Page 83 of Finders Keepers

Ms. Lucy intercepts me in the hallway.

“That man cares about you,” she whispers, nodding toward Gavin. “And he knows something’s wrong. You pushing him away isn’t going to solve anything.” Her words hit me like a physical blow.

“I just can’t…” My voice catches in my throat like broken glass, and I wrap my arms around myself again. “I can’t drag him into this mess.”

“Sweetie, look at me.” She waits until I meet her eyes, and she reaches out to squeeze my arms. “You’re not dragging anyone anywhere. That man walked into your life of his own free will, and he’s still here. Maybe it’s time to let someone else help carry your burdens.”

Before I can respond, Sophie comes running up to us.

“Mama! Tommy showed me how to bump the balloon with my head! Watch!”

I force a smile, pushing down the storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. My hands tremble slightly as I clench them together. “That’s amazing, baby! Will you show me?”

She grabs my hand with her small, warm fingers, pulling me into the living room where Tommy is waiting with the bright blue balloon in his hands. The kids bounce around with endless energy, Sophie’s tiara now placed on the end table. They tilt their heads back, eyes fixed on the balloon floating above, and I find myself just watching, soaking in the joy of their laughter and play. I catch Gavin’s eye across the room from the kitchen where he’s now leaning against the counter. The concern etched onto his face makes my anxiety spike again and I feel like I’m about to come out of my skin. I know Ms. Lucy is right, that I can’t keep pushing away the people who want to help, who’ve proven themselves trustworthy. Especially not him.

Looking around the room at all these people. Here for my daughter’s birthday. Here for us.

The realization hits me like a physical blow. These aren’t just acquaintances—they’re people who genuinely care about Sophie. About me. People who’ve welcomed us into their lives without hesitation, without knowing the truth about where we came from or what we’re running from.

But this facade is killing me. The constant vigilance, the fake smiles, the pretending that we’re just a normal mother and daughter who moved for a fresh start. Pretending everything is okay is more exhausting than any escape I’d ever planned. The weight of it sits on my chest, making it hard to breathe.

I glance at Gavin, who’s helping Jake set up the coolers. He catches my eye and offers a tentative smile, and I can’t even muster the energy to fake one back. The concern in his eyes deepens.

I’m so tired of running. Tired of looking over my shoulder. Tired of jumping at shadows and flinching at loud noises. Tired of lying to these good people who’ve opened their hearts and homes to us.

But most of all, I’m tired of being afraid.

My arms are loaded with two trash bags full of discarded containers and random items from the party setup. The sun has dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in deep purples and oranges. The oppressive summer heat that had lingered all day has finally started to ease, leaving behind a more bearable warmth that makes the evening air feel almost pleasant as I step outside, heading toward the large trash can alongside the house.

“Bailey?”

I scream, dropping the trash bags and whirling around to find Gavin standing there, his hands raised in surrender. My heart pounds so fast, like a trapped bird, and I press a hand to my chest, feeling the erratic rhythm beneath my palm.

“Don’t do that!” I snap, my voice sharper than I’ve ever used with him. “You scared me half to death!” The words come out breathless and high-pitched, my nerves still jangling from the shock. The sound of crickets chirping in the yard sounds deafening compared to the silence that’s stretching between us. Their persistent symphony only amplifies the awkward tension, making me even more aware of how still Gavin’s standing. The evening breeze rustles through the leaves overhead, but it does little to ease the heaviness in the air.

“I…I’m sorry,” he says, taking a step closer. The light from the sconce on the side of the house catches the color of his eyes, making them seem to glow. His facial hair twitches slightly as he frowns. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just… can we talk? Please? I feel like you’ve been avoiding me all evening, and I need to know if I did something wrong.”

The concern in his eyes makes my stomach twist with guilt. My fingers clench into fists and then open up again as I try to maintain my composure. The tension in my shoulders makes my neck ache, but I force myself to take a slow, measured breath to stay calm.

“Not everything is about you, Gavin,” I say, immediately regretting the words as hurt flashes across his face. His expression crumples for just a moment before he schools it back to neutral, his jaw tightening visibly. “I just… I have other things going on in my life right now.” I say as I start picking up the bags.

“Is this about me giving you that kiss yesterday at the Spring Fling?” he asks quietly, his voice barely above a whisper in the evening air. A gentle breeze stirs his dark hair. “Because if that’s what’s bothering you—”

“No!” I cut him off, gripping the handles of the bags firmer. “It’s not about that. I just… I can’t do this right now. I think I need…” I pause, and the words spill out of me before I even realize I’m saying them. “I think I need space.”

My throat closes up and I feel like I’ve just shoved glass down it, so sharp and painful, and the summer evening suddenly feels much colder than it did moments ago.

“Space?” His voice cracks slightly, and the sound breaks something inside me. I can see the confusion and hurt run across his face, making my chest constrict painfully. “Bailey, talk to me. Whatever’s wrong, we can figure it out together.” He reaches toward me, and I flinch away, hating myself for the way his face falls at my reaction. He lets his hand fall back to his side, fingers flexing.

“There is no ‘we,’ Gavin,” I say, the lies tasting bitter on my tongue, like acid burning through me. My heart is screaming at me to take it back, to tell him the truth, but I can’t. I don’t want him to know how messy my life is. “Please, just… stop.”

He stares at me for a long moment processing my words, his jaw clenched again, a muscle ticking in his cheek. The shadows from the sconce now cast harsh lines across his face, making him look older, harder somehow. “Okay,” he says finally, his voice carefully controlled, though I can hear the betrayal threading through it.

“If that’s what you want.” He turns and walks away, his shoulders rigid, each step seeming to echo in the quiet evening air. The sound of his tires on gravel fades into the night, leaving behind an emptiness that feels like a physical ache inside of me and that’s when I let go of the bags again, dropping my head into my hands, my shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

“That was mighty unkind, child.”

I jump again, my elbow knocking against the siding as I turn to find Ms. Lucy standing in the back doorway, her arms crossed, and disappointment written across her face.

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