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“Want to take a walk?” I ask her.

She nods. “Let me just grab a sweater. I’m getting too used to the Californian sun.”

When she’s out of earshot, Clementine turns her head to face me. “Everything good?”

“Better than good.” With every mention of Lola today, I’m knocking down fortified walls I’ve spent two years building, and I know my conversation with Raine will allow for the final piece to fall.

“Ready,” Raine calls.

“I won’t be long.”

“I told you,” she says softly. “I’m here for you.”

I kiss her again and then take one more look at the sleeping baby.

“I’m going to need to hold her when I get back,” I say to Deacon.

He gives me a two fingered salute as I follow Raine out the front door.

“Maybe I should’ve gotten a sweater,” I muse. The air is cooler now with the midday sun hiding behind the clouds.

“Do you want me to run back in?” Raine asks.

“No.” I loop my arm with hers. “I think I’ll be fine once we start walking.”

A comfortable silence settles upon us as we start the walk down the driveway and onto the street. I don’t know which conversation I want to have with her first, so I nudge her shoulder and try for a joke instead.

“So, what do you think of Clem?”

She turns to look at me, her eyes incredulous, her smile smug. “You mean, what do I think ofmy friendClem?”

“The one and the same.”

“I mean, you already told me you were really into somebody, and she told me it was her decision not to tell me straight away.”

“How do you feel about that?” I ask. “Her not wanting to tell you straight away?”

She shrugs. “Honestly, I have more feelings about her knowing how upset you would be today before I did.”

Her words are like a swift kick to the stomach, and I deserve them. We aren’t ones for secrets, but sometimes the lines between us blurred, and she mistook my desperation for protecting her as me keeping secrets.

“Raine.” I halt my steps, in turn stopping her too. She turns around so we’re now facing each other on the sidewalk. “You lost your sister.”

“I know that,” she snaps back.

“Do you?” I close the distance between us and grab her face in my hands. “Sometimes I think I raised you too perfectly and too selflessly, because you losing your sister and your grief surrounding that are the only things that matter.” Her eyes fill with unshed tears as I continue. “My sadness and heartache should never be your responsibility. That’s not how this mother daughter thing works.”

She wraps her hands around my wrists. “Sometimes I think I’m not sad enough.”

“What?”

“Papa couldn’t get out of bed for months, and the way you cried today was even worse than when I used to catch you crying after you came home from the hospital.” The words rush out of her in a hurried breath. “And I don’t feel like that. Am I supposed to feel like that?”

“Hey,” I say calmly. “Take a deep breath.”

I inhale loudly and she exhales, we do this a few more times as I hold her still. “We are all different people.” She works her throat over and averts her eyes. “Look at your dad. You and he are very similar. Do you think he’s not sad enough?”

“No,” she answers quickly. “I don’t think that about him at all.”