Page 150 of Love Felt Like This

I like these little moments. These secret glances that mean more than could ever be said.

When we arrive back at the house, Nana is shuffling across the yard with Ava in her arms.

“Is she all right?” I ask.

Nana waves me off. “She’s just tuckered out.”

“Too many pancakes,” Beverly says. It’s not a question.

Nana smirks. “I’m taking her back to her bed.” Not a pancake denial in sight.

I walk toward the apartment. “I’ll come with you.”

Nana shakes her head. “No no no. She’ll be fine. You two enjoy your work night.”

I watch as my little girl snoozes on Nana’s shoulder. I push Ava’s bangs off her forehead and stroke my thumb over her cheeks. She shifts a little to push me away, then squirms back to sleep. I chuckle. Nana’s right. She’s knocked out.

“I’ll be back in an hour,” I say.

“I’ll be watching TV,” Nana says. “Take your time.”

I watch her walk off with Ava, staring until the door to the garage apartment shuts behind them.

Beverly’s hand dips into my palm. I can’t help but smile at her beaming grin.

“C’mon,” she whispers, like another unspoken secret.

We enter the house, and the heating unit thrums louder than usual.

“Hello?” Beverly calls, but there’s no response. By the time we reach the top floor, we realize nobody is home. The only sign of life is the small flickering light over the kitchen sink.

I look out the sliding glass door to the porch, past the creaking chairs, and to the guesthouse, where the pulsing TV light shines through the window.

“Do you want to go back down?” Beverly asks.

“No, no, it’s all right,” I say. “Just not used to leaving her.”

“We can always work down there.”

I love her dedication, but I shake my head. “I can spend a couple hours away. I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

We walk down the hall to the last door on the right. She ushers me inside, and with a creak that could wake the dead, she closes her bedroom door behind us. It snicks shut with enough finality to make my heart pound.

Beverly sits on the edge of her mattress, crossing one leg over the other. She’s not trying to be seductive, but Christ, she doesn’t need to try.

I immediately avert my eyes and look around her room.

She smiles. “If you’re looking for something good, there’s not much left over from high school.”

I reach for a small bookshelf, one that seems more haphazard than the rest. I remove a tattered sketchbook and hold it out. “Not this?”

“That’s more recent.”

“Ah.”

I sit down on the bed beside her and scoot back until I’m against the wall. My feet hang over the side of the bed. I start to flip through the notebook’s pages.