Page 41 of Love and Other Lost Things

And then there was Ali in her black jeans, matching black hoodie, and combat boots. On the surface, Ali had come off a bit like her clothing choices—dark and unapproachable—but it was only because she’d been too wrapped up in her latest art project to get involved in the usual high school activities and gossip. But once you were in her circle, she’d help you bury a body if you needed her to.

On one side of the bulletin board, Jane had hung a necklace that Ali had made for her in a metalwork class at the local art center. A single, delicate thread of silver twisted and manipulated into a treble clef and a series of musical notes. When Jane had thrown her arms around her in thanks, Ali had quickly extracted herself from the embrace. “Okay, don’t get all sentimental,” she’d mumbled. But Ali hadn’t been able to hide the way her cheeks had turned pink with pleasure.

Jane unhooked the necklace from the bulletin board and tucked it in her pocket. Scarlett would love it.

When Jane had left for Los Angeles, she’d left Nik behind, but she’d left Hannah and Ali, too. Did they hate her for it? Or had they moved on and forgotten all about her? Jane told herself it didn’t matter. Just like Nik and everyone else in this town, she’d pushed them out of her thoughts long ago, and once she and Scarlett were gone for good, it wouldn’t matter what anyone thought of her. But she couldn’t help but feel a pull of longing as she looked at those old photos of her friends with their arms around her, faces open and accepting, smiles stretching wide.

She’d never had a group of friends like she’d had in high school. Or any other friends at all, really. Matteo didn’t like her hanging out with other people or focusing her attention on anyone who wasn’t him. And he really didn’t like anyone else knowing their business. The few times she’d formed a tentative friendship with someone—another mom at the playground, the bartender at the nightclub—Matteo had found a way to sabotage it.

Jane pulled a photo off the bulletin board and slipped it into her pocket to take with her when she left. Maybe she would never see her old friends again, but maybe she could get back to who she’d been when she’d had them in her life.

Jane closed her eyes, remembering the feeling of being up on that stage yesterday. The vibration of the guitar against her heart, the thrill of the song coming from deep in her chest. On that long, hard road between her childhood in Linden Falls and her life in LA, she’d lost so many little bits and pieces of herself. She’d stopped playing, stopped singing, even when she could have continued. Maybe she couldn’t have performed professionally—Matteo wouldn’t have allowed it—but in the shower, in the park. Just for herself. For the love of it.

Jane did a quick spin in the center of the room, searching for the guitar, but its old stand was empty, and there was no sign of the instrument’s case under the bed. Maybe Dad really had made good on his promise to take it out to the quarry and burn it. If she spent too much time thinking about it—that beautiful gift from Nik… gone—she’d sink down on the bed and cry.

But the guitar, as much as it meant to her, wasn’t what really mattered.

They’re going to love you.

Yes, she’d lost so many little bits and pieces of herself. But maybe last night was one small step toward finding them again. Toward believing again.

Later that evening, Jane set the dining table and they ate a quiet dinner, but she didn’t mind. The silence felt comfortable instead of tense. After dinner, Scarlett headed into the living room to watch Christmas specials on TV, and Jane and Mom wiped down the kitchen counters. As Mom slid the plastic containers of leftovers into the fridge, Jane heard her mutter, “Oh, darn it.”

Jane looked up. “What’s the matter?”

Mom sighed. “I promised Scarlett we could make pancakes again tomorrow, but I forgot we’re out of milk.” She shook the mostly empty carton. “Would you go over to Spring Street? The minimart at the service station will be open this time of night. All I need is a quart until I can get to the grocery store tomorrow afternoon.”

“Sure. Would you mind if I walked?” Spring Street wasn’t far, and Jane had a lot to think about.

“Of course. Take your time. I can put Scarlett to bed.” Mom sounded genuinely happy about that.

Jane’s heart twisted at the joy on Mom’s face, the enthusiasm in her voice. Her excitement at spending time with Scarlett reminded Jane again of those times when Dad was out of town, and it was just the two of them. When they could pretend that everything was normal and safe and happy. But that’s all they’d been doing back then. Pretending. When it really came down to it, Mom had chosen Dad.

Jane sighed, trying to tamp down her bitterness. She knew from experience that it wasn’t easy to make a different choice. How many times had she packed up their clothes, only to shove them back in the drawer before Matteo came home? How many times had she dialed the number of the women’s shelter, only to hang up on the first ring? When she’d finally let the call connect, they’d told her they didn’t have any beds available.

Call back next week.

Jane pulled on her jacket and peeked into the living room. Jane had to admit that Mom had made the space cozy and comfortable for them. Scarlett was snuggled on the couch, Lego Barbie in hand as she stared up at Charlie Brown and his sad little Christmas tree on TV. The soft pink blanket tucked around her looked new, as did the throw pillows with cats on them. There were more flowers on the table in here, and a vanilla-scented candle burning.

But then Jane focused on Dad’s recliner in the corner. She’d been avoiding it since she got home. Why was it still here? Jane would have expected Mom to replace it with something less awful. Surely, she could afford to buy a new recliner, one where the acrid scent of smoke didn’t linger.

Jane shuddered, sidestepping the recliner and sitting on the couch next to Scarlett. “Hey, honey, I’m going to take a walk to get milk for breakfast. Are you okay if Grandma puts you to bed?”

Scarlett nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She turned back to the TV. Charlie Brown threw up his hands, lamenting the materialism of the holiday.

“Are you sure?” Jane prompted, sliding closer. After all, Mom was essentially a stranger in a big old drafty house, and Jane had rarely left Scarlett alone with another adult before now. Not even Matteo. “I don’t want you to be scared.”

Scarlett shook her head, her blond curls bouncing. “I’m not scared. Grandma is nice.”

“And you’re okay if she tucks you in?”

“Yeah.” Scarlett snuggled deeper into the blanket. “Mommy?”

“What, sweetie?”

Scarlett’s wide eyes peered at her. “You left the door to your old bedroom cracked earlier.”

“I did?”

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