Page 16 of The Lilac River

I grimaced. Perks of having a nurse in the family. I didn’t have to touch Grandma’s feet.

Mom stood at the counter, hands on her hips, clearly losing the battle. Grandma sat at the table in her favorite sweater, arms crossed in open rebellion.

“I’m perfectly capable,” she insisted.

“But she won’t,” Mom muttered, not even bothering to argue anymore.

Then her eyes found mine, and they narrowed with concern. “You okay, honey? You’re pale.”

Before I could lie, she was already placing a cool hand against my forehead like I was five again.

“Did you get my pineapple?” Grandma called out.

“No, Grandma.”

“Why not?” she huffed.

“Sorry, Grandma,” I said, sinking onto the sofa like the weight of the day had finally won.

“Is that why you’re upset?” Mom asked gently. “Because if you forgetting the pineapple?—”

“I didn’t even make it into the store,” I interrupted, staring at the ceiling.

A faint water stain marred the plaster. Evidence of one night of teenage recklessness. A night when Nash and I had laughed ourselves silly, splashing in an overflowing bath like we didn’t have a care in the world.

The past lived in these walls. It watched me. Judged me.

“Mom, you need to redecorate,” I said quietly.

She gave a soft laugh, but her eyes stayed wary. “What happened, Lily?”

She wasn’t asking about groceries. She was asking abouthim. The man who we came here to escape. My father.

“No one said anything,” I offered quickly. “There’s no gossip.”

She sat beside me. Grandma scooted closer, too, the pineapple momentarily forgotten.

“I saw Nash,” I whispered. “Outside the store.”

Just saying his name out loud cracked something in my chest.

I had braced for eighteen-year-old Nash. Lanky, full of hope. The boy who kissed me like I was a prayer.

But I hadn’t braced forthisNash.

The man. The storm. Still heartbreakingly beautiful. But changed.

The light in his eyes was gone. And I knew exactly who took it.

“What happened?” Mom asked softly.

“What do you think happened?” I rasped. “He hates me.”

I rubbed my temples, my headache pulsing in time with my heartbeat.

Mom squeezed my knee. “It’s been ten years, sweetheart. He has to move on.”

“I don’t want him to forget,” I blurted.

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