Page 29 of The Story Between Us

Livvie gave her the highlights. Six years at Pemberton. Still junior. Still waiting for a promotion that kept going to people who proved louder and sharper and better at taking credit.

“And your painting?”

The question caught her off guard. “What?”

“Your painting. You showed real talent—serious talent. That summer you did those lake scenes—I still have them upstairs.” Lila gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. “I keep meaning to rotate them into the gallery wall, but I can never decide which of my terrible flea-market art to take down.”

Something tightened in Livvie’s chest. Once upon a time, yes, she’d sat in the beautiful sunroom, with the summer light cascading through the oak and maple trees, and lost herself in the colors and turns of watercolors and oil, trying to figure out what medium she liked best.

No, what she liked was disappearing into her art, finding the nuances of light and color that spoke to her soul. “I haven’t painted since that summer.”

“Since Emma.”

“Since Emma.”

Lila stayed quiet for a moment.

“Something died in you when she died,” Lila said. Not a question.

Livvie nodded. She didn’t trust her voice.

“And something died in him too. The difference is, you kept going. Built a life. He just…stopped.” Lila turned from the window. “Maybe that’s why you’re the one who can reach him. You know what it’s like to lose the thing that made you create. You just handled it differently.”

Livvie thought about that. About the watercolors she’d packed away and never unpacked. About the sketchbook she’d bought two years ago that still sat in her desk drawer, untouched. About the way she’d funneled all her creative energy into other people’s stories because her own felt too heavy to carry.

She’d thought herself fine. Functional. Moving forward.

But maybe she’d just been running in a different direction than Nate. Same grief. Different hiding places.

“I don’t know how to help him,” she admitted. “I don’t even know how to get back in that house.”

“You’ll figure it out.” Lila stood, gathering their empty mugs. “You’re a Fox. We’re stubborn.”

“Mom would have said delusional.”

“Your mother would have said a lot of things. It’s up to you to sort through the ones that you want to keep.” Lila disappeared into the kitchen. “Hungry? I’m making something with too much garlic and not enough vegetables, and I refuse to eat it alone.”

Livvie smiled despite herself. “Sure. I’ll get settled upstairs.”

A car pulled up outside.

Not to Lila’s cottage—to the house next door. A small sedan with a glowing Uber Eats sign in the window.

Livvie sat up straighter. “Who’s that?”

Lila returned from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. She glanced out the window. “Oh, that’s Jake. He does deliveries. Poor kid drives all the way out here twice a day sometimes.”

“Twice a day?”

“Nate orders lunch and dinner. Sometimes breakfast. The man has a tab at the deli that could fund a small college education.”

Livvie watched as Jake—early twenties, friendly looking, slightly harried—climbed out of the car and headed toward Nate’s porch with a paper bag.

“What does he usually get?”

“For lunch—the daily sandwich. For dinner, the daily soup. Today is the chicken wild rice from Kline’s. Good soup, I’ll give him that.” Lila paused. “Why?”

Livvie’s brain did something it hadn’t done since she’d left New York. It made a plan.