Page 38 of Remember Me

Hayes pushed his hands in his pockets. “You fell in love with it,” he answered, like that was reason enough.

I nodded and taking in a deep breath, followed him into the house.

“I am so tired of waking to the blank canvas of morning and realizing it won't be painted with you.”

Tyler Knott Gregson

December 5¦Hayes

SHE WAS HOME.

She didn’t realize it, but something — some lizard sense, perhaps — had led Birdie home. I stuffed my hands in my pockets to hide their shaking. Now I just had to get her to stay.

Turning, I opened the front door and walked into the foyer, restraining the impulse to look back and check that she was following. A second later, I heard her footsteps and the soft snick as the front door closed. In the door to the kitchen, I watched as she took it in with wide eyes: the scuffed hardwood floors, the staircase that curved up to the second floor, the window high on the ceiling that she’d hung a piece of reclaimed stained glass over after we’d first moved in. The early evening light slanting through it cast jewel-toned squares of color on the opposite wall, and it was there her gaze fixed and held.

“Make yourself at home,” I told her, gesturing toward the family room on the opposite side of the hall. “I’ll make us something to eat.”

“No — it’s fine. You don’t have to entertain me, I just barged in here uninvited —”

“Birdie.” My voice stopped her. “I was coming home to have dinner, anyway. I’m glad you’re here.”

A hint of red flushed her cheeks. “I wouldn’t have come if I had known,” she confessed.

The thought sent a pang through me, but I managed to keep it light when I responded. “Then I’m glad you didn’t know.”

She looked away, glance landing on the antique chest of drawers beneath a mirror, the coat tree beside it, and then beyond, into the family room. “I guess I had a thing for antiques?”

“You loved anything fixer upper,” I told her. “You always had around a half dozen projects going at the same time.” I inclined my head. “Go ahead and look around while I make something. Just don’t leave?”

She hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod.

Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I walked into the kitchen and began grabbing things — tomatoes, ground beef, an onion. Spaghetti. I’d make spaghetti.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” Birdie stepped into the kitchen and filled it immediately with her presence. I flicked a glance over my shoulder as I turned the ground beef into the skillet. Maybe she didn’t feel comfortable looking around on her own?

“Sit,” I told her. “I’d offer a glass of wine, but…how about a sweet tea?”

“Just water, please.” I fixed her a glass and out of habit popped a slice of lemon in it.

I stood on the other side of the island as she took a seat on one of the metal stools and sipped at the water. Her gaze flitted around the kitchen, brushing against me like a physical caress as I chopped onions and mushrooms and stirred the beef.

“This kitchen is really pretty,” she commented, taking in the deep gray of the bottom cabinets, the creamy distressed uppers, the marble veined granite in the countertops. They complemented the scuffed hardwood floors and long, narrow farmhouse table Birdie had found at a flea market. We’d gone all out in the kitchen and the master bath, choosing to put off some of the other rooms in favor of making these exactly what we wanted. The result was a blend of luxurious and practical — a room for hanging out in, like she was doing now.

“You designed it,” I told her now. “Did all the painting. Picked out the rug and table, the light fixtures.”

“Oh.” A little smile tugged at her mouth as she continued surveying the space. “I did pretty good.”

“Yes, you did. We focused on the kitchen and master bath first, so the rest of the place isn’t perfect. There are places where we need to switch out fixtures, repair the dry wall, work on a fireplace…” I cleared my throat. “Our philosophy was that we had the rest of our lives, so why rush? We were taking our time, making sure we loved every detail.”

I didn’t tell her that I was pretty sure that if she didn’t come back to me soon, there was no way I could stay in this house another night. She had poured herself into it, one project at a time, and I couldn’t breathe without inhaling her absence. It was killing me, one moment in these walls to the next.

“How’s the job going?”

Her smile broadened. “I love it. I love Maggie — Magnolia — Lane. She’s so…genuine and warm. I feel like I’ve known her for forever.” I opened my mouth to speak, unable to let that opening go without letting her know that she did, in fact, know Maggie, but she kept going, talking faster as she warmed to her subject. “Speaking of. Can you tell me anything about my relationship with my mother? Something kind of weird — or at least, it seemed weird to me but what do I know, right?” She gave a little huff of laughter. “Anyway, something happened today, and it made me wonder.”

“What happened?”

“She called me at work, asked if I had a minute to talk. She told me that the place where she works is closing its doors, and she’s sorry that she won’t be able to cover my insurance anymore since she’s losing that.” I made a noise and Birdie got up from the bar, moving away restlessly. “Then she said that she was moving to Georgia to take a job with her brother — that she had been in the middle of doing exactly that when I had the accident. I could either come with her or stay behind. She hasn’t been warm and fuzzy these past few weeks, but I wouldn’t call her exactly distant or uncaring, either. But this phone call…out of the blue like this…it almost smacked of ‘don’t let the door hit you on the way out.’ She didn’t even ask about the baby. Mention anything about making sure she’d be part of its life.”

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