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She took care of my things?
I know it was Eve. It had to be. Isaac would never.
I swallow roughly, taking another step in. My palms are sweating, so I slide them into my jean pockets. I fight the urge to look behind me, to see if she’s still here, but I can’t. I don’t want to see if she’s left.
I don’t want to know if I’m alone.
I used to be able to feel her presence whenever she entered a room. Eve had this energy about her. It called to everyone, drawing them in like a magnetic force, irresistible and unyielding. It was the same for me. I was a moth to her flame but now…now I am the flame and that Eve, the one I used to know? She’s nothing but a pile of ash carried away in the sticky Georgia air.
Shaking my head, I exhale a deep breath as I let the weight of my lighter in my pocket ground me.
The window seat, bathed in bright, afternoon light, draws my attention. I slide my free hand from my pocket and trace my fingers over the heated window. The curtains are open.
They were never open when I lived here. Not when anyone could see me, at least.
My eyes take in the perfect view of the lake, the old tree and tire swing, the dock. Memories flit through my mind like a macabre slideshow. I can still feel the cool touch of the glass against my cheek. All those days I spent watching the world outside while I remained cocooned in my own private sanctuary. My own refuge from the chaos in my mind, my soul.
I watched as my small family of two became four, then three. Isaac accepted them into our home so easily, and dismissed me from it just as fast. He didn’t need me when he had the perfect do-over kid. The religious, sweet girl who radiated sunshine and loved to smile. The Golden Girl.
And Jane? She was the perfect, doting wife and mom. It was nearly effortless for them to adapt to the lifestyle Isaac wanted so badly, and why wouldn’t it be? That’s the kind of life they lived back in Haven with Grant. It was second nature to be the preacher’s family, and I…
I didn’t fit in.
So, I stayed out.
Biting my lip, I shove away from the window, from the memories.
Maybe I wouldn’t have stayed away if it wouldn’t have been so easy for me to disappear. Did they even notice?
Against my will, my eyes flit to the door and my heart contracts, my mouth going dry. She’s here. She didn’t leave.
“You okay?” Eve murmurs.
She stayed.
I nod, unable to speak. Her arms are crossed over her chest, her brows furrowed in concern. Or, at least I think that's what it is.
“Do you want me to go?”
My tongue runs across my teeth for a few beats as if I’m thinking about it. I don’t want her to know how badly I want, need, her to stay. Finally, I shrug and turn back to my room.
“You can stay if you want.”
I swear I hear her huff a laugh and it lightens something deep in my gut, letting it unfurl slowly.
My eyes wander to the bookshelf, a faithful protector that safeguards the stories of my childhood. I trace my finger over the familiar spines, each one a time capsule of a different adventure, a different world. The leather bindings and worn edges tell tales of late nights and early mornings, of escaping into realms far beyond the ugly confines of my tattered life.
“Steinbeck,” I muse, a wistful smile dancing on my lips. “Hemmingway.” My fingers linger on Crime and Punishment, the pages whispering secrets of struggle and redemption, before landing on the empty spot next to it where a book once lived before I moved it to my nightstand.
“I miss it,” Eve whispers, the words barely audible. I don’t need to look at her to know what she’s talking about. The empty space exists for a book ingrained in my every cell. A book I loved—love.
I bite my lip to stifle the words, we can read it again. Instead, I push away from the shelf and turn to my bed, refusing to look at her. If I do, she’ll see everything I’m trying to hide.
“You should buy a copy then.”
This time, she scoffs, and it’s anything but quiet. I chuckle, but the sound dies on my lips as I take in the new comforter on my bed.
The old one was black and worn, my refusal to redecorate despite Jane’s insistence meant I’d been sleeping with the same blanket for years. But now it’s blue and quilted, brightening up the room. I idly wonder if they’ve been using the room for guests, but easily dismiss it. Isaac hates people in his house, his space.
