Page 93 of Unstable

“You have,” I gush, bobbing my head. “You’ve helped me more than you know, in so many ways. You aren’t a burden, never think that, please. And this isn’t about Keaton and you. This is about Keaton and me. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah, it does.” His smile brightens. “So tell me your plans.”

We sit and talk, and I fill him in on the decision that I haven’t even told Keaton yet. And like always, Gatlin offers reassuring, insightful comments and asks a few questions in all the right spots.

We stand and hug, a tear sliding down my cheek. “I’ll miss you. What are you gonna do?”

“I don’t know yet, probably go someplace I’m needed.” He bumps my shoulder like a teasing buddy. “But don’t you worry, I might just check in on you sometimes. Knew it was coming. So I’m already packed. This will be the last time I see you, at least for a while.”

“Can I please pay you?”

“You already did. Found your way, your happy. All the payment I need. Goodbye, Henley. It’s been an honor.” He hugs me again and kisses my cheek. “Your mom would be very pleased, very proud of you.”

Tears start to well up again, but I’m able to choke out, “You walk away first. I don’t think I can. It's been an honor for me too, Gatlin. I’ll never forget you and all you’ve done for me.”

He does as I ask and begins to walk away, but stops to look over his shoulder. “You wrote a great ending, Henley. Go enjoy it.”

I DRIVE BACK TOthe house and putter around the kitchen, pretending to clean, still unsure exactly how I feel. But for some reason, I’m compelled to pull up “Lost Boy” by Ruth B. on my phone and play it on repeat.

Partly to say goodbye to the old me, mostly to say goodbye to Gatlin.

Then, I feel him, our connection undeniable. I turn, and there he is, Keaton, having made a silent entrance, just watching me. Leaning up against the wall, arms crossed.

“Hey,” I smile weakly.

“Hey back. Sad song,” he states matter-of-factly.

I turn it off and nod. “Yeah, kinda, depending on how you look at it.”

“I look at it like it’s a sad song. Why ya playing it?”

“Gatlin’s leaving. May already be gone actually.”

“And that upsets you?” Still no accusation or jealousy in his voice, simply a question.

“Yes and no. I just hope he’ll be okay, find that farm of his own he wants, someone to love. He’s a good friend, and I’ll miss him.”

“My girl,” he comes over and takes me in his arms, “sweetest heart, always putting others first. He’ll be fine, baby. I promise.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Anything I promise you, I’m sure about. Promise that too.” He grins and gives me a chaste kiss. “So don’t fly into panic mode on me, I’ll help you, but the Kings are coming for dinner tonight.”

“Tonight? I…don’t have anything ready. Little late to lecture you on the helpfulness of a phone call I guess. Okay.” I grip my hair, thinking fast. “Pork chops, saw ‘em in the freezer. Go get them, put them in a sink of hot water to thaw. I’ll start peeling potatoes. Jesus, Keaton! Biscuits, I have some of those too.”

“Good thing I said not to fly into panic mode,” he laughs as I run around frantically. “Really did the trick.”

“And look at me!” I take in my “farm” clothes and know damn good and well my hair is a disaster. “Would you rent from a hobo? I’m a mess.”

“You’re gorgeous. But if it’d make you feel better, go get fixed up. I can do your list in oh, about,” he scratches his chin, “ten minutes.”

“I’m gonna tan that ass,” I mumble as I leave the room.

“What was that?” he hollers after me.

“I said thank you!” No time to argue with him right now.

I hustle through a shower and make myself somewhat presentable, then hurry back to the kitchen.

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