Page 141 of Love Felt Like This

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Just Say the Word

Griffin

Working together professionally feels untenable at this point. I watch Beverly too much. Notes soar from my fingers, but every chord is B. B minor. B sharp.

B, B, B.

There’s a knock on the garage apartment’s door.

I rest my guitar on my knee. “Seriously? Another?”

Beverly laughs, setting aside her laptop. She rises from her place on the couch before I can stand to answer the door first.

She waves her hand. “Sit. You’ve answered the last four knocks.”

I slowly do as she asks, watching her walk to the door instead. My hand tenses around the neck of the guitar. She’s wearing those corduroy pants today. The yellow high-waisted ones that hug her hips.

But it’s not just the pants; it’s the way Beverly beams when she swings open the door. It’s how she laughs when she’s greeted by a rush of biting wind, like she can’t believe it’s still snowing. It’s how she cheerily says, “Hi!” to Daisy, cloaked in her Carhartt jacket, her gloved hands thrusting out an orange casserole dish.

“Hey, Griffin,” she says, peering at me over Beverly’s shoulder. “This is for Ava. It’s strawberry cobbler. Greg said she loves strawberries.”

“She does,” I say, blinking away from Beverly for a single goddamned moment of my pathetic life. “Thank you.”

Daisy gives a definitive nod, says nothing else, then turns around to walk back to her puttering, faded truck in the driveway.

She’s an odd bird.

Beverly shuts the door and drops off the cobbler at the folding card table, right next to the four other arrivals today: a homemade apple pie, a tin of cookies, a large thermos of butternut squash soup, and lasagna. A Post-it note sticks on top of the aluminum foil covering Daisy’s dish. Her beautiful looped handwriting is similar to all the others. happy you’re feeling better.

“Five,” Beverly announces. “Five people dropped off food for Ava.”

Elk Grove residents have that way about them. I try not to think about the sheer kindness of it all. If I consider how much I like this town…well…

“I didn’t ask them to,” I say, and it sounds too grumpy even for me.

“You didn’t have to,” she says with a smile, leaning back to peer out the window. “It should be the last one, though. It’s getting late and another big snow is blowing in again.”

It’s dark outside. I went to the diner earlier to get us dinner, and by the time I returned with eggs and bacon from Beverly’s parents, who insisted I take more than I needed, flurries floated onto my SUV. Now, looking through the curtains, thick powdery snow falls in front of our yellowed porch light. The driveway is sticky with it, only the tire marks of Daisy’s truck indenting the perfect layer of white.

Ava sits on the couch with her wooden bird, Tom, blinking one eye at a time like a tired baby doll. Beverly falls onto the seat next to her, and Ava immediately flops onto her lap.

I strum a final chord as Beverly runs a palm over Ava’s wispy bangs. I eye the clock. It’s almost eight. No wonder Ava is sleepy.

I stand, set aside the guitar, and pat my knees.

“Ready for bed?” I ask her.

Ava shakes her head no. I smile, sweeping down and snatching her off the couch anyway. She giggles, but it’s barely audible through her exhaustion. She tucks her head into the crook of my neck. I kiss her forehead. “I’ll be back, B.”

“I’ll be eating all the cobbler.”

I chuckle. “Leave some for me?”

“We’ll see.”

I carry Ava to the bedroom, then slowly lower her into bed. Her eyes struggle to stay open.