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“What are you doing? Right now?” Lacey pauses mid-sip, looking around her like she’s been caught doing something wrong. I can’t help but laugh at her response. “If you’re free, maybe you could come into town with me? I could use the extra muscle.” The sagging door from my pantry decides to strengthen my claim when it takes its last breath and gives way, crashing to the ground.
We both yelp, then look at one another and burst into unconstrained cackles. Once she can breathe again, she nods. “It’s a date.”
Unable to contain my excitement, I bounce from the kitchen and into the bedroom to slip on a pair of sandals. Just as I’m about to leave, I take a moment to appreciate what Lacey just shared. Cayden and I have only shared a handful of words, but I can’t deny the overwhelming pull I feel toward him.
Even though tragedy taints our lives, we go on because that’s what living is all about. I decide to make more of an effort with him—not because I feel sorry for him, but because he’s the type of person I want in my life.
It doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly easy on the eyes, but that’s beside the point.
Shaking away such thoughts, I grab my bag and am ready to face the big, bad world. Lacey waits by the front door with a pencil and paper in hand. When I arch a curious brow, she smirks. “Just writing down a few things we need.”
Standing on tippy-toes to peek at what she’s writing, I quip, “Are you sure there are enough pages in that notepad?”
“It’s a start,” she replies lightly with a shrug.
She bounds down the front steps, humming to a tune in her head as she taps her chin, looking at my nonexistent front garden. Once I’ve locked up, I stop beside her, wondering what she’s thinking. “How about some roses? I love roses,” she says, hand over heart.
I suddenly put two and two together. “You live in the amazing glass house with the beautiful rose bushes out front, don’t you?”
“Yup, that’s me.”
“I admired your home and your roses when I first arrived. Your home is extraordinary. So different from any others around here.”
Lacey looks like a proud mom, and I have no idea why. “Thank you. I love it. It’s my dream home. I have Cayden to thank for that.” The unconditional love she feels for her brother warms my heart.
“I think roses will look amazing. Add that to the list.” She yelps in excitement, penciling it on her notepad. Her happiness is contagious.
She leads the way to her home. I didn’t get to appreciate it in all its full glory yesterday, but now that I’m mere feet away, I shield the sun from my eyes and stop dead in my tracks.
The exterior is a dark woodgrain with large bay windows. The curtains are drawn back to let in the glorious sun. A balcony wraps around the upper level, providing Lacey and Cayden with views all around. Two glass doors sit dead center on the bottom level. I scan over the upper level, wondering which room belongs to Cayden.
This needs to stop. Now.
Quickening my step to catch up to Lacey, I give her my full attention when she stops beside her car. “I know she doesn’t look like much, but she’s yet to let me down,” she says, patting the roof of the rusted Volkswagen Beetle. In her heyday, she would have been a brilliant turquoise, but now she’s a faded, rusty blue.
To most, she’d be sold for scrap metal, but to me, she screams personality, and I love her. “She is beautiful,” I say in awe, running my hand over the metal. I can just imagine Stella’s disgust.
As I attempt to open the door, it sticks, and I almost fall backward. Lacey chuckles. “It only opens from the inside.”
“Well, I suppose that’s a good way not to get carjacked.”
Her laughter continues as she unlocks her door and jumps inside. Reaching across the middle console, she pulls on the door handle to grant me entry. The inside is just as impressive as the outside. Shaggy wool seat covers provide comfort for the front and back seats. A unicorn air freshener hangs from the rearview mirror. This entire car reflects Lacey’s personality—fun, well loved, and vibrant.
Once I’m belted in, Lacey starts the car with a splutter, and I bite back my smile. After three coughs, she starts, and we’re on our way. A pop song plays over the radio, setting a vivacious mood for the day ahead.
I take a moment to appreciate my surroundings because on the way down here, with Augusto behind the wheel and Stella bickering that he took the long way, all I could do was zone in and out, desperate to arrive. But now, with the wind in my hair, thanks to the windows being wound all the way down, I can fully admire my town.
The lake is never far from where we are, our gravitational nucleus drawing us back home if we ever stray.
Lacey isn’t exactly driving the speed limit, and I reach for the grab handle, always a little anxious when riding in a car. The night of my accident, a wintry blizzard folded over the horizon, and it was bedlam on the roads. Stella told me I was on my way home from a New Year’s party. The roads were slippery, slick with frost, and an oncoming car lost control and wiped me clear off the road. His blood alcohol was three times over the limit, thanks to the holidays—when it’s a continuous party and the good times roll. What a way to start the new year.
I spent five days in a coma, and it was touch-and-go. If life was fair, I’d be out celebrating the new year with friends and family and maybe even a boyfriend. But Stella said I only really had one of the three. No guessing which.
“Are you getting car sick?” Lacey’s concerned voice snaps me from my thoughts.
“No, why?” I ask, meeting her troubled stare.
“’Cause you look seconds away from throwing up.”
Sighing, I slip on my sunglasses, worried I’ve ruined the mood. “No, I’m okay. Just thinking.”
“About…?” she prompts me, and although I don’t want to be a stick in the mud, it might be nice to talk to someone who wants to listen. And not just because they’re waiting for their turn to talk, but rather because they’re genuinely interested in what I have to say.
“About the night of my accident,” I reveal, shifting in my seat, as this topic will always be a delicate one for me.
A shade of curiosity suddenly mutates into horror, and I almost get whiplash when Lacey slams on the brakes. “Oh, my God. I didn’t even think. I know these roads like the back of my hand, and I probably go a little faster than I should. I am so, so sorry, Peyton.”
I realize that all Lacey and I seem to do is apologize to one another. As much as I appreciate her compassion, I don’t want her to walk on eggshells around me. And I vow to do the same. “Let’s make a deal,” I offer, turning to look at Lacey, who is working her lip.
She nods, indicating she’s listening.
