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My dumb ass.
I yank on a pair of sweats but don’t bother with a shirt, just move down the hall and reach for the handle of the front door, pulling it open just as the person on the other side starts to knock again.
Which is how I find myself face-to-face with Tiffany.
My brows draw together. “Tiff? Is everything okay?”
She nods. “I—uh—I just realized I forgot my jacket and?—”
I settle my hand on her shoulder. “Breathe,” I order softly. “I have your jacket here.” I nod toward the row of hooks mounted on the wall. “But…are you okay?”
“Yes,” she says, gaze sliding away.
My gut twists. “Your mom?”
A shrug. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”
Spoiler alert: she’s not fine.
“Sit down,” I order softly, nudging her toward one of the chairs my mom bought years ago to decorate this porch. I’d teased her about them all the time when she lived here—accused her of wanting to keep an eye on the neighbors, all Karen-style. But the truth is that I liked sitting out here—probably more than she ever did—listening to the wind whistle through the trees that line the sidewalks, the kids playing at the park around the corner, the soft rumble of the odd car engine (or Amazon truck) coming down the quiet street.
“I’m fine,” Tiff says again.
And, again, she’s not fine.
Not fine at all.
So, I take her arm, draw her the rest of the way over to the chairs, gently push her down into one of them.
She doesn’t fight me, just slumps against the wicker back, shoulders sagging, arms wrapping around herself.
“Stay,” I mutter when she shivers, moving back toward the open door and snagging her coat from the hooks, bringing it back over to the chairs and wrapping it around her.
“Tell me,” I command, albeit gently. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”
She shakes her head, grips her jacket so tightly her knuckles are turning bright white.
Then she starts to stand. “I should go?—”
“Is it your mom?”
She stills.
But only for a second.
Because then her expression crumples—face going pale, bottom lip trembling, eyes filling with tears.
One of which escapes, clinging to thick dark brown lashes for a single taut moment before dropping onto her pallid skin, sliding down her cheek, dripping off the curve of her jaw.
Shit.
She turns away, starts for the stairs that lead off the porch. “I’ll see you later?—”
I snag her arm. “Tiff.”
A sob hitches through her torso and I turn her back to face me, heart squeezing hard at the sight of more tears streaking down her cheeks, the shining tracks of her pain blatantly obvious in the warm fall sunshine. “I’m fine?—”
