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“Don’t worry. The boys are staying with Calla and Nathan for now just in case.” He coughed and groaned. “I’ll see you next week. If I’m not dead by then.” There was a pause. “In case I am dead by then, I want you to know that your butt looked really good in those yoga pants the other day. Also your hair looks shinier—”
The message cut off.
I snickered, even as my stomach flip-flopped, and not because of indigestion.
Liam had always been a baby when he was sick. If man cold was listed in the dictionary, the picture beside it would be of him. He’d have a tissue stuck up one of his nostrils and a thermometer dangling from one side of his mouth. The stomach flu? Forget it. There was no hope for him.
I bit my lip and scanned the kitchen. I didn’t have appointments scheduled for today. I’d planned to work with Liam until he had to leave at lunchtime and then hang out at Romfuzzled. Maybe stop by the shoe store and pick up new sneakers for the boys.
I stuck my phone in my pocket and opened the newly reorganized Tupperware cabinet, mind made up. I’d get the food put away and head out.
The handles of the plastic bags dug into my fingers, leaving angry red marks as I shuffled up the steps of Liam’s front porch. I refused to make a second trip, and I may have gone a little overboard. Okay, a lot overboard. Ginger ale, three kinds of crackers, juice, ingredients for chicken noodle soup—homemade; any other kind, and I’d be in for a lecture from Mama B—Lysol, and a few candy bars from the checkout lane. Those were for me.
Hands full, I bent my knees and rang his doorbell with my nose.
I waited a moment, two, three, before ringing again.
“Can’t come to the door. Busy dying” was Liam’s muffled response from inside.
“I brought ginger ale.” I dangled the bags in front of the door, in case he could see me.
“Drink it at my funeral.” He groaned.
I rolled my eyes. Such a drama queen. “Is your back door unlocked?”
“Who knows anymore?”
I snorted and wandered around the house, taking in his backyard with a sigh. Sandbags and cement bricks were stacked in a circle under the pergola. He really was prepping for a new fire pit. Cute.
As I stepped onto the back porch, I was hit with a wave of nostalgia.
It was the day of the boys’ birthday party. Liam thought it would be a good idea to stain the porch that day. All the while, I ran around frantically, preparing for a million guests. At the time, I’d wanted to pull my hair out. Now, I surveyed his handiwork. The rich stain on the banisters and corners. It really did look good.
Taking these stairs, then following the flower petals strewn in the yard to the pergola the day of Luke and Layla’s wedding had brought back painfully beautiful memories of a fluffy white dress and the most beautiful flowers.
I really liked this back porch, and I could so easily imagine sitting in a hanging chair with a cup of tea in one hand and Layla’s book in the other.
I jiggled the doorknob and let out a breath of relief when the door swung open effortlessly. My hands were killing me. At this point, the plastic had dug in so deeply my fingers had gone numb from the lack of blood flow. Once I’d finagled my way inside with all my things, I shuffled into the kitchen, and with a grunt, I swung the bags onto the countertop.
Intense groaning, followed by the sound of Liam getting sick down the hall, made my heart ache. I dug through the bags and pulled out the ginger ale and a brand-new toothbrush. Then I padded down the hall. I found Liam on his knees in his guest bathroom, with his forearms resting on the toilet seat. His skin was pale, and there were dark half moons under his eyes.
He didn’t turn or make any move to greet me, like he hadn’t noticed my presence, so I took a minute to appreciate the pretty white and black tile above the tub. I tilted my head and squinted, studying the tiled wall. Why did it look so familiar? I’d only seen the loose tiles. Liam hadn’t shown me a photo of the finished project yet.
Liam wiped his mouth with his wrist and cleared his throat.
I winced, scanning the countertop for a washcloth, but it was mostly bare. “Hi,” I whispered.
He looked up at the ceiling, like maybe he thought an angel was floating up there waiting to take him to the promised land.
“Liam.” I set the grocery bag on the floor.
This time he startled at the sound of my voice, then slowly turned to look at me over his shoulder. “You’re wearing my shirt” was his greeting.
I tucked my chin and took in my clothing. I hadn’t realized that I’d thrown the old T-shirt on as I rushed to get out the door this morning. It was green and faded, with our high school’s emblem on the front and Wells screen-printed above a white 14 on the back. He’d sworn I was his good luck charm, and he’d made me wear it every game day during our senior year. They’d won every single one, and they’d even gone to state. My mom and I had packed our bags and made the four-hour trip with Mama B. The two women discussed dessert recipes and Henry Cavill the whole way.
“That I am.” I shot him a rueful smile, ignoring the heat creeping up my cheeks.
He hummed. “It’s nice.”
