Finally, my phone buzzes. Beth:Made it back.
That’s all she says. I want to ask if she’s okay, if she needs me. I don’t.
Instead, I text:Miss you.
The dots appear, blinking. Then they vanish. No reply.
It’s heartbreaking.
By sunset, I give up pretending to work and go home. The house feels huge and hollow without her.
I grab a beer and sit outside as the sky fades to pink and orange. Somewhere down the street, a dog barks. Distant, lonely.
Henry’s truck crunches up the driveway. He climbs the steps and leans on the railing. I hand him a beer.
“You coming out tonight?” he asks.
I roll the bottle in my hands. “I don’t think so.”
He gives a big sigh. “Man, you’re whipped.”
I don’t bother denying it.
He studies me. “Look, I get it. But you sitting here all night won’t change a thing.”
I stare at the horizon. “I’m not in the mood.”
He huffs. “It’s your life.” He swigs his beer.
I grit my teeth, fighting the urge to say the stupid thing on my mind. Finally, it slips out. “I want what our parents have. Thirty-five years, and they still look at each other like nobody else exists. That’s what I want. And I thought I could have it with Beth.”
Henry goes quiet for a long moment. “Maybe you will.”
My throat is tight. I can’t respond.
The silence between us says everything I can’t.
Eventually, Henry sets his empty bottle on the railing. “Change your mind, you know where to find me.”
He heads down the steps, boots thudding against the porch.
“Yeah,” I say. “I know.”
The sky bleeds to deep blue, and I sit there until the stars come out, wishing for a sign, wishing Beth were here.
CHAPTER NINE
BETH
I pull into my parents’ driveway and cut the engine. The house looks exactly as it always has—white shutters, trimmed hedges, not a leaf out of place—but I feel like an intruder.
My hands stay clenched on the wheel, and for a moment, I consider backing out and leaving, but I force myself to breathe. In. Out.You can do this, Beth.
I step out, heels clicking on the pavement with every step toward the porch. The front door is yanked open before I reach it. My mother stands in the frame, arms folded, mouth a hard line.
“Well,” she says, “look who finally decided to show up.”
Her words hit as sharply as the fall air. “Hi, Mom.”
