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“Like her daughter.”
Lacy huffs a laugh like I’m ridiculous.
“Are you sleeping okay?” I ask, because as beautiful as she is, she does seem a little weary at times.
“Yes. Great. Never better,” she says all too quickly, and I frown.
“Are you feeling well?” I prod, taking in how she also looks a little pale.
“Of course.” She hardly looks at me, and I can tell she’s lying.
“You know if you need anything, help with your mom or—”
“I’m fine, Hudson. Really,” she cuts me off, but I see the way her shoulders rise, tensing. She isn’t happy.
“What do you do to relax?” I ask, trying a different tactic.
“Like last night, I go outside and look at the stars,” she says, blowing out a breath like she is forcing herself to relax in my presence. My fingers twitch, wanting to reach out and grab her hand, but right now, here in my office, with her mother just out the front, I need to remain professional.
“And wish on one every night…” I say quietly, her words to me at the diner last week coming back.
“Yeah. It is usually so peaceful; it’s calming looking at the stars.”
My heart feels like it is stretching out of my chest to get to her.
“You know I still remember that night vividly,” I tell her. What happened to her, to us, months ago, is still at the forefront of my mind, so I know it must be for her as well.
“You do?” she asks with a furrowed brow.
“I don’t think I will ever forget seeing you in that shed, Lacy.” Giving in, I reach out and grab her hands, our fingers merging together like magnets.
“Doctor Hamilton, I just need— Oh sorry, I thought you were finished,” Patti, my receptionist, walks into my office, and Lacy jumps at her intrusion. Her hands drop mine, and I run a hand through my hair, trying to pull myself together.
“Hey, Patti, we are just finished. Perfect timing,” Lacy says, a big smile plastered on her face, hiding her true feelings well.
“Thanks, Doctor, and thank you for the jacket.”
I watch her leave, Patti moving along quickly behind her. Stepping to the door, I pull the jacket from the hook. I’m not sure why, but I feel the need to assess it, see if it smells like her. I run my hands over it and am about to hang it back, when my hand hits something hard in the pocket, and I pull it out. It’s a pocket-sized book,Stargazing for Beginners,and I huff a laugh as I flick through it, seeing her pages tagged and annotated. It’s one she has used a lot, if the creases on the cover are anything to go by, as well as her remarks and comments about some of the galaxies and such.
I smile, my body feeling like it’s defrosting. Withthirty minutes left until my first appointment for the day, I take a seat at my desk and start reading. I want to be prepared for our next outing. I already know where Lacy goes to breathe, and under a night sky might be where she has some time. For me.
11
LACY
Ihave felt a little off all day. It could be the nightmares that woke me in the early hours, or the fact that I took Victoria’s advice and booked a session with my therapist at Marie’s Place which I had earlier today. I was also out of sorts last night at the party after Hudson and I shared a moment in the garden.
My focus for years has been solid. Get Mom well, help her through it all, and make money to run our household and pay her medical bills. But my usual steadfast approach to life has hit a bump in the road when Hudson whirled into town like a storm blowing in a fresh breeze.
This morning with my mom at his office, when he spoke about his wife, the feeling in my gut was a mix of sympathy for his loss, raw emotion because of my mother’s health, and jealousy of a dead woman, which I immediately felt bad about. I knew, of course. Mom was always talking to Susan about it, whenever I was home fromcollege, but at the time, I had little investment in the information.
I also feel off because he is clearly offering us medical support, which will be expensive, and I can’t afford it. I don’t like being in someone’s debt.
I shake my head of the thoughts and look back at my emails. I’m waiting on an email from a supplier, so I’m trying to keep on top of them. I scroll to the top and see a new one sitting there, and my body stills.
Statistics Summer Campis the subject line, and I swallow quickly as my pulse races. It’s professional, the college logo on clear display as it is in all his correspondence, but I understand the tone. My old Professor has been contacting me relentlessly for months. My eyes skim the words. A summer term back at college to complete a statistics unit face-to-face. I huff my anger down because he knows I completed it remotely, but he still acts like he is in control, using phrases such asdirect personal tutoringandone-on-one personal assessments. I feel sick and delete the message, like I have all the others. I never want to see him ever again. His contact has increased lately, and I’m not sure why. But with a myriad of other things going on in my life, my infatuated former professor is the least of my problems.
“A penny for your thoughts?” Connor asks, waltzing into my office through the open door.