Page 49 of Room for Us

Celeste gawks as Ethan approaches and offers his hand. “I’m Ethan. Nice to meet you.”

“C-Celeste,” she stammers, shaking his hand. “You’re—you’re—” Her head whips toward me and she hisses, “You didn’t tell me E.M. Hart was your guest.”

Before I can reply, Ethan says, “I told her to keep it on the down-low.”

“Mom?” asks Damien from a stool at the counter.

Attention diverted, Celeste replies, “Yes, love?”

“I’m hungry.”

Ethan and I share a smile. He returns to the bacon and I raid the pantry for pancake mix.

28

The front yard is a circus. There are at least fifteen people toiling away with shovels, bags of fertilizer, and plants. The chaos is loosely organized by Celeste, who despite her small stature has the bearing of a general. This is her domain—I admire her passion.

From the window seat in my room, I watch the planting unfold. Green slowly dominates the formerly brown spaces. Mature plants provide focal points, while around them smaller shoots form constellations. The borders of the driveway are lined with small, thorny bushes. I know exactly what they are, of course. I see them in my nightmares.

Oddly, the sight of all the roses being given homes doesn’t bother me like I expected it would. Instead, I think of how beautiful they’ll be blooming. How proud Zoey will be. But even the roses don’t hold my attention long. Like a ship traversing a rocky coastline, my gaze invariably finds the lighthouse. Or in this case, the object of my endless fascination.

Zoey works as hard as anyone else. Harder, even. Her smiles are easy, laughter frequent. I hear the merry sound of it no matter where she is. I want to be next to her, to fill up on that sound. I want to touch her. Find the softest parts of her body and kiss her there.

I offered to help—was kind of excited to, honestly—but surprisingly it was Celeste who turned me down. Over pancakes and bacon, she haltingly informed me that several of the helpers today were members of her book club, and they’d read the first book in my series last month. They all knew what I looked like, and she believed my presence would cause undue distraction.

I was disappointed but appreciated the honesty. The last thing I wanted was to ruin the day for Zoey by shifting the focus to me. But as I sit alone, watching the men and women below chatter and laugh and work, I resent my success. My isolation.

What would it be like to be a part of a community like the one here today? To join in the conversation Zoey’s currently having with Roger, the ancient, giant biker who runs The Rooster? He laughs at something Zoey says, then squeezes her shoulder in a familiar way. Zoey grins up at him.

I want her smiling at me, talking and laughing with me.

Dear God, I’m jealous of Santa Claus.

Daphne’s voice on the other end of the phone is the highlight of my increasingly frustrating day.

“… so I said, ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about…’”

The planting wrapped up a while ago. Most of the volunteers have left, but a handful hang around drinking iced tea. Zander and two of his friends use hoses to water the new plants. Right now Zoey is out of sight. I saw her walk up to the porch with Celeste and a few men around their age. I didn’t like the way one in particular—a square-jawed, young Brad Pitt lookalike—was following Zoey around the last hour.

“… and I was like, ‘Molly doesn’t have a boyfriend!’ Crazy, right?”

I’m wrenched back to the conversation at hand. “I’m sorry, did you say boyfriend?”

“Geeze, Dad, are you even listening?”

Nope. I’m thinking about stupid shit, like how I feel possessive over a woman I don’t have a future with but whose body my lizard-brain wants to own.

“Yes, I’m listening. Molly doesn’t have a boyfriend, which is obvious, because she’s eight years old. Boyfriends aren’t a thing until you’re at least twenty.”

I can sense her eye-roll across hundreds of miles. “Who cares about boys, anyway? I told Mom I want to be a derby girl. They’re badass.”

“A what?”

“You know, Roller Derby? They have a junior league in the city. Claire’s mom let her sign up. Mom says it’s too dangerous but that I could ask you. I can do it, right?”

“I’m too smart for your traps, kiddo. If your mom says no, then—”

“She didn’t! She said I could ask you!”

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