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The window that Charlie had found at a flea market. The one her father had installed. The one that made Albert smile whenever he looked at it. The one that had given me a glimpse into the girl that Charlie had once been.
I stumbled forward. My arms felt leaden, but I managed to wave them. A strangled yell tore from my lips as the excavator moved to wreak more destruction on the home of the woman I loved.
Because I did love her. I loved her so much it felt like searing pain. I loved her, and I couldn’t do this to her. Even if she never forgave me, even if she hated me until the day she died. Even if she cursed my name with every breath, I still loved her more than I thought possible.
I loved her more than the business deal of a lifetime. I loved her more than my apartment in Arlington with its great views and serene interior. I loved her more than fucking modern plumbing and electricity, because I couldn’t imagine loving her in a world that didn’t include this house.
“Stop!” I screamed, stumbling in the runnels of dirt the excavator had carved into the backyard. “Stop!” I yelled again. Shouting, I flailed like a madman, sprinting forward. This had gone too far. I had to stop it.
FORTY-ONE
CHARLIE
I hunkered down at Abigail’s for the next two weeks, even worked remotely from her guest bed. She hovered, of course, and Sophie stopped by nearly every night with leftover baked goods from the Magnolia Café. They watched me with worry-filled eyes and spoke to me in careful tones, like I was some half-feral animal that needed gentle handling.
I wallowed. There was no other word for it. After I’d emptied myself of grief at my parents’ graves, I’d come back to Abigail’s and lain hollow and aching on her guest bed. And then I’d work to take my mind off things. To ignore the fresh wound that Sebastian had inflicted by destroying my home.
I could buy another house. I would, eventually. But I didn’t know if I could heal from this. The woven memories in that place had been torn as easily as a dusty cobweb, and I wasn’t sure what was left now that it was gone. The warp and weft of my very soul had been damaged. I wasn’t sure if I even belonged in New Elwood anymore, because I’d been uprooted and tossed aside.
I couldn’t even walk through town, because everything led back to the house. All the routes I’d gotten used to walking and driving were etched into my brain, so much so that walking to and from Abigail’s house felt foreign and wrong.
That house had been part of me. Part of my history the way the Monticello had been part of New Elwood. I’d lost something more than a home, and I wasn’t sure how to cope.
I needed therapy, probably. Definitely.
A knock on the door tore my gaze away from my laptop screen. Abigail stood in the opening, watching me with the frown that had become permanently etched on her brow. “Can I come in?”
I glanced at the permit application on my screen, then let out a sigh and closed the laptop’s lid. “Sure.”
She perched herself on the edge of the bed and gave me a smile that looked false. “How are you doing?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “It’s easy to be productive here. No distractions.”
“Okay,” she said. “You want to go out for dinner? Sophie and I were thinking pizza.”
“No. You go on without me. I’ll rustle something up here.”
Abigail nodded, then seemed to gather herself. She met my gaze, her brown irises soft with love. “I want to talk to you about the house.”
I flinched and tried to hide it by scratching behind my ear. “Have I been leaving dishes in the sink?”
“Not my house,” she said. “Yours.”
My chest tightened at her words. “I don’t have a house. It’s gone, remember?”
Her lips curled in a half smile. “But what if it wasn’t?”
Everything inside me went still. “What are you talking about?”
“Radcliffe House. It’s still standing. I mean, the sign is down and it’s got all that scaffolding around it, but it’s there.”
“How?” I asked, hardly able to take in any air.
“I don’t know, but the rumor is the demo’s been called off.”
“What?”
“Yeah, some drama the morning the demolition was supposed to begin,” she started. Every time she said the word “demo” or “demolition,” I felt a sharp pain in my chest. “No one is a hundred percent sure what happened, but Mary from the bookstore swore she saw Sinclair driving down Main Street with a black eye.”
