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“It’s okay. You can save it up for later.”
She stirred the pasta, then looked at me. “I love you, Wyatt.”
“I love you, too,” I said, as if it were the easiest thing.
59
THE FUTURE
ODETTE
Ilounged on the couch with Wyatt as the late-night news droned.
“I am sorry I didn’t have exciting plans tonight,” Wyatt said. “It’s a lousy Friday night.”
“It’s not,” I said. “Really. It’snormal. I didn’t know what that meant for a long time. Now, I see Alex and Rick on the couch in the family room lounging at night, and I realisethat’snormal life. That’s a proper future and growing old together.”
Wyatt softened. “I never had that. Dad died early. You didn’t, either?”
I shook my head. “My grandfather spoiled us when he could, but he died when I was only a few years older than Theo. And he and my grandmother weren’t a normal couple. There wasn’tlovethere, just obligation. You’d call it a marriage of convenience.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It’s good. Rick and Alex made me feel secure. Even if they’ve had a row and gotten into it over something—they like to bicker—watching them sitting on the couch together at the end of the day was this sort of constant. It made me feel safe. It sounds stupid.”
“It doesn’t. Not at all. I felt like that when I’d see my mother up late on the screened-in porch doing her crochet,” Wyatt said. “I get whatyou’re saying. It’s a marker of stability. It’s what I worry about for Theo.”
“Theo has you.”
“My life is busy. It’s hard for me to be here every day,” Wyatt said.
“He knows you will always come home. For me, that was the part I didn’t know. I didn’t have a parent to tuck me into bed four to five nights a week. I would have relished that. I would have loved any physical affection.”
A look of pity crossed his face. Wyatt pulled me closer.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologise,” I said. “I’m fine. I mean, I’m not fine, but I’m surviving. Sometimes, that is enough.”
Wyatt kissed the top of my head and held me in his arms tight. He was thinking of what to say. I sat quietly, giving him space. Somehow, here in the din of late-night news, we both felt the need to share.
“I struggle with the idea of anyone coming home,” Wyatt said, voice pinched. “One day, when we were back in St Louis, Isla went on a run near our house and never came home. I told her I loved her on the way out of the house—something I will never forget—and watched her trot out the door.”
I pulled back and took his face in mine. “That had to hurt like none other.”
“The worst part was my frustration with her.” Wyatt chuckled painfully, fighting tears. “I was convinced she’d gotten held up socialising with this running group and was leaving me with a fussy baby. I was so angry with her and ready to scream when she returned. Then, the doorbell rang. It was the cops.”
I didn’t have words. “I’m so sorry, Wyatt. Did they ever get the driver?”
“No,” Wyatt said. “It’s still an open case. They never got the bastard. And… there’s a massive reward out there. We’ve had a lot of false leads, but… nothing.”
Tears welled in his eyes. He brushed them away. I leaned and grabbed a handful of tissues from the side table.
“I’m so sorry, Wyatt. You don’t have to tell me anything if it’s painful.”
“No, tell me if I shouldn’t?—”
“You can always tell me,” I promised. “Always. The future isn’t guaranteed. I know more than the average person. And a year and a half ago, I wasn’t even sure I’d make it to morning many nights.”