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“This is where I remind myself how much I love my best friend. Abi’s at the farmers’ market in Nashville, so I have a couple of hours.” She sighed and took off the apron. “Let me get rid of this so no one asks me for help.”
I watched her walk away. Such a hot little package.
Such a pain in the ass.
She disappeared behind the swinging door and returned with a plate of cookies and hot tea that smelled like mint. Setting the cookies between us and pushing a bottle of cold water at me, she asked, “What’s the plan?”
“Who’s Abby?”
“Abi is my grandmother. Short for abuelita.”
I opened the bottle but didn’t drink. Just twisted the cap on and off. “How are you going to keep what we’re doing a secret?”
“I’m going to be very careful.” She stared into her cup of tea for a second before inclining her head toward the picture on the table. More determination. “That’s Jack, isn’t it?”
I slid it over to her. “That’s Jack.”
squo;d handled it on her own.
“I guess what I don’t understand is”—Michael paused, searching for the right words—“after all those years of keeping it to yourself, why did you do it for her?”
Michael’s guitar leaned against his dresser. He’d tried to teach me chords for years, but I only ever managed to remember three. I picked it up and played each one twice before slapping my hand down on the strings to silence the sound.
“The morning I met her, I was hungover. Remember?”
He nodded, curious, but willing to wait for my answer.
“My emotions were wide open, and … she climbed right in.” I touched my hand to my heart, expecting an ache that didn’t come. “She listened.”
Before Em, no one had listened to me in a long time.
“She was completely devastated when she lost you,” I said, remembering just how broken she’d been. “Like a repeat of Mom, after Dad and the lab. You know how terrible it was.”
“I remember.”
Mom was larger than life, but so much of her life had revolved around Dad. I’d watched her close in on herself after the accident, convinced that her love for me was the only thing keeping her breathing.
I discovered that I’d failed her the morning I found her unconscious on her bathroom floor. She’d been that way ever since.
“I knew I could change it for Em. Make it better.” I stopped and stared up at the ceiling for a second. “I didn’t with Mom. I let her carry around all that grief instead of stepping in to take it. I didn’t try until she was already in the coma. There was nothing there. Too late. I didn’t do one thing that made a difference.”
“Em said it hurt you, physically.”
“That didn’t matter.” Emotional pain was layered. Taking it to ease one situation opened the doors to the past, where every emotion leaned against the one beside it. Pull out one, all the others fell. It was hard to know where to cut it off, if you got it all or if pain still remained to destroy, like cancer.
“Did your mom know? Would she have let you take her grief?”
“I would’ve insisted.” And she’d be here now.
“No one knew what Jack was doing. I should have paid attention, done more to help you both,” Michael said.
“You did enough. You took action. That’s why my dad is at my mom’s bedside right now. If anyone can bring her back, he can.”
“Thank you,” he said, meeting my eyes. There was absolutely no pride in him. Everything he felt was for Em, about Em, about her best interest. “For taking care of her. If … anything ever happened, I hope you’d do it again.”
Sorrow. Way too much for an offhand comment. I started to ask what he meant, when Em walked in, glass in hand.
“Are y’all done?” Em hopped up onto the edge of Michael’s desk. She smoothed down her hair and then smiled, as if she was remembering how it got that way.
