Page 91 of The Weight Of Falling
She gives my hand an extra squeeze before she lets go. “I do.”
“I hate that this matters.”
“It matters because you matter. You’re good for him, Kenzie,” she says softly. “You have a sweetness that settles him. But there’s steel in you too. Not many people see that. I do. So does Joel. And it’s exactly what he needs.”
I massage my temples. “I don’t think even he knows what he needs.”
“Sometimes when you’re mixed up inside, you don’t always know what’s best for you.”
The server arrives with our pizzas. We wait until he’s gone before we speak again.
“I think Joel is good for you too,” Kate adds, delicately picking up a slice. “He seems to see you like no one else does.”
“What if I want more than he can give?”
“Give him time. Be patient and kind with him. As only you can. I’m not sure he’s had much of that in his life.”
I release a shaky breath. “Why does this feel so impossible?”
“Because love is heavy, and it’s as much gravity as it is grace.” She gives me a gentle smile. “It’s the weight of falling, Kenz. And you’re scared of the landing. You both are.”
My chest tightens. My throat aches. I am scared. But I feel too far gone to pull back.
After lunch, we pay and push through the door into a soft needling rain.
“Want a lift back to the studio?” Kate asks. “I’m parked right here.”
I shake my head. “I like to walk, even in the rain.”
We say goodbye and promise to do this again soon.
I flick my umbrella open, ready to hustle back to the studio. There’s no deadline today, but the to-do list always feel like a hydra. We cut one head off and two sprout in its place.
Across the street, a man is staring at me.
He stands out because, while everyone else hurries for cover, he’s simply motionless in the rain with no umbrella.
He looks familiar. I’m sure I’ve seen him before, but I can’t place him. It niggles at me, like a word on the tip of my tongue.
I glance away and keep moving. The street is almost empty, and the studio is still a block away. Two shops down, it comes to me. He looks like the pale-eyed stranger who asked me for directions. Was that a week ago? Less? I can’t remember.
I look over my shoulder.
He’s still there. Still watching.
Maybe he’s waiting for someone. Or maybe he likes the rain. He’s probably not even the same man. My imagination has a way of running ahead.
Still, I pick up my pace. And even as I tell myself I’m being dramatic, that Brown Oaks is safe, the prickle at the back of my neck doesn’t go away.
37
“Come in,” I call when I hear the knock on my door.
A minute later Joel is in my dining room, frowning at me. “How did you know it was me?”
“I was expecting you.”
I’m on my hands and knees scrubbing the tile by the back door where Turbo had his...accident. My denims and sweatshirt are splattered with water, my hair is falling out of its claw clip, and I’m wearing rubber gloves so thick they could moonlight at a nuclear plant. If I wanted to scare Joel away, this should do it.
