The woman’s eyes flit through a variety of emotions before she finally sputters, “Do I...know you?”
Something inside me rises to the surface—like a knowing beyond my typical perception. Even without her confirming, I know without a doubt this is the woman I was meant to find.
I eye the restroom longingly but make my way back to her. “No, my name is Ella. Ella Breene,” I say, holding out a hand.
She accepts it, giving it a strong shake.
I pull my hand back, my fingers contorting slightly from the pressure. Woman’s got mad strength.
Pressing my fingers against my thighs to stretch them back out, I say, “Are you doing okay?”
She doesn’t know me from Jane, and I don’t know her, but I can’t help but feel for the poor woman. She was obviously adored. I mean, her husband’s dying words were to let her know he loved her.
Pretty sure my ex would have wanted someone to tell me to go to hell. Or maybe he wouldn’t have even thought about me at all.
Clementine’s green eyes glass over. The wind kicks up, tousling her curly brown hair and she tucks a flyaway behind her ear. She swallows hard but doesn’t answer.
I take a seat on the bench beside her and place a hand on her knee. I’m not normally a touchy-feely type, but for some reason, the act feels right. “I’m glad I found you. To be honest, I wasn’t sure I’d be able. I’m new to town, so this whole thing feels a bit,” I glance up into her questioning gaze and clear my throat, then add, “overwhelming.”
“I’m sorry, I’m not really following,” she says, suspicion and concern written in her frown lines.
“Look, I know this probably seems a bit odd, but I”—I lower my voice as I search for the right words—“I was with your husband at the end.”
The lightbulb goes off behind Clementine’s eyes and she turns to me, grabbing hold of my hand still resting on her knee. “You were with Doug? Was he—?” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t want to know.” For the first time, her true emotions make their appearance as a tear escapes, blazing a trail down her cheek.
I place my other hand over the top of hers, trying to comfort her in this impossible position. “He loved you very much. He asked me—”
Clementine’s head again jerks up and her gaze deepens as she waits for me to continue.
I inhale deeply, letting my shoulders rise and fall. “He asked me to relay a message to you. He wanted you to know he loved you very much. You were the last thing on his mind before...” My voice trails off and I let things sit there. No need to twist that knife in deeper.
Surprisingly, she huffs a little laugh. “It’s just like him to be on his deathbed and only care about getting a message to me. Stupid bastard.”
Her words hold admiration, despite their harshness.
I smile softly. “You must have been very important to him.”
Her gaze drifts up and out, again resting on the glistening surface of the lake. “He was too caring.”
Despite myself, I snicker. “Is there such a thing?”
She shoots me a sideways glance. “Sometimes.”
I think about all of the times I tried to make things work with the ex and I know her words hold truth. Sometimes trying to make things right, or caring too much, isn’t the right move.
“Fair enough,” I say, allowing my gaze to follow hers. The water glitters under the sunlight, pulling away my thoughts. I can see why she chose this spot to sit at today.
“Do you have a husband?” Clementine asks, turning to me. It’s almost as if she was reading my mind.
I shake my head. “No, no husband, thank god. Blissfully single.”
“You say that as if you’ve had experience,” she says, the edges of her lips curving upward. Though the emotion doesn’t quite make it to her eyes.
I nod. “I was married for a good long while. Too long, if you ask me.”
“But it didn’t work out?”
“No. If you listen to him tell the story, it’s because I didn’t know how to be a wife. But really, I reached my bullshit threshold.” I shrug, finally returning my hands to my lap.
“I’m sorry. That sounds like a lonely existence,” she says, her voice low and soft. Again, something inside me stirs—a deep longing to belong.
It would almost be funny to have her comforting me if the whole situation wasn’t so damn sad. Maybe it wasn’t just her husband who cared too much.
I inhale sharply through my nose and nod.
“Well, you’re still young. There’s still plenty of time for fate to intervene,” she says, a faint twinkle in her eyes. By the looks of things, she couldn’t be much older than I am.
Snickering, I shake my head. “Oh, you’ve got me all wrong. I’m practically knocking on death’s door. Or, at least, that’s what my bladder says after that run.”
She huffs out a laugh.
“But thank you for the sentiment. In all honesty, I think I’m kinda over guys at this point. I’m thinking of starting a long-term relationship with a box of wine and a good book, though.”
Again she laughs. “You’re funny. I get why he likes you.”
I turn to her, surprised. “Excuse me?”
Biting her lip, she shakes her head slightly. “I meant, liked you. My husband, that is.”
“Oh, right.” I nod. “I don’t think he liked me so much as I was the only person around at the time. He had a message to relay. Remember?”
Clementine narrows her eyes and purses her lips to the side. “No, that wasn’t it. There’s something about you. I can feel it.”
“Oookay, well, I don’t know about all of that.” My gaze drifts out to the restroom and I stand up. Now feels like a good time to slip away. I can only handle so much weird for one day. I jab a finger toward the public facilities. “I better, get going. Small bladder and all that.”
She grins, tipping her chin. “Go. And thanks for stopping, Ella. It was nice to meet you.”
“Yeah, I just wish it were under better circumstances,” I say, feeling like an ass for wanting to make a fast getaway. I take a couple of steps away, waving my hand like a kid.
“That makes two of us,” she says. “But regardless, we’re stuck with each other now.”
It’s my turn to narrow my eyes. I’m not sure if that was a promise, a threat, or the ramblings of a grieving widow. Either way, I can’t help but feel a wave of excitement—like finding my place in this world.
“Mmmkay,” I mutter, turning on my heel, and making my way to the bathroom as quickly as my feet will carry me without looking like I’m making a mad dash.
By the time I finish up and exit the building, Clementine is no longer sitting on the bench, thank god. I don’t know if I could handle any more awkward conversations.
Honestly, I’m not even sure I heard some of what she said right. Either way, I’ve done my bit and now I’m ready for a blissfully normal life. That starts, hopefully, with the damn moving company delivering all of our stuff.
I check my watch and start speed-walking toward the trail. It’s nearly 11:00 a.m. and I’ll need to be ready to place a rage-call if the movers aren’t there by the time I get back. When I get to the trail, I shift into a run.
The itch to run is still there, but it’s nearly scratched.
Why in the hell did I run so far? What a dunce.
I just know I’m gonna regret it tomorrow, too, when I can’t walk straight.
Despite all of that, I continue to huff my way home, running faster than I ever used to—and probably faster than is wise, considering my years of nonexistent exercise. However, once I get into a good groove, I can’t help but love the exertion of it. My muscles feel...alive.
When I get home, my body is covered in sweat, but I definitely feel better. Almost happy.
Then, of course, I reach for the door handle to my front door to find it still locked. It’s a good thing, but I don’t have a key, and now I need to pee again.
I pound on the door, praying one of the kids doesn’t have their headphones on, and can actually hear me. Inhaling through my nose, I stare at the door and count to fifty. When nothing happens, I pound again, but reach for my phone, knowing full well they’ll need a text intervention.
I quickly type out a message and send it to both kids.
Open the damn door.
Less than a minute later, the door swings open. Asher stands beside the door like an apprentice butler as Avery meanders down the steps without a care in the world.
“Don’t everybody race to open the door, or anything,” I say, walking inside, once again annoyed.
“I was watching Youtube,” Asher says, as if that’s a valid explanation for taking ages to come downstairs.
Avery shrugs. “I was in the middle of filming.”
“Filming? You mean making fish faces at the camera and trying to find the ‘right light’ so your face doesn’t look like you were swallowed by a ghost,” Asher mutters, rolling his eyes and making air quotes.
“Shut up,” Avery says, squaring up with her brother.
I get between the two of them. “Enough. Have either of you seen the movers?”
“Does it look like it?” Asher says, quirking an eyebrow and opening his arms wide.
“Fuck,” I mutter, again pulling my phone out and dialing the number to the moving company. I step back outside onto the porch, clutching the phone to my head.
After two rings, they pick up.
“Yeah, hi. This is Ella Breene. I called yesterday. We’re still waiting for—” I say, before getting cut off.
“The movers are running behind, Ms. Breene,” the voice on the other end says. It’s the same run around I got yesterday and the way she says Ms. grates my nerves the wrong way.
“Yeah, I know, but I was told our stuff would be here two days ago,” I say, anger boiling in my blood. “We need our beds and stuff. This is ridiculous. I—”
Two large moving trucks pull into my driveway and I sigh.
“Nevermind, they just turned up,” I mutter, hanging up the phone.
Relief and agitation are a potent mix, but I try to remind myself that it will be nice to sleep in my own bed tonight.
I walk down the sidewalk, making my way to the first driver. He has shaggy blond hair and piercing blue eyes—the kind that sees right through you.
I shiver and take a step back. “Uh, hey. Finally. We’re so glad you’re here. You have no idea.”
“Yeah, sorry. Took a wrong turn,” the guy says, exiting the truck.
Behind him, the other guy hops out of the second truck. He couldn’t be more opposite to his partner, though. His bald head practically reflects the sunlight, it’s so smooth, and his dark eyes are more suspicious than anything. Tattoos work up his forearms and I can’t help but be a bit fascinated by the tribal markings. Despite their differences, they both wear the same uniform, if you can call it that. Jeans and a branded blue t-shirt with the moving company’s logo embroidered on the left side.
“Well, you’re here now,” I say, shooting them a smile and hoping like hell it reaches my eyes. They’ll be out of our hair soon enough. We may as well make nice. Otherwise, we’ll find some of our stuff smashed up and favorite items missing, I have no doubt. I wave the two of them toward the house. “Let me show you around quick, that way you know which room is which.”
They both nod, following behind me. By the time we enter the house, the two kids have vanished. Clearly, having returned to their lairs.
With both men at my back, I walk into the living room on the right. “So, obviously, this is the living room. Everything should be pretty well labeled. The couch, hutch, and bookshelf should all go in here,” I say, pointing to their prospective locations.
As I turn around to face them, the blond guy steps forward abruptly, catching me off guard. He spins me around, planting a firm hand on my neck and squeezing tight.