Page 21 of What Remains of Grace

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

After they hung up, Jenna sat at the kitchen table for a long moment, staring at the dark screen in her hand.

Then she pulled a notepad from the counter drawer and flattened it against the table. She clicked a pen and wrote across the top in small, steady letters:

Next Steps.

Call realtor in Atlanta.

Contact accountant about taxes.

Insurance through end of month.

Sell trucks and tools.

Find buyer for office furniture.

Pay severance to Hannah and Mark.

Dissolve LLC.

Call Dad.

She stared at the last one for a long time, pen hovering. Her parents hadn’t called much in the days following the funeral. Her mom’s voice had been thin, her dad’s quieter than usual. Losing two children had aged them a decade overnight.

Jenna drew a small box next to each item, hesitated over the first one—Call realtor in Atlanta—then set the pen down. She’d start tomorrow.

She set the list down and looked toward the hallway. The house was still except for the muffled sound of Emmie’s music playing low behind a closed door—a hushed heartbeat in the background.

She thought about the company trucks parked outside all those job sites, the ones with her logo fading on the sides. She wondered what name would replace hers, what logo they’d wear next. She wondered who would be next to live in her condo, park in her spot, and hang pictures on her walls.

The condo would sit empty for a while, her furniture still there, the plants Hannah watered when she forgot, the stack of invoices on the kitchen counter. It had been a life built on rhythm with early mornings, late returns, and coffee cups lining the counter.

Now that the cadence was broken, she didn’t know what to replace it with.

She thought about the conversation she and Grace had after Manny died. Grace had practically begged her, “Promise me you’ll take care of her if anything ever happens.”

At the time, Jenna couldn’t think of any reason why she wouldn’t. Now she had plenty of reasons: a business, employees, trucks, and a high-rise condo overlooking the Atlanta skyline. None of it mattered anymore.

Jenna had said yes without thinking, the way you always said yes to a person asking you to take care of their kid when they died.

Despite the years and the distance, that promise sat heavier than anything she’d ever built.

The silence that followed her return to Florida was worse than the noise she’d left behind. At least the noise had meant purpose. This . . . this was waiting.

She looked around the kitchen of Grace’s house, at the stack of unopened mail, the half- empty sugar jar, the muffled hum of a life paused mid-motion.

She didn’t blame Emmie. How could she? They were practically strangers now. Without Grace, the link between them had broken. Emmie probably barely remembered the school drop-offs or the Disney movie nights they’d shared before Jenna left. She was a teenager now, sharper around the edges, shaped by years Jenna hadn’t witnessed.

The truth was, Jenna didn’t know who Emmie had become, and Emmie didn’t know her either.

She’d built her business like armor, five hundred miles away. But no amount of distance could dull the grief. And now, standing in her sister’s kitchen, Jenna realized all that armor had ever really done was harden into guilt.

Jenna reached for a dish towel, folded it neatly, and placed it by the sink. Her chest hurt in that way that wasn’t quite physical, wasn’t quite emotional, just human.

Grace had done this for everyone else. Now Jenna would do it for her.