Page 112 of Here & There

“I remember her laughing, before Jessica died,” Shelby says, rolling onto her back and looking up at the rafters with me, her fingers entwined in mine. “It wasn’t like she was an effervescent person, but she did laugh. But I can’t remember the last time she genuinely laughed since.”

I don’t miss the way her voice hitches when she talks about her mom. “Do you miss her?”

Shelby sighs. “It’s stupid. She hurt me so much. After my sister passed, Mom went through the house, taking down all the pictures of her. A week after they pulled out all the plugs in thehospital, Mom had turned Jessica’s room into a guest room. She painted the walls beige over Jessica’s pink. Put in carpet over the hardwood where we once secretly scratched our names. I hated her for that.” She sighs. “But she’s my mom. She’s hypercritical and judgmental and controlling, but…I think so much of it is just how hurt she is. They sent me to grief counseling after Jessica, because that’s what the social worker said we should do. The counselor told me to write letters to Jessica, tell her all the things I would have told her if she were here.” She swallows. “Mom never got any help, as far as I know. But yeah, I miss her.”

I can’t help but think about my own mother. What would I write to her? I’m sorry I failed you? I’m sorry I didn’t find you soon enough?

My stomach hurts thinking about it. But I say it anyway. “My mom…she was the most beautiful person. She was playful. Happy. She knew how to be silly. She was a lot like you, actually.”

I’m surprised I never thought about that before.

“She had Annie later, when I was eight. Annie was their “happiest accident,” Mom used to say. They were close. When Mom died, it was like Annie lost her best friend and her mom.”

I shift, wishing I hadn’t volunteered so much. I was much happier hearing about Shelby’s family.

“Do you ever talk to Annie?” Shelby asks, sensing me drifting away.

I run my hand over my forehead. The sky’s losing its darkness outside. I know I need to leave soon.

“Hardly ever.” It hurts to say it. “She used to write me when big things happened in her life. Graduating from college. Moving to New York. Getting a job at a publishing company. But I haven’t heard from her in over a year. I write her, but she doesn’t respond.”

“I’m sorry. Family is so hard.”

I can hear the sleepiness in her voice.

We talk for a few minutes more. Then, at some point, Shelby’s breathing grows rhythmic, and she falls asleep in my arms. I hold her as long as I can, thinking about her, my family, the people I lost and the ones who came into my life like miracles. Finally, I disentangle myself from her and pull on the sweats I pulled on last night—and quickly lost again.

For a moment, I just stare at her. Her beautiful sleeping face, the little mole on her throat. The curve of her arm resting on the blanket, the way her hair fans out around her like she’s some kind of renaissance painting.

I don’t want to forget this image. I want to lock it in my brain so I can pull it out when I have a bad thought. What could ever be wrong so long as she exists?

Outside, the chittering of birds finally breaks through. And even though it’s the last thing I want to do, I kiss her on the forehead and slip away into the predawn light.

Chapter 27

Shelby

Islam the brakes on Mac’s truck at the intersection on Main Street. Sometimes I really miss my Jetta back home. This truck is up so high that half the time I don’t notice stuff down at street level until I’m nearly cruising into a sweet little old lady in a crosswalk. Like I just about did right now.

It’s been two weeks since Mac knocked on my door that night, and each day has been better than the last. But between the late nights having hands-down the best sex of my life, spending as much time with Mac and Nate as possible, along with planning for the changes to Mac’s bar, I’m so tired I’m not really seeing straight. Worse, I’ve completely neglected my search for Shelby Fox. We did visit Mac’s dad at the care home last week, but he was having a bad day, so it didn’t seem appropriate to ask him about her. When he dropped his coffee into his lap, he threw such a fit that Mac had to call in the staff to help get him settled again. My heart broke for all three of them. We spent the rest of that day down in Swan River, going to the movie theatre, dinner, and bowling, where Nate kicked both our asses.

But glancing at the calendar this morning, I left the house determined to pick up the thread. I’ve got only three weeks left inRedbeard Cove. I need to do what I promised, if only to distract me from the inevitable pain of what’s to come with Mac.

“Sorry!” I say to the woman now stepping onto the opposite curb, my heart pounding at the near miss.

The woman, surprisingly, doesn’t give me an evil glare, but smiles, waving me off like it was fine I nearly mowed her down.

I stare at her back as she walks down the street, a tingling going over my skin. She’s got long braided silver hair and wears a purple sweater, flowing slacks, and about a pound of jewelry—bangles and multiple necklaces. I wonder if she’s related to Chris.

Or if that, right there, is Shelby Jessica Fox.

Someone gives me a friendly honk, and I realize I’ve been holding up traffic.

I pull into the parking lot at the Redbeard Cove Public Library and grab the first parking spot I see. I run out to the sidewalk right after, but, of course, the woman is long gone.

Disappointment sits on my shoulders, but Mac might know who she is based on that description.

As I head for the front door, I have to stop and re-park the truck, since it’s fully sideways on the line. I don’t even attempt to parallel park that thing. Once again as I head into the building, I think of my Jetta. And the coffee place down the street from my building. And as Stu pulls away in his beat-up pickup—Iknowhe’s going to tell Mac about my parking job since he sat there watching me fix it—my ability to retreat into anonymity when I need to.

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