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“In months.” My pulse pings in my throat.Why is he doing this?“As soon as Thanksgiving is over.”

“Well, it’s August.” His lips twitch like he’s fighting a smile. “Seems like enough time to get a drink.” My nostrils flare as he adds, “Unless you were planning on the drink lasting three months.”

My fingers curl in the back pockets of my jeans. His amusement makes his face more punchable than usual.

“Fine,” I say, eyeing a bird at the feeder I think to be a chickadee based on Archie’s old guidebooks I’ve been studying. “I’ll have a drink.”

His grin is so fast it’s like it’s been waiting in his lips. “Yeah? Six? Liberty Tap?”

“Fine.”

I don’t move from my position on the porch, hands still tucked in my back pockets as he retreats to his truck.

Window down, his face is perfection. All smile lines and warmth.

As he drives away, my chest hurts. Like each pump of my own heart is killing me. I won’t show up—I can’t. Because I loved himonce and he left. Because I loved him once and my life fell apart after. But most importantly, because when I look at him, it’s like none of those things matter. And as much as I want to be the person he thinks he sees when he looks at me, I’m not. Probably never was. And I’m leaving. One drink with him will make things more complicated. More painful.

Instead of getting ready, I put a Matchbox Twenty record on, pour a plastic cup of whiskey, and spend my night ripping the rest of the shag carpeting off the floor of a house that will never really be mine.

The fucking dog barks the entire time.

June

The weirdest thing happened. Camp went to Liberty Tap tonight.

And he sat next to Ford.

Who was waiting for you.

And since you aren’t responding, I’m guessing you know that you forgot to show up.

Please know, I just screamed at the phone.

Eleven

Despitethefactthenew bed I bought is on back order and Archie’s old mattress rivals a torture device, morning in the A-frame is the best part of living here.

Light pours through the angular windows, sandwiching me between rays of silky warmth, making my mostly ruined back worth it. When I sit up, there’s no way to ignore the view straight ahead. Framed by the short hall and slightly obstructed by the spindles of the railing, it’s all tall trees, rock face, and lake water. Like waking up and being in a dream instead of leaving one.

Except the dog.

At the foot of the mattress, Molly grunts and growls, one of my shoes in her mouth.

I groan.

“No!”

She doesn’t react.

“Stop!”

She growls louder.

“Die!”

She looks at me, shoe pinched between her paws, barks twice, and resumes chewing.

I throw a pillow at her with a grunt.