Page 36 of Beyond the Stroke

“Your boyfriend?” Rory asks behind me as I push past him.

“What?” I blink, then remember my lie about Edgar.

It doesn’t matter now.

“Edgar!” I call as I make my way to the front of the van. “Ed—” I start again, but hear a rustling sound at my feet.

I drop to the ground. There, tucked under one of the van’s back tires is Edgar. He peeks his head out, so I bend down andshow him my hand. Relief rushes through me at the sight of his dark nose and big eyes shining in the moonlight. Slowly, he inches his way out toward me, and I scoop him up.

“This is Edgar?” Rory asks, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Yeah.” I cradle the flustered dog to my chest.

“You’re dating a geriatric pug?” He smirks, knowing full well he’s caught me in a lie. Rory extends his hand to dip his fingers under Edgar’s chin.

At Rory’s touch, Edgar melts in my arms. I’m certain it’s because he finally realizes he’s safe from whatever transpired here earlier. I hate that I put him in harm’s way by not having my van properly secured. A security that I can’t afford. Not with the bills that have been piling up.

The thought makes me nauseous.

Rory’s face softens. “I’m happy your little guy is safe.”

“Thanks.”

With Edgar in my arms, I step inside the van to take further stock of the situation. Most of my books, which I keep on a built-in shelf above the dining nook, are knocked on the floor.

“I know this isn’t how it usually looks, but this place is incredible.” I turn to find Rory’s large frame stretched to the top of the van, his wavy, sandy-blond hair brushing against the ceiling as he looks around my home with curious eyes.

Fortunately, I don’t own much of value. It’s a tight space, so besides valuables like my laptop and phone which I bring with me to work, there isn’t room for a lot of possessions. The things I do own—books, plants, art supplies and clothing—have been rummaged through but I’m not certain anything was taken.

That doesn’t prevent me from feeling violated and vulnerable.

It might be a vehicle, but it’s myhome. Everything I care about is inside.

I remind myself to focus on my breathing. I can’t afford to get worked up.

“Summer, you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

To keep the tears at bay, I busy myself with tidying up the space. Setting the pillows back on the bed, tucking the books into the shelves above.

Besides items strewn about, at first glance, it doesn’t appear they took anything. But then I see it. The bin I keep my painting supplies. The set of oil paints that Scarlett had sent me for my birthday aren’t there. They’d looked so pretty and perfect in their case. And I’d been saving them, wanting to wait for the perfect occasion to use them.

And now they’re gone.

“Is anything missing?” Rory asks.

I swallow; my throat tight with emotion as I squeeze Edgar. My lower lashes doing everything in their power to hold back the flood gates as it all comes crashing in. My wrist. Overdue bills. Medication I can’t afford. And now this break-in. All I want to do is get Rory away from me so he won’t see me lose it.

“No.”

“Probably some kids messing around, but we should still report it to the police.”

“No, it’s fine.”

Rory pulls out his phone and starts taking photos of the disarray.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

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