Page 54 of Sterling Stone

“You can’t sit in another room.”

What’s he planning to do, spend the night in a chair?

Ignoring my statement, he turns to close the front door and flip on the hallway lights, appearing rather familiar with Trudy’s home.

The layout is simple. The entryway is a short hall with the small, square kitchen to the left. The hallway ends in the living room, which is long and narrow. Another hall leads off the living room to two bedrooms and one bathroom.

Pretending as if Stone isn’t present, I make my way to the linen closet and return to the living room, where Stone has taken a seat on the couch.

“You’re on my bed,” I snap.

He glances left, then, right before looking up at me. “You sleep here?”

“Sofa city. Trudy only has two bedrooms. Simon’s and hers.” She’d bought the smaller place because it would have less space to keep clean. Plus, she expected visitors in that extra bedroom, not a permanent resident. She would never begrudge Simon’s presence. She loves him, but I’ve sensed her struggles when we’ve spoken on the phone. She’s already raised children. In her retirement from foster care, she took on a second career as a real estate agent. She loves finding new homes for people.

Stone stares at me for a long minute. Those blue eyes remind me of my recent visit to Montana, and he gives me a puzzled look before he hefts himself off the couch and enters the kitchen. While I fling the sheet over the cushions and cover a bed pillow with a silky case, I hear Stone rustling around in the kitchen.

“Don’t even think about stealing Trudy’s food,” I holler, like he’s conducting a jewelry heist in the other room.

When the couch is made up, I sit heavily and tip back my head, staring at the ceiling. Sensing Stone’s approach, I glance at him.

With a plate in hand, he says, “I made you a sandwich. Turkey on wheat. It’s all she had.”

I stare at the dish. Aunt Trudy’s trusty 1970s Corelle. A white dish with a gold floral pattern around the rim. Then I take in the sandwich. Brown bread. White meat, neatly folded between the slices. Beside the sandwich are apple slices. He holds a can of cola in his other hand.

And I burst into tears.

What is with all this emotion?

Covering my face, I pitch forward, bracing my elbows on my knees. Stone is suddenly sitting beside me, hand cupping the back of my neck, and I tip into him. He wraps his arm around my back and the other around my front, pulling me tighter into his side.

I’m typically not a crier, so I don’t know what’s come over me.

I allow myself a moment in the strength of his arms and the press of his forehead into the back of my head before I hastily swipe at my cheeks and straighten. Instantly, I miss the warmth of him holding me, but that’s not why he’s here.

“You haven’t eaten all day. Take a bite.” He picks up the plate he’d set on the floor and holds the sandwich toward me.

“Thank you,” I whisper as my throat feels too raw and my tongue too thick. The first bite is like an explosion in my mouth. He’s right. I haven’t eaten all day, which makes me snippy when he doesn’t deserve my hangry tone. Of course, he wasn’t stealing Trudy’s food.

While I hold the sandwich, he sets the plate on his thigh and reaches for the soda can with his other hand. Popping the tab, a sharp hiss fills the room. I’m not a big soda drinker, but I take the can he offers me.

“You need a little sugar to settle the nerves.”

Seems counterintuitive to calm the jitters, but I don’t argue. Instead, I take a sip and set the can on the floor near my feet.

“Another bite,” Stone softly commands, and I take a second one while he watches me.

“Why haven’t you asked how I’m doing?” I question for some reason.

“Because I’m assuming from the shakes, you’re still in a state of shock, resulting from lack of food and decent sleep, and the struggle to process what Trudy’s heart attack means. What it could have meant.” He pauses for effect.

We both have the same thought. Trudy could have died today.

“But you tell me if I’m wrong. How are you holding up?”

Befuddled by his accurate assessment and observation of me, I don’t respond. Then I remember his position. His career. He probably deals with this kind of thing all the time. The shock. The loss.

Only I didn’t lose today. Trudy is still here.