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Marty doesn’t respond, as if he didn’t hear Jace at all.
I glance at Jace’s profile, my heart aching at the pure torment in his stare. I reach over, place my hand on his, and he faces me, his heavy intake of breath causing his shoulders to rise. “Will you be all right if I go see the doctor for a minute?” he asks, his voice quiet.
“Of course.”
I watch him go down a different corridor from which we came and then face Marty again. For minutes, I sit, and I just watch him. Watch his stare remain blank. Lost. Even when a couple of robins come right up to the window, pecking at the ground, his eyes don’t move. Neither does he. I clear the knot in my throat, gaining his attention. “I’m sorry,” he says. “Who are you again?”
“I’m Harlow.” I smile, but it’s weak. “I’m a friend of your grandson, Jace.”
“Right… Jace. Kiera’s boy?”
“That’s the one.” I pause a beat. “Jace told me you’re teaching him to play chess?”
Marty smiles now, a sheepish, coy little smile so similar to Jace’s. “Do you play chess?”
“I’m more of a checkers girl, myself,” I tell him. “But I’d love to learn.”
“Then I’ll teach you too.” He gets up from his chair, walking with a swing in his step toward a bookcase filled with board games. He returns a moment later and starts setting us up. I copy everything he does, placing the individual pieces where they belong.
Within minutes, I’m deep into a tutorial of the game. Just as he’s finished explaining what each piece is capable of, Jace returns, his eyes narrowed at the chessboard between us. “I asked your grandpa to teach me,” I tell him. “You made it seem so fun. I wanted to learn myself.”
“You’re going to have to pick a team, Jace. Harlow or me,” Marty tells him.
Jace’s eyes light up as he moves his chair closer to mine. “I think Harlow could use my help more than you, Grandpa.”
Marty nods, focused on the board.
“I like the little guys,” I say, picking up a piece from the front row and inspecting it closely. “They’re so cute.”
“Little guys?” Marty chuckles, and my chest warms at the sound. “Those arepawns, young lady.”
I pick up a knight. “And the little ponies?”
Marty laughs even harder at that. “Knights.”
“Knights,” I repeat. “I’ll have to remember.”
Jace settles his arm along the back of my chair, and when his thumb gently strokes my shoulder, I stutter a breath.
I’ve missed this.
I miss how close we once were.
And these soft, sometimes inconspicuous touches we’d share.
I miss his voice.
And the way he says my name.
But most of all, I just misshim.
Missus.
My brother had this phrase as his lock screen on his phone, and it read:
“Regret is more painful than failure.”
I don’t know where he got it from, and I never really understood what it meant until I waded out of the shadows after losing Jace. I realized then, after looking back on our time together and all the things that drove us apart… that of all the heartbreaks I’ve had in my life, the mistakes I made with Jace are the most painful of all… because those mistakes weremine.