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“Because you care about him, dummy,” she says, pointing to the small wooden charm hanging around my neck. “If you didn’t, you damn sure wouldn’t be wearing that.”
Tracing the outline of the necklace, I glance at Sparrow. I haven’t taken it off since he placed it there last night.
“I thought you’d be furious with me.”
Penelope sighs heavily, tucking her hair behind one ear. “Oh, I am. But, come on, I’m not going to pretend I don’t understand how things got muddy between the two of you. And unfortunately, no matter the situation, caring for someone isn’t something you can just turn off.”
I didn’t expect her sympathy, but then again, I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Penelope is the kind of friend who doesn’t leave her person’s corner just because they lost a few rounds, and considering how utterly alone I am, I’m immensely grateful to have her in mine.
My voice isn’t much more than a rasp when I say, “I hurt him, Pen.”
She steps beside me to lean her butt against the trunk. “We’re humans, babe. No matter how hard you try not to, you’ll hurt someone you care about at some point in your life. It’s like, part of our genetic makeup or some shit. To be both the thing that heals and cuts. But then we recognize what we’ve done, and we do the most human thing possible.”
“What’s that?”
“Forgive,” she says, bringing tears to my eyes.
I don’t remember a time I wasn’t closed off from the world, because at some point in my life, I killed all the qualities that I thought made me weak. If I was too open, I would get taken advantage of. If I was too warm, I’d be used until I was cold. If I cared too much, I got hurt.
But what’s left of that woman—who I was before Marcus and before Augustine—is nothing more than shattered glass. I’m free of her, which is why I can stand beside my friend, butt planted against the car right next to hers with Jango squirming between our legs, and easily take her hand in mine.
“I’m sorry I lied to you, Penelope,” I say tightly, regretting that I couldn’t articulate the apology Marcus deserved this morning.
Regretting even more that I may never get the chance.
Her smile is kind and accepting. “I know.”
“Is he gone?”
I appreciate the sympathetic squeeze she gives when she nods. “My dad had him flown back to Seattle about two hours ago on a private jet.”
“Wait, what about rehab? He can’t just leave… can he?”
Penelope stares at her boots, lightly tapping her toes together. “He didn’t give me any details other than to wait for him to call once he landed. But Dad and Marcus are up to something. I just don’t know what.”
My head tips toward the brilliant blue sky. That’s it, then. The passion, the laughter, the ease in which we fell into each other. It’s over, just like that.
Before Marcus, my goal in life was to be the best journalist I could be. Cranking out stories that, in hindsight, only gave me temporary purpose and fulfillment. But there’s nothing fulfilling about hurting people. And for as badly as I once thought I wanted to expose the Matthews and all their secrets, in the end, I’ve only managed to expose myself.
I release Penelope to open the back passenger door, and then fish my laptop out of my backpack.
“What are you doing?”
“I told you I didn’t write the story on Marcus, and that’s true. But I want to show you what I ended up writing instead.” After opening my laptop, I click on the file that I emailed to Alice an hour ago.
Penelope takes it from my hands, cradling it in hers like it may explode any minute, and I laugh lightly. “Just read it.”
She carefully scans the pages, brows raising and lowering with surprise through each paragraph while I wait anxiously.
“Heather, this is brilliant.” Clusters of goosebumps raise her skin when she eventually reaches the end. “You do love him.”
She says it almost giddily, and finally, I admit it to us both. “I do.”
Penelope’s face glows, renewed with excitement, and as if he knows what’s going on, Jango barks. But I lean back on my elbows, searching the sky for the hope I’ve lost with a fading smile.
“You didn’t see the way he looked at me.” I wince at his chilling parting words. “I don’t want to let him go, Pen. More than anything, I don’t. But you talk about forgiveness, and I’m not sure if I’m redeemable.”
“Aside from the glaringly obvious fact that he loves you, this right here makes you more than redeemable.” She sets my computer on top of the car and nibbles her lower lip in thought. “But it won’t be enough to just tell him. The kind of groveling you’re going for will need somehutzpahbehind it.”
