Page 97 of Steadfast

Oakleigh pushed herself to her feet, giving a stretch to loosen the stiffness from her uncomfortable sleeping position.

“Thisismy day,” she answered firmly. She disappeared out the door and down the hall. A few minutes went by before Oakleigh returned with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and a cup of black coffee.

Maeve felt her stomach turn at the sight of food. Worse still, she had even lost her appetite for coffee.

“I’m okay,” she replied. She pushed the mug a little further away and laid her head back on the pillow.

Oakleigh’s eyebrows shot up in concern. “I’m calling the doctor,” she said quickly as she pulled her phone from her pocket and began to dial.

Maeve calmly pressed the phone down. “Oakleigh, I just—need a minute.”

Oakleigh grabbed her hand, drawing attention to Maeve’s battered knuckles. “Everything else was from the wreck, but we both know what these were from.”

Maeve buried her sore hands under her pillow. She wasn’t proud of losing her temper. Her explosive anger had now turned into a throbbing ache that she couldn’t describe in words.

Oakleigh took her place on the floor, propping her back on the bed. She pulled out her phone again, swiping at the screen to distract herself from the heavy quietness of the room.

“You can go,” Maeve said again, hoping that Oakleigh would finally listen.

“Not happening,” Oakleigh responded flatly.

Maeve’s lips pressed together as she let out forceful breath.

“Now we can either talk about what’s going on, or we can just sit here in silence,” Oakleigh said. “Your choice.”

Maeve stared blankly at the ceiling, watching the repetition of the spinning fan. “It’s just—” her words broke as she choked on the anguish of speaking his name.

“—It’s Abel.”

Oakleigh swiveled in surprise. She propped her chin on the bed and gently took Maeve’s hand. “I’m sorry about the truck.”

“It was the last of him,” Maeve whispered, the words caught in her chest.

Oakleigh didn’t try to fill the empty silence.

The reality was that there were no words in existence that could take the edge off of her heartbreak. Oakleigh simply held her hand and stayed by her side, leaving only to refresh the mug of coffee, just in case Maeve decided she wanted some.

It remained untouched.

Maeve awoke to the sound of knitting needles clacking together furiously as the sun’s orange glow reflected off the bright white linens of her bed.

She didn’t know how long she had been asleep, but she could tell it was late in the day.

Glancing around to find the source of the rhythmic beat, she recognized June sitting beside her, donning a floral frock.The older woman was so focused on her furious knitting that she hadn’t even noticed that Maeve’s eyes had finally cracked open.

“June?” Maeve said as she tried to piece together why her old friend would be there in her bedroom.

“Well, good afternoon, hun.” June flashed a warm smile.

“What are you doing here?” Maeve asked, her voice still sounded weak.

“Oakleigh had to check in at the shop and asked me to take her place for a while.” June distractedly pulled her reading glasses down her nose to examine a wayward stitch.

“You didn’t have to come all this way,” Maeve said, pushing herself up. Pain shot across her ribs and forced her back into the mattress.

“Oakleigh made it pretty clear,” June replied, glancing over the top of her glasses. “That one’s almost as stubborn as you are. I dare say it must run in the family.”

There on the nightstand was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich alongside a mug filled to the brim with fresh, black coffee. On the side of the mug was a pink sticky note with what Maeve recognized as Oakleigh’s handwriting—

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