“Yeah,” Walker replied. “That’s about the size of it.”
I wanted to ask what happened to Jim, but I didn’t have to.
“He’s serving twenty to life,” Walker said, reading my mind. “No parole, no appeals. The judge saw to that. But it didn’t fix anything. Lily moved into her sister’s for a while, tried to get her feet back under her. She wouldn’t let anyone help. Wouldn’t let anyone pay for daycare, or groceries, or even a cab ride to the doctor’s. Said she’d figure it out herself.”
He drained the last of his beer, then signaled for two more. When the bartender dropped them off, Walker took a long pull before he spoke again.
“You see why she freaked out about the car now? She spent the past two years clawing her way back to being her own person. Last thing she wants is to feel like she owes anything to anyone.”
I felt the heat rise in my face, but this time it was shame, not anger.
“I just wanted to make her life easier,” I said, but the words sounded hollow.
Walker patted my shoulder, rough but not unkind. “I know. It was a real nice thing. But you didn’t know. Now you do.”
I finished my whiskey in two quick gulps, the burn less forgiving this time.
We sat in silence for a while, the only sound the scrape of glasses and the low twang from the jukebox. I replayed every interaction with Lily—the way she always insisted on paying for her own coffee, how she’d flinch if you touched her arm without warning, how she’d rather walk a mile than ask for a ride. She didn’t just want independence; she needed it, the way some people needed air.
I wished I could go back and do it right, but I couldn’t. All I could do was try to fix what I’d broken.
Walker stood, settling his hat on his head. “You gonna be okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’ll make sure of it.”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a twenty, slapping it on the bar for the bartender. “You want some advice?”
I looked up, waiting.
“Apologize to her. Not for the car, not for wanting to help. Just—tell her you get it. Tell her you’re not trying to be a hero. She doesn’t need one.” He smiled, then turned to go. “But if you’re lucky, she’ll let you stick around anyway.”
He left me alone at the bar, where I sat for hours, not even drinking, just thinking about life. About what I’ve done so far. About what I wanted. About things that happened in the past that I’d tried hard to forget.
Lily was stronger than me. I knew that for sure now. She’d been beaten down—emotionally and physically—for god knows how long, and she almost didn’t make it out. But she did. And she refused to accept help. Which also made her more than a little stubborn, but I understood why.
And now she was thriving. Giving Noah a safe home and all the love in the world.
I was in awe of her.
I closed out my tab and wandered outside into the evening air. The cold hit me hard, waking up every nerve in my face. I didn’t bother with the main street this time. I just walked, head down, boots crunching through the occasional brown leaves coating the sidewalk.
I thought about Lily—about how, every time I looked at her, I wanted to take away all the bad things she’d ever felt. But that was the problem, wasn’t it? Some things, you had to let people own for themselves.
The windows of her apartment were dark, but I could see a faint glow under the curtain. Probably reading, or maybe just staring at the wall, wondering what disaster I’d bring next.
I stood outside, hands jammed in my pockets, heart beating slow and hard. For once, I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t have a script or a backup strategy. All I could do was be there.
I texted her: Are you awake?
She replied a minute later: Yeah.
I hesitated, then typed: Can I come up? Just want to talk.
A pause, then: Sure.
My hands shook as I climbed the steps, but it wasn’t from the cold. I reached her door, took a breath, and knocked.
When she opened it, she looked tired but not mad. She wore an old sweatshirt and pajama pants, and her hair was pulled upinto a messy knot that made her look about nineteen. Noah was nowhere in sight—probably asleep.
