Page 58 of The Last Five Yards

Reese straightens from the cabinet, slipping her hands back into her jacket pockets. The careful expression returns to her face, the one she uses when she’s not ready to say anything else. She nods once at Maren, small and grateful and weighted.

“I’ll…see you tomorrow,” Reese says, her voice steady again in a way that makes something in Maren’s chest tighten.

Maren nods back, even though she’s not sure she trusts her voice. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Rowan grabs Reese’s hand without waiting, tugging her toward the exit with a stream of words about otters and kickboards and how she thinks she’s “probably almost on the fast team now.” Reese lets herself be pulled along, glancing over her shoulder once—just once—before the glass doors swing shut behind them.

The deck is quiet again.

The faint smell of chlorine curls through the air.

Maren lets it all out, long and slow, letting the stillness settle.

She has no idea what to do with any of this.

But for the first time in a long time, the thought doesn’t scare her.

21

Sunrise Again

Maren wakes before her alarm, the kind of early where the sky is still more gray than blue. Sleep clung to her in pieces through the night, breaking every time her mind circled back to the office, to Reese’s voice, to the weight in her chest that hadn’t settled yet. She pulls on a sweatshirt and drives to the lake without thinking, letting habit steer her the last few turns.

The morning air is cool enough to raise the tiny hairs on her arms as she steps out of the car. The lake is quiet, flat as glass, barely stirring under the soft pink edge of sunrise. Maren walks toward the shoreline, hands in her pockets, the smell of wet earth and pine settling something in her that the pool never quite reaches.

She barely gets ten steps down the worn path before she hears footsteps behind her. Not cautious. Not loud. Just steady.

Maren turns.

Reese slows from a jog to a walk, breath puffing in short bursts in the chilled air. She pushes a loose strand of hair out of her face and gives Maren a small, tired smile.

“I guess when I said I’d see you tomorrow…” Reese says. “I didn’t think it would be this early.”

A quiet laugh escapes Maren before she can stop it. “Same.”

Reese shifts her weight, stretching her calf muscles. Maren studies her for a second — the reddish flush on her cheeks, the rise and fall of her breath, the way she looks both exhausted and grounded in the same time.

“Where’s Rowan?” Maren asks.

“Still at my mom’s. We stayed there last night.” Her voice warms just a little. “She likes waking up with Grandma. And… I think my mom likes it too.”

Maren nods, letting the quiet settle for a moment.

Reese keeps her gaze on the lake as she adds, “It’s easier, staying there sometimes. Her house is next door to ours.”

Maren nods, the kind of nod that isn’t permission or agreement, just understanding. The lake is still in front of them, soft morning light spreading across its surface in thin, gold ribbons.

Reese shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “North Carolina was…” She stops, jaw tightening for half a second. “It was supposed to be home. For all of us.” Her voice dips, just slightly. “But after she passed… nothing felt right there anymore. I kept trying to make it work. For Rowan. For me. But the house was too quiet. The town was too small in the wrong ways.” She lets out a short laugh with no humor in it. “Every street felt like I was walking alone.”

Maren looks down at her shoes, giving Reese the space to keep talking or stop. Reese takes it.

“When my mom got sick last year, that was it. I packed up the house. Put what I could in storage. And we came back.” She shrugs like it was simple, but her voice betrays her. “It felt… easier. Familiar. Like the ground wasn’t moving under my feet.”

“And your mom?” Maren asks quietly.

“She’s doing better,” Reese says, and her face softens for the first time. “Not perfect. Not… how she was. But better. Some days she needs help, some days she doesn’t. Rowan likes being close. I think it makes both of them feel safe.”

The word safe lands between them, quiet and heavy.