Page 31 of Shelter for Shay
The house was finally quiet.
Not the heavy, grief-choked kind of quiet it had worn the last few weeks—but the kind that came after people left. After the casseroles were delivered and awkward hugs were given. After the kind words turned into whispers and the final cars backed out of the driveway with taillights fading into dusk.
Moose stood in the kitchen, his hand wrapped around a cold bottle of beer he hadn’t taken a sip from. Shay was somewhere down the hall, changing out of her funeral clothes, or maybe just breathing. She hadn’t said much since the last guest left.
He looked around the room, noticing the bright cabinets, the photo on the fridge of a much younger Shay grinning with a missing front tooth, and the mug with a chipped rim that Margaret had used every morning.
It felt like Margaret was still here somehow—woven into the bones of the place. But it was Shay who filled the air now.
And that… was getting harder to walk away from.
He heard her footsteps before he saw her—soft, slow, dragging slightly like the weight of the day hadn’t let up.
Her hair was pulled back in a loose tie, face bare, her eyes tired but open. There was a vulnerability in the way she held herself now that he hadn’t seen before—like she was unguarded for the first time in days.
“I think they brought six versions of macaroni and cheese,” she said.
He gave a quiet nod. “And three lasagnas.”
“Everyone thinks grief makes people hungry.”
“Sometimes it does.”
She leaned against the counter across from him. “Sometimes it just makes you want to disappear.”
He watched her for a moment before setting his bottle down. “I need to head back to Virginia,” he said gently.
Her expression didn’t shift. But her shoulders dropped just slightly. “I figured,” she said.
“I don’t want to,” he added. “But I do have a career, and the Navy doesn’t forgive easily. And honestly, I think I need a little space to figure out what the hell just happened to me.”
She tilted her head. “What just happened to you?”
He let out a quiet, soft laugh. “I think I just got into my first real relationship without realizing it.”
She blinked, then her eyes went wide, as if she understood but didn’t.
“I care about you, Shay,” he said, his voice low but steady. “I don’t totally understand it. And I’m not great at this kind of thing. But I’d like to keep in touch. Write. Call. Visit. If you’d want that. If you’d want me in like a boyfriend kind of way.”
“That’s a lot to unpack.”
“I know.” He nodded. “But you’re not running. You’re not telling me to take a hike.”
“No, I guess I’m not,” she said. “I don’t know what that would look like, though. How it would work. The logistics of it all. And that’s weird because unlike my mother, I’m not the most practical person.”
He took a step closer. “It won’t be easy… long distance and all. But I feel as though I’ve known you longer than the week I’ve been in this house. It’s the kind of comfortableness that I’ve only felt with my team and my chickens.”
“I’m starting to get jealous of those little creatures.”
He laughed. “I’d like you to come see Virginia sometime,” he said. “It’s not much, but it’s quiet. Simple. And the chickens, they grow on you.”
She smiled. It wasn’t big, but it was bright. “I have no idea what’s next and there’s still so much to do here,” she admitted. “I feel like I’ve been frozen in place for months. But I know I’m not staying in Lake George forever.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “I have loose ends to tie up. The house. Her things. Jury summons. But I don’t belong here—not long term.”
“Where do you belong?”
