Page 53 of The Heart That Breaks
I’m so surprised I can do little more than shake my head. “You see him buying drugs?”
“Two or three times a week,” she admits in a low voice.
“You’d really go to the police about it?”
She sighs and glances over at me. “I don’t want to, Ann-Elizabeth. But maybe that’s one thing I could do to make up for not kicking Lance out way before now.”
I lean my head against her shoulder, and love for her makes my voice wobble when I say, “Thank you, Mama. Thank you.”
*
Ann-Elizabeth
I LIE IN bed, wide awake, still unable to fall asleep when the sun starts to glint through my window blinds.
Henry is curled up in the curve of my arm, his soft snoring wonderful confirmation of his sense of security.
As awful as this night has been, I would go through it all over again for this to be the outcome.
I pull Henry closer and hug him tight.
He makes a snuffling sound, burying his nose in my armpit. His breath tickles, and I smile as I readjust his head so that he’s breathing above my shoulder.
I think about Nathan, and my smile dissolves beneath a sudden well of tears. It had been the right thing to do. I know in my heart this is true.
But I know what I’ve lost. I know what I’ve given up. And I can’t take it back.
We would never work.
To let myself think otherwise is just a big recipe for heartbreak. And it’s not like I need to order that up on a big ole platter.
But if I think about what might have been. . .well, there’s no denying the sadness of that. Guys like Nathan don’t exactly come along every day. Not for girls like me.
I think about the look on his face just before he’d left the hospital room. And I want to take it back. Reel in the words all the way back to the point where Nathan looked at me as if I were the girl of his dreams. Where the idea of going to Homecoming with him lit me up inside like a Christmas tree.
I turn over and bury my face against Henry’s neck, his soft coat all but absorbing each and every tear.
*
A KNOCK AT my bedroom door wakes me.
I raise up on one elbow, noticing that Henry is at the foot of the bed, wide awake, watching me.
Mama sticks her head in the door, and in a soft voice, says, “You up, hon?”
“Yeah,” I say, groggy. “What time is it?”
“Two o’clock.”
“In the afternoon?”
“Yes. I’ve checked on you a few times but since you were sleeping, I thought it was the best thing for you. I’ve fed Henry and taken him out too.”
“Thank you. I can’t believe I slept that long.”
“How do you feel?”
“Good,” I say, pressing a hand to my hip. It’s tender but no longer throbbing.
