shouldn’t have bothered me, since I was the breaker-upper, but it did. I hadn’t wasted that time though. No. Not at all. I’d binge-watchedGolden Girlswhile online shopping for muumuus, rereadLove at First Howlto glean any relationship tips, and started writing chapter one of my never-to-be-published memoir I’d titleBoys Are Stupid and So Am I.
What had Inotdone? Slept. Because every time I closed my eyes, a million thoughts pummeled my brain and body, refusing to let me rest. I had so much confusion, so much indecision. I was such a screwup personally, I wondered if I should quit my job counseling others. Who was I to guide wounded people to healing?
Clutching a travel mug of coffee Wednesday morning, I walked into the barn and found Ernie and Kayce. The two had their heads together like they were holding a two-party staff meeting, and Ernie was actually smiling. I’d add this to my list of things to obsess over later.
“Good morning,” I said. I didn’t bother with a pleasant face. It took energy I didn’t possess.
“Hattie, hello.” Kayce did put on a smile, and she looked effortlessly radiant. Like me, she wore boots and jeans, but unlike me, Kayce appeared well-rested and bore the confidence of someone who knew what her future plans held. “I was just talking to Ernie here about your program.”
“It received a grant for four more years of funding.” Clutching my coffee cup, I willed the warmth to seep into my skin, my heart. “Provided it has a secure location.”
Kayce’s blue eyes so like Miller’s were backlit with kindness. “Well, of course you’ll continue to operate from here.”
“I didn’t want to assume,” I said.
“I do have some ideas for a few changes to implement at Hope Farms when I take over,” Kayce said, “but nothing that will affect your program. I definitely want you and Ernie to continue your work. I know nothing about horse therapy, and I don’t intend on interfering. Obviously what you two do is working.”
I didn’t bother correcting Kayce on calling our program horse therapy because it was just a relief she didn’t want to make changes. “Thank you.”
