Page 16 of Remain

“Means it still matters.”

We stand there, with the almost full cart between us, the store behind us and tradition settling in.

“So…,” Erik shifts, thumb hooking casually over the cart handle, like he’s trying not to make it obvious he doesn’t want to leave either. “Want to go another round? I think we could squeeze a bit more shopping in. Really spoil the kids this year. There are more toys back at the community center.”

The invitation is gentle and hopeful.

“I would love?—”

My phone rings.

I don’t need to look. My body already knows. The timing is too precise. Too cruel. I close my eyes for half a second, swallowing the scoff in my throat.

Dammit, Aunt Carol.

Erik’s gaze flicks to my coat pocket, then back to my face. He doesn’t look annoyed. He looks understanding. He already knows what kind of weight follows me around.

“You should get that,” he breathes. “Carol mentionedyou’ve got some things to take care of while you’re here.” He pauses. “It sounds heavy.”

Something in my chest grips at the word. “I’m sorry,” I apologize, already reaching for my phone, already feeling the afternoon slipping through my fingers. “I just?—”

“You don’t have to explain,” he interjects quickly. Too quickly. He’s making sure not to ask for more than I can give.

I hesitate anyway. “This is… the reason I came back,” I admit. The words feel fragile, like they might break if I handle them wrong. “I have to close my mom’s estate. Paperwork. Meetings. Boxes. It’s not…,” I stop, swallow. “It’s not optional.”

He nods, slow and constant. “I know.”

There’s no accusation in it. No disappointment he doesn’t have the decency to hide. He simply accepts and somehow that hurts more than if he had pushed.

“I don’t want this to feel like a rush,” he adds. “Or like you owe me time you don’t have.”

“I don’t,” I say softly. “I just…”

“I know,” he says.

For a moment, neither of us moves. The cart sits between us, half full of joy, half full of waiting.

“Hey,” he breaks the silence finally, a small smile pulling at his mouth. “The kids are still getting spoiled. That part’s handled. That’s what is most important here.”

“And the rest?” I ask, wanting reassurance in this moment, but knowing I shouldn’t ask for it when everything in my life is so unclear.

He doesn’t respond and the phone keeps ringing. I step back, already grieving the space opening between us even as I answer the call.

6

Savannah

The problemwith small towns is that they don’t let moments stay private.

They echo. Loudly. With very colourful commentary.

I’m barely twelve minutes away from the toy store when I spot my aunt’s car in the rearview mirror. That familiar blue sedan with one headlight dimmer than the other, like it’s permanently winking at me. She doesn’t honk. She doesn’t flash her lights. She just follows, patient and unyielding, the way only family can.

That or the police.

I don’t bother pretending this is a coincidence. She parks behind me like she’s staking a claim.

“You look flushed,” Aunt Carol announces the second I open the door, breezing inside without waiting to be invited, coat already halfway off like she owns the place. “Whichmeans one of three things: you’re sick, you’re lying, or Erik Beaumont is involved.”