Two weeks after moving into the Casa, Jasmyn poured a cup of coffee, her first of the morning. Quinn’s voice filled the cell phone at her ear, but warm fuzzies muffled her friend’s words. What had brought on the happy attack? A dream? What could make her so deliriously giggly?
Her temporary ID and replacement credit and debit cards had arrived. She had her own new cell phone too, a smarter one than her lost one. Its built-in camera was better, and it meant she didn’t have to replace her camera yet. But those things made life easier, not exactly a cloud nine experience.
Two weeks at the Casa could easily explain it. Nestled under Mama Liv’s wing, she couldn’t help but feel good. Mama Liv. That was what others called her at times. She clearly affected everyone with her nurturing vibes.
The woman would not let her pay rent. Instead, she gave her chores, little ones. Jasmyn cleaned the laundry room and the office, weeded flower beds, swept the courtyard, and ran errands. Almost daily she and Liv either ate together or went to the coffee shop down the street.
And the neighbors. They kept inviting her to do things. Well, all except for Keagan. Jasmyn was okay with that because he wasn’t exactly friendly. Liv said he was an angel, but the woman tended to be over-the-top with positive thinking.
Everyone else, though, treated her royally. She’d gone running three times with Sam, went to the ice-cream shop with Riley and Tasha, played Monopoly with Noah and his daughter in the courtyard, eaten meals at Inez and Louis’s, gone with Piper and Chad to a Japanese restaurant where they cooked everything right at the table on a huge surface, and watched an old video with Coco, the generous cream sharer.
Smiling, Jasmyn added cream to her coffee now, tilted the phone from her mouth, and said to the soundproof wall that divided her cottage from the neighbor’s, “Thank you, Coco.”
“Coco?” Quinn interrupted herself. “You’re having hot cocoa in the land of perpetual summer?”
“No. I was talking to Coco Vizzini. I told you about her.”
“I can’t keep them all straight.”
“She’s the sweet, doddery ex-movie star in Cottage Twelve. I should say, film star. That’s what she says. She’s so cute.”
“Is she there?”
“Where?”
“With you, Miss Sun-Soaked Brain. In your little cottage number whatever.”
Jasmyn rolled her eyes. “Nope. I was just using the second carton of cream she’s given me, and so I thanked her through the walls. Did I mention she danced in a 1950s movie that was nominated for a Best Picture Oscar?”
“You’re talking to some nonexistent woman.”
“She exists.”
“Somewhere else. She’s not there with you.”
“Sheesh, you sound grumpy.” Teasing sometimes took the edge off Quinn’s demeanor. “Have you had your coffee yet? Mine is so good with this cream. Mmm.” She slurped from her mug.
“It’s September seventeenth.”
“The seventeenth. Okay. I’ll take your word for it. I just got up and haven’t looked at a calendar, not that I have a calendar to look—”
“September seventeenth, Jasmyn.”
September seventeenth.
She leaned against the kitchen counter and looked around the room. The walls were bare. If she lived there, truly lived there, she would hang up a calendar, a pretty one with garden scenes. No, ocean scenes. Or wild animals from the zoo that Liv said she wished they had time to visit—
“Jasmyn Albright, I called to commiserate with you,” Quinn scolded. “Or celebrate. Or something a friend would do like she’s done once a month for the past six months. I guess you didn’t need it.”
On second thought, maybe she’d skip the calendar part and hang up paintings of flowers or ocean. That way she wouldn’t have to look at months and dates.
Quinn said, “Six months is a milestone. A whole half a year.”
Six months. When had she stopped counting?
In the beginning she had counted, first in hours, then in days and weeks, finally in months. She counted the passing of time since the tornado ripped a dividing line into her life. Before the tornado. After the tornado. Everything fell on one side or the other. The two did not meet.
How long was long enough before the After enveloped the Before and she could get on with life? Was it happening now? Did that explain the warm fuzzy attack? The fact that she had stopped counting? Or simply could stop counting.
“Honestly, I didn’t realize today’s date.”
“Sorry for bringing it up.” Quinn’s tone didn’t match the apology. She was seriously grumpy. “At least you heard it from me instead of being smacked by some reminder while you’re standing in line at the grocery store or something. Remember how you got blindsided that day in Farm ’n Fleet by a pair of rain boots? I practically had to carry you out to the car.”
It was true. Odd things triggered memories. She would be reminded of a possession that was gone, completely gone. Then she would totally lose it.
“But for me not to get all anxious about the date is a good thing, right?”
“Sure, if it’s for real. I mean, you’re still on vacation in La-La Land where apparently the wonders never cease. Even months and days go bye-bye.”
“Why are you being so snarky?”
Quinn didn’t reply for a moment. “I guess I just miss you. You’ve been gone a long time.”
“Four weeks on Saturday. You knew that was my plan from the start. And you know that’s when I’m coming home.”
“Yeah. Okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
“I needed a break, Quinn. I just needed a break.”
“Yeah.”
Their goodbye felt awkward.
Jasmyn set her mug on the counter, walked into the adjoining living room, and sat in the rocker.
Six months of loss. It might have felt a breath less devastating as five months. Except…
Except it now seemed that Quinn’s friendship might be added to the loss.
They had had their moments since kindergarten. Annoyances, disagreements, awkwardness, moodiness. But never the outright and senseless jealousy she’d just heard in Quinn’s voice.
Maybe it was understandable. Jasmyn had been able to stop counting the months of loss because a group of strangers in a strange land loved on her.
And her best friend was not part of that equation.
A deep exhaustion hit her. It was familiar, all too familiar. It came out of nowhere, like those memories. It sapped her of all strength, all energy, all emotion.
She made her way to the bedroom, laid down on the little rollaway, and went back to sleep.