I hurry through the store, not wanting to risk someone else recognizing me, and collect everything I need for tonight’s dinner.
I walk to the haircare aisle and stop in front of the boxes of hair color. My roots will need touching up soon, but maybe instead of blond, I should select a different color. Something that will make me look less like Savannah or Jess. Something that won’t draw attention—so no pink or purple or blue.
The clatter of a shopping cart from the end of the aisle jerks my attention that way. A woman pushes her cart toward me, a dark-haired toddler sitting in the seat. The back of the little girl’s head resembles Amelia’s at that age. My heart clenches to the size of a walnut, the ache something fierce.
Gotta get out of here.
Gotta get out of here.
Gotta get out of here.
The hair color can wait for another time.
I hurry out of the aisle and join the line for self-checkout, my head kept down to hide the scars on my face.
* * *
I pedalup the driveway to my house and dismount at the backyard gate. Now that I’m home—my safe place—the tension in my muscles, the panic vibrating under my skin, eases.
I lift the trailer cover and let Bailey out. She intently sniffs the ground under the hedge.
“What is it, Bailey? A rabbit?” I open the gate and let her into the garden. “I’m just putting the bike away. I’ll be right back.”
She knows the routine by now, but repeating it to myself helps me. Makes me feel like I have a little more control over my life.
I wheel the bike and trailer to the garage and unlock the side door.
Troy’s truck turns onto the driveway. I wave at him and push my bike and trailer into the garage. I come out carrying the grocery bags and find him standing by his truck door.
“I wasn’t expecting you yet,” I say, walking to him. He’s three hours early.
“I know.” He smiles at me but stays beside the truck. “I’m taking Nova and Butterscotch to the lake. Do you and Bailey want to come with us?”
“Okay. Let me just put these groceries in the house first and get changed. I’ll be quick.”
“Go ahead.”
Bailey follows me into the house and sits patiently by my side while I put away the food that needs to be refrigerated. The rest can wait on the kitchen counter until we get back. I go upstairs and swiftly change into shorts and a T-shirt.
Bailey and I step out of the house. She’s no longer wearing her training vest. She gets to be a regular dog for now.
Troy is still by his truck, the rear passenger door open, and he’s talking to Nova. She’s buckled in her car seat and holding a stuffed bunny that looks like it’s been hugged one too many times.
“Hi!” She lifts her bunny for me to see. She’s adorable and reminds me so much of Amelia at that age, I have to swallow past the tightening in my throat.
But the little girl means the world to Troy. I can’t let my pain at missing Amelia ruin things for them. And it might do me some good to spend time with them together. “Hi, Nova. Is it okay if Bailey and I join you, Uncle Troy, and Butterscotch?”
“Hi!” she replies, which I interpret to mean yes. Maybe?
I bring Bailey to the other side of the truck and help her into the front. I climb in and sit so that she’s between my legs, the typical location for service dogs when riding with their owner—unless the owner is driving. I give her a treat.
We pull into the beach parking lot ten minutes later to find it half-full. Troy and I click the leashes onto the dogs’ collars. I carry the net bag holding an assortment of colorful beach-friendly toys to an open stretch of sand. He carries Nova.
The wind hasn’t picked up yet beyond creating gentle waves on the lake, but the temperature has dropped a few degrees, making me glad I wore my cardigan.
Troy crouches to Nova’s level. “You want to build the sandcastle there?”
Nova nods. She grabs a small plastic shovel and digs it into the sand. She flicks the shovel up, flinging clumps of sand into the air.
