Page 127 of The Cost of Forgetting You

“Thanks,” is all I manage to squeeze out. My lungs are tight, compressed by my pounding heart. It’s the millionth time I’ve been near her, so why does it suddenly feel so nerve-racking? I stand and smooth the wrinkles from my slacks to hide the tremble in my hands. “What’s got you here so late?”

“We’ve been reading Great Gatsby for the past few weeks, and I promised the kids that if they had an average of eighty percent or more on their comprehension test, I’d throw a party for them, 1920’s style.” She bounces on her toes, smiling widely. “They took it today and nailed it! Nearly eighty-seven percent as the average score. So I stayed late to decorate my classroom. If I never see another art deco print, it’ll be too soon.”

My responding chuckle shakes a bit of the tension out of me. “It’s been a while since I read Gatsby, but if I’m understanding correctly, you turned your classroom into a speakeasy? For teenagers?”

“Not quite.” Laughter floods her cheeks with color. She fans herself with our bundled letters, sucking in deep breaths until it’s reduced to residual giggles. “We’ll be leaning more into the Prohibition side of the roaring twenties, if you know what I mean.”

I suck in air through my teeth, grimacing as I shake my head. “Oh, well, in that case I’m going to have to skip that party.”

“As if you were invited!” She pushes off the wall and takes a step in my direction. Her hair is swept into a low ponytail that swings over her shoulder, revealing delicate gold hoops hanging from her ears. Her fingertips brush one lobe like she’s caught me looking. I meet her gaze, and I swear a shudder runs through her, but it’s gone before I can convince myself it was more than a trick of the light.

She closes the distance between us, holds out the stack of notes we once passed each other, and arches a brow. “And besides, since when do you drink?”

I pluck them from her grasp and turn them over in my hands. Ink bleeds through time-worn paper, a testament to the history between us. The reason she knows I don’t drink in the first place. Save for the night of prom, and that was enough to turn me off it forever.

“You caught me,” I say, raising my hands in a show of innocence. “Drinking has never been my vice, thankfully.”

“I’m not sure I believe you have any. You’re too in control.”

I toss the stack of notes on top of the piano, hoping the sound will drown out my pathetic, “Oh, you have no idea.”

It doesn’t, of course. When I glance back at her, Lucy’s brow is furrowed. Her gray eyes flicker, catching on something in my expression that makes her say, “Name one,” so softly I have to lean close to make it out.

You, I almost utter. But what good would that do? She’s still married to Waylon. I’m still with Kimberly, if only in name. Our opportunity long passed us by. I know this deep down, no matter how much I wish it wasn’t so.

In the silence following her command, she winces as her words echo back to her. She tucks a stray hair behind her ear and casts her eyes to the ground. “Sorry, I didn’t mean…I wasn’t trying to insinuate?—”

“You didn’t.” I reach for her hand without a thought. We both stare at this point where we connect, her lips parted in a drawn breath and my lungs bow-string tight. I drop her as though I’ve been burned. “I’m sorry. I— You didn’t insinuate anything. I’m a little slow on the draw, that’s all. I promise I don’t mean to be. I’ve been all over the place lately.”

I rub my palm against my thigh, trying desperately to forget the feel of her skin. Lucy’s right. Control is my strong suit. So why am I struggling to maintain it?

A wrinkle forms between her eyebrows. “If something’s going on, you know you can talk to me about it, right?”

“Like you talked to me about what happened with your black eye?”

Her lips flatten. I’ve broken the unspoken rule, and we both know it. I expect to see vitriol in her gaze, perhaps even disgust that I’d bring this up after she made it clear it wasn’t a topic up for discussion. And I’d deserve it. I don’t know what’s gotten into me, that I’d be so abrupt. I open my mouth to apologize, but she speaks before I can.

“You were right,” she whispers. There’s a quiet grief lacing her expression. An understanding. “About Waylon. He’s not usually like that. Things got a bit heated, and it went too far that time. He felt really bad about it.”

I scrape a hand over my mouth. “You could’ve told me, Lucy.”

Her watery smile could break a thousand hearts. “I know. But like I said, it was a one-off. There was no need to worry you over something so stupid.”

Rage blinds me momentarily. No amount of time, distance, or regret from his sorry ass could lessen it. My mind races with all the things I want to say, wondering if any are words she needs to hear. I nearly grind my molars to stumps trying to hold back every curse, threat, and promise that comes to mind. Finally I force out, “One time is a time too many, Lucy.”

From the way she swallows, tilts her chin up, and meets my gaze with unwavering resolve, I’d guess she knows that already. But I don’t regret saying it, just in case.

“I couldn’t have any more babies after Truett.” Her lips quiver, but she does not look away. Doesn’t close her eyes even as tears fill them. “We tried for years, but nothing happened. Secondary infertility, they called it. But Waylon just called it my fault.

“I always wanted a house full of babies. It was the only good part of my life growing up. Having a brother and sister to lean on when times were hard, to laugh with when they were good.” She snorts softly, crinkling her nose. “Maybe it was a blessing in disguise. Maybe they’d have ended up exactly like my siblings and me. After all, Waylon is so much like Daddy. I worry sometimes that Truett’s so sick of it that he’ll leave when he turns eighteen and never come back. And the worst part is, I wouldn’t blame him.”

This time I don’t stop at grabbing her hand. I use it to pull her into me; then I wrap my arms around her shoulders and squeeze tight. The scent of honeysuckle floods my senses. I nuzzle into her hair, drinking it in. She exhales against the curve of my neck. Goose bumps break out along my flesh. I feel every inch of her molding to me, and it’s perfect in ways that Kimberly and I never were.

“That boy will never abandon you. He loves his mama too much.” I stroke a hand down her spine. Her blouse is so thin I can feel the heat coming off her, and I allow it to thaw the anger filling me till it’s nothing but its molten core.

“I’m gonna leave him.” Her words are a whispered confession. One that sets my heart to a gallop in my chest.

I pull back enough to see her eyes. To measure the truth there. “What?”

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