Page 58 of Room for Us

I acknowledge the words with a nod, but still don’t open my eyes. “It was a Saturday in June. I took my bike down the street to the park to meet some of my friends. Charlotte wasn’t supposed to come, but she snuck out and followed me.” My voice falters. “She had a severe allergy to bee stings, so she had to be really careful outdoors in summer. This was before epipens were widely available, though my parents had one in the house. Too far away, as it turned out.”

Zoey gasps. “Oh God.”

“We were playing catch. I wasn’t watching for her, wasn’t expecting her to be there. But one of my friends saw her fall beside some rose bushes. They were everywhere—the roses. In full bloom. The smell of them was overpowering. I tried… I picked her up and ran home as fast as I could, but it was too late. She stopped breathing before I got there.”

“It wasn’t your fault, Ethan.” Her voice wraps around me, a band of comfort outside the storm of my guilt.

I open my eyes and find hers. “I know—thanks to therapy my grandmother paid for a few years later. But then? My parents couldn’t see past the fact that she’d been following me, and I hadn’t looked out for her. They never looked at me the same again, especially my dad. He started drinking and was an angry drunk. I became the scapegoat for his unhappiness. Eventually my mom had enough and divorced him. My dad and I don’t speak—he’s down in Florida with his new family. My mom’s alone in the house I grew up in. She’s doing okay nowadays. We talk on birthdays and holidays. Never about the past.

“The kicker is that even though my head knows I didn’t cause my sister’s death, my heart isn’t so sure. And that, Zoey Kemper, is the past I run from. Though I’m apparently not running anymore, given the profusion of roses around here, both symbolic and real.”

She watches me in silence for a few moments. “That’s why you didn’t want to stay in the Rose Room.”

“Exactly.”

She gestures helplessly. “I wish I’d known, Ethan. I wouldn’t have planted—”

“No, don’t you see?” I scoot forward until I’m close enough to grab her hand. Her fingers are cold. Mine are, too. “Very few people know that story. I’ve been carrying it around locked inside me for decades. If I believed in fate, I’d think this was the universe’s idea—me being here, with the first person I felt comfortable enough with to share the truth.”

Tears well in her eyes. “Thank you for telling me.”

My thumb catches a tear as it escapes. “Your turn. Tell me what’s wrong.”

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Then says, “I know you’ve heard me talking to myself.” I nod slowly. “Well, I wasn’t actually talking to myself.”

I’m lost. “Huh?”

“I’ve been talking to my dead aunt.”

She’s one hundred percent serious. To my credit, I don’t laugh or blurt something inane. And I don’t let go of her hand. She’s not crazy—I know it with all my being.

On the other hand, what the hell?

“I’m not sure what to say,” I finally offer. “Her, um… her ghost talks to you?”

She droops, shoulders curving inward, head bowing. “I thought so. Honestly, I didn’t think about it too much, afraid if I did I’d have to admit I was nuts. She was just… there, providing a running commentary on my life. But I don’t think I’m going to hear her anymore. She’s gone.” Her chest trembles with a contained sob.

“Gone?” I echo.

“It wasn’t her. I always knew it, I just didn’t want to face it. I missed her so much. I needed her. But her voice—it was my guilt for staying away from Sun River so long. For letting my shame and secrets come between us. I never even told my mom or aunt about… about…”

“The diagnosis?” I guess, squeezing her hand.

She nods. “Or the years of trying and failing to get pregnant. About what was happening in my marriage, my life. Any of it, really.”

“Oh, Zoey.” I can’t stand being so far from her anymore, so I pull her toward me, curling my body around hers like I can somehow protect her from all enemies—even the ones within. Into her hair, I whisper, “We’re a set, aren’t we?”

She trembles, tucking herself tighter against me. It feels like I have the whole world in the circle of my arms. Like I’m both minuscule and powerful.

Like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.

32

“Speaking of first impressions…” Ethan murmurs.

I laugh, my voice hoarse from crying. “We weren’t, actually. But go on.”

We’ve relocated back to bed. My head is on his chest and he’s been playing with my hair. The sensation is so calming, I’m on the edge of sleep.

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