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I don’t move.
I barely breathe.
Together, we turn to look out of the window, down on Clementine Lane.
“How are you?” His head turns slightly as he looks down at me from his great height.
“Good. I think. It’s been a long few days.”
He slides his hands into his pockets, not saying anything, just giving me time and space to talk.
I know this routine. Growing up, I had any number of shrinks who’d use silence to pressure me into talking. People can’t stand the quiet. We have a need to fill the gaps, a drive to find common ground, especially when confronted with a stranger.
But I’ve learned to use silence too, and sensing that I’m not going to offer more, he finally adds, “I can imagineit hasn’t been easy, being home together while you’re all grieving.”
“No.” I wonder how he knows that. “Grief is funny that way. Having people around is nice, but so much harder too. It’s like you’re all so worried about everyone else that you never get around to actually letting it out.”
“And you’re worried that when you finally do, you’re going to bring everyone down with you.”
“Exactly. We’ve been avoiding each other for the most part.” I exhale, relieved that I don’t have to explain myself. “But do you know what the worst part about it is?”
“No.”
I pause as Toni’s reminder not to talk to the police rings in my head.
Aiden, sensing my hesitation, gently prompts. “You can tell me.”
I deliberate for a moment, confused by how easy I find it to be honest with this virtual stranger. Not just a stranger—a cop.
Aiden angles his head, waiting.
“I keep forgetting,” I say finally. “I mean, Iknow. I know she’s dead. But sometimes, I’ll wake up and roll out of bed, and I’ll get halfway through my shower before remembering that she won’t be there, sitting in the kitchen in her clothes from the night before, having a drink when I go downstairs. Or I’ll get home and think:Oh, I need to tell Lizzie about that. And then it all comes flooding back. And it’s like I’m finding out she’s gone for the first time again. I don’t miss her all day, every day—not like Toni does. But when it hits me…” At a loss for how to explain, I rub my chest, over my heart.
“It’s so much worse because right before then, you were fine. Happy, even.”
I look at him, my head tilted back slightly to meet his eyes. “Who did you lose?” The moment the question is out of my mouth, I know I’m right. This man has been where I am now.
“I lost my father when I was twelve.”
“Oh.” I flush. “I’m so sorry. I’ve just been ranting-”
“Don’t.” He smiles at me. “Don’t compare our grief. It can be different and hurt the same.”
But I see the memories rise in him. He turns to stare out the window, but he doesn’t see what’s below. His mouth, always hinting at a smile, is neutrally set just then. His shoulders, so relaxed and casual moments before, are bunched, tense. “My father wasn’t a good man,” he says quietly, his tone cautious, measured.
Reaching out, I place my hand on his forearm. His body heat leeches through his clothes, grabbing for me. “Neither was Lizzie,” I admit. It’s nothing he doesn’t already know. “But it still hurts.”
He places his hand over mine briefly, just a casual touch before subtly moving it and his arm away from me. “It does.”
Embarrassment at his casual distancing forces a hot blush up my neck and into my cheeks. I laugh awkwardly and turn my face away, wrapping my arms around my body to try and ward off the chill of my humiliation.
Aiden
My arm burnswhere Catherine casually placed her palm.In comfort, I think, disgusted with myself. Here the woman is, sharing her grief, and all I was thinking was ifshe tastes like she smells—like blossoming flowers under the summer sun.
Unlike the conservative dress with long sleeves that I remember from the police station, today she’s wearing jeans that hug her hips and a tight, polo-neck top that reveals every curve it conceals.
She wraps her arms around herself, trying to make herself as small as possible, and just then, she looks so young, solost. Twenty-eight, I remember, feeling sick with guilt. Forty hardly makes me old enough to be her father, but it certainly pushes me well into old enough that I should be protecting her,notthinking about if she’d move with the same loose-limbed grace underneath me as she does making small gestures.
