“Are you here for me?” she asked suddenly.
“What?”
“You heard me. Are you here for me?”
“I came to pay my respects. Your father was a good man, and your mother has always been nothing but kind to me.”
“Why did you come back this summer?”
“Because my oldest friends were behaving like children.”
“And I didn’t factor into those decisions?” she pressed.
“You never do.”
She nodded briskly. There was no hint of emotion on her lovely face. “Good.” She took the coat from me and slid her arms through the too-long sleeves. “When are you going to sell this place?” she asked, fluffing that silvery blond hair out of the collar.
“Spring,” I said.
“Good,” she said again. “It’ll be nice having decent neighbors for a change,” she said.
Then Sloane Walton walked out of my house without looking back.
I ate the cold burger and fries instead of the chicken, then washed the plate and returned it to the cabinet. The counters and floors were next as I wiped away any trace my unwanted visitor may have left behind.
I was tired. That hadn’t been a lie. I wanted nothing more than to take a hot shower and go to bed with a book. But I wouldn’t sleep. Not until she did. Besides, there was work to be done. I headed upstairs to my old bedroom, a space I now used primarily as an office.
I sat down at the desk under the large bay window that overlooked the backyard and offered a view of Sloane’s. My phone signaled a text.
Karen: We’re having a wonderful time. Just what the soul needed today. Thank you again for being so thoughtful and generous! P.S. My friend has a daughter she wants you to meet.
She included a winking smiley face and a selfie of her and her friends in matching robes, all with green goop on their faces. Their eyes were red and swollen, but the smiles looked genuine. Some people could withstand the worst without it damaging their souls. The Waltons were those people. I, on the other hand, had been born damaged.
Me: You’re welcome. No daughters.
I scrolled through the rest of my text messages until I found the thread I was looking for.
Simon: If I could have chosen a son in this lifetime, it would have been you. Take care of my girls.
It was the last text I’d ever receive from the man I’d admired. The man who had so foolishly believed I could be saved. I dropped the phone, my fingers flexing, and once again I wished I’d saved the day’s cigarette for now. Instead, I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, willing away the burn I felt there.
I tamped it down, picked up the phone again, and scrolled through my contacts. She shouldn’t be alone, I rationalized.
Me: Sloane isn’t at her sister’s. She’s home alone.
Naomi: Thanks for the heads-up. I had a feeling she was going to try to wrangle some sneaky alone time. Lina and I will handle it.
Duty performed, I booted up my laptop and opened the first of eight reports that required my attention. I’d barely made it through the financials on the first when my phone vibrated on the desk. This time, it was a call.
Emry Sadik.
Deciding to wallow in my misery instead of discussing it, I let it go to voicemail.
A text arrived moments later.
Emry: I’ll just keep calling. You might as well save us both the time and answer.
I had barely finished rolling my eyes when the next call came through.
“Yes?” I answered dryly.
“Oh good. You’re not completely spiraling into self-destruction.” Dr. Emry Sadik was a psychologist, elite performance coach, and—worst of all—an accidental friend. The man knew most of my deepest, darkest secrets. I’d given up trying to disabuse him of the belief that I was worth saving.
“Did you call for a specific reason or just to annoy me?” I asked.
I heard the unmistakable crack and clink of his predinner pistachios shells as they hit the bowl. I could picture him at the table in his study, a basketball game on mute, the day’s crossword in front of him. Emry was a man who believed in routine and efficiency…and being there for his friends even when they didn’t want him.
“How did it go today?”
“Fine. Depressing. Sad.”
Crack. Clink.
“How are you feeling?”
“Infuriated,” I answered. “A man like that could be doing more good. He should have had more time. His family still needs him.” I still needed him.
“Nothing rocks our foundations like an unexpected death,” Emry empathized. He would know. His wife had passed away after a car accident four years ago. “If the world was a fair and just place, would your father have had more time?”
Crack. Clink.
In a fair and just world, Ansel Rollins would have lived out his full sentence, and the day of his release, he would have suffered a painful and traumatic death. Instead, he’d managed to escape his punishment due to a stroke that had quietly ended his life in his sleep. The unfairness of it had the rage rattling that locked box inside me.
“You haven’t been my therapist for fifteen years. I don’t have to talk about him with you anymore.”
“As one of the few people on this planet who you tolerate, I’m only pointing out that two father figures dying within six months of each other is a lot for any human.”
“I believe we’ve established that I’m not human,” I reminded him.
Emry chuckled, undisturbed. “You’re more human than you think, my friend.”
I scoffed. “No need to be insulting.”
Crack. Clink.
“How did it go with Simon’s daughter?”
“Which one?” I hedged deliberately.
Emry snorted. “Don’t make me come up there in a snowstorm.”
I closed my eyes so I wouldn’t feel compelled to look toward Sloane’s house. “It was…fine.”
“You managed to be civil at the funeral?”
“I’m almost always civil,” I snapped wearily.
Emry chuckled. “What I wouldn’t give to meet the infamous Sloane Walton.”
“You’d need more than one session if you wanted to get to the bottom of what’s wrong with her,” I told him.
“I find it fascinating how she’s lodged herself so securely under your skin when you’re an expert at surgically removing annoyances from your life.”
Crack. Clink.
“How did Sadie’s piano recital go?” I asked, changing the subject to one my friend couldn’t possibly ignore: his grandchildren.
“In my humble opinion, she outperformed all the other five-year-olds with her stirring rendition of ‘I’m a Little Teapot.’”
“Of course she was the best,” I agreed.
“I’ll send you the video as soon as I learn how to text ten minutes of shaky footage.”
“I can’t wait,” I lied. “Have you gotten up the nerve to ask out your neighbor yet, or are you still lurking behind your curtains?”
My friend had developed a crush on the stylish divorcée across the street and, by his own account, had only managed to grunt and nod in her general direction.
“The right opportunity hasn’t presented itself yet,” he said. “I would also like to point out the irony of you encouraging me to start dating again.”