Page 80 of The Whisper Place

When the fire was ordered to Charlie’s satisfaction, he sat back down and his hand found mine. He slid our palms together and squeezed.

A half-empty bag of marshmallows sat at Blake’s feet. We’d roasted some earlier, prompting a debate about the best way to bring a fresh take on s’mores to the bakery. We’d settled on a bar and decided to experiment with a black cherry compote for a twist. That would be tomorrow, or next week. I hadn’t gone back to the bakery full-time yet. I worked two or three days a week and sometimes I needed to leave mid-shift, going to the backyard or farther, walking quickly through campus to the river. I always came back and Blake was always waiting, pulling me in for a flour-coated bear hug, generally with a line of confused and impatient customers waiting to order.

Mom visited last week, staying at a hotel down the road from the bakery, visiting Charlie’s farm, and working side by side with Blake and me on a batch of frosted Hawkeye cookies. We messed up enough of them that Blake made us take a break and eat some of the failures with coffee on the back steps.

We watched the sunrise together, steam drifting from our mugs. She broke the silence long after the cookies were gone. “My therapist says I have to stop apologizing to you.”

“My therapist said it will be a while before you can.”

She huffed out a laugh and put an arm around me. When she spoke again, her voice was thick with unshed tears.

“This is what I wanted you to have.”

“I know.” I rested my head on her shoulder. It was still so delicate, her bones like some exotic, fragile bird. I knew better, though. I knew her shoulder could support all my weight and then some, and even if it broke, it would heal stronger than it had been before. My mother wasn’t just any bird; she was a phoenix.

“I wanted this life, too. But it was missing one thing.”

Her head lowered to rest on mine, and we watched the sky light up with the fire of a new day until Blake yelled for help with the muffins.

I’d been sad when she went home, but not as much as I thought I’d be. She had her life, the life she’d fought for, and I had mine. We texted daily, and had started a group chat with Blake that was ninety percent links to recipes and drool emojis.

“What do you think?”

The bonfire came back into focus and I blinked, realizing Blake and Charlie were both staring at me. Charlie’s thumb rubbed back and forth on my hand, and his eyes were clouded in concern.

“Kate?”

The name was warm and rich on his tongue. It grounded me, brought me back to them. An old name for a new life. I still drifted away a lot, but it hadn’t been to a dark place this time.

I smiled at both of them. “I’m here. I’m good.”

The whale was dead. And I’d finally made it to shore.