Page 55

“Sounds like you want to teach college. I have a sister in high school, but she’s not too big into deep, historical discussions.”

Rosalie chuckles. “You might be right.”

“You’ll figure it out,” I say, realizing I need to believe this. Rosalie is brilliant, capable, and clever. She may have lost a few memories, but she hasn’t lost that. She will figure it out. And my mother’s right, I need to let that happen naturally.

“Thanks, Zev,” she says, and it’s obvious she means it. The relief of someone else trusting her with her own life is evident. She needs to be trusted.

I just need to have faith that she’ll fall back in love with me naturally.

My stomach flips uncomfortably with the thought.

Yeah, that might be easier said than done.

Twenty-Six

The phrasing of Zev’s question has stuck with me. I appreciate it. He asked what I wanted to do. Not what I am doing. Not what I should do. But what I want.

“What do you want to do?” I ask, phrasing it just as carefully for him.

He thinks a minute, his forehead furrowed and thoughtful. “I want to heal.”

My eyes drop to his leg.

It’s a fair answer, one I understand all too well. “I hope you can heal, too,” I say. “Is your… wound stopping you from living how you want to?”

“Some days.”

“Your job?” Okay, fine, I’m asking. We’re there. I’ve already told him about teaching. And Zev and I have faked a relationship and hid from a half-naked man together—I’m pretty sure I could tell him I’m twenty-six and unemployed without losing all my pride.

“Is physical,” he says. “And impossible in my condition.” Zev clears his throat. “But healing is more than physical. You know?”

Boy, do I ever. “I understand.”

I’m just about to ask what this physical job is—my previous conviction of not asking and not telling headed right into the toilet—when Carlos walks over, a lively, wide grin on his face.

“Miss Rosie,” he says, showing all of his teeth, clear back to the molars. “Someone is visiting me at work today. Someone I hoped to introduce you to. Is it a good time?”

I glance at Zev. I have so many questions. But then— “Wait! Partida?”

Carlos nods.

“She’s out of the house?” I sit straighter, peering around the outside café for the girl.

“She was going stir crazy.” Carlos laughs, making me feel horribly guilty that I haven’t texted him yet. “When I told her I might see you today, she asked to join me.”

“Yes,” I yip. “Send her over!” I swing my gaze back to Zev. “Do you mind?” I whisper.

He gives his head a shake and we watch as Carlos waves into the building of the café. He peeks back at me, holding up one finger. “She needs a little help.”

“His granddaughter?” Zev asks. “The girl you share your books with?”

“Yeah.” I keep my eyes on the patio entrance. “I don’t even know her—but I love her. Weird, right?” I’m giddy. Partida’s here!

“Sweet,” Zev says, his eyes grinning at me. “Not weird at all.”

A small eleven-year-old girl walks next to Carlos over to our table. She’s on crutches and she’s awkward. With each and every step, I wished we’d gotten up and moved to the table closest to the door.

But they make it, wide grins on both their faces. Carlos holds out a hand, motioning to the girl. “This is my grandgirl,” he says.