Page 12 of The Wrong Heart

I’m fine.

Such simple yet destructive words.

Leah drags me through the bar by my wrist, and we don’t even make it to the bathroom before she stops, turning around to study me. People bump into us as we come to a screeching halt in the middle of a high-traffic area, but Leah doesn’t care. She reaches out to tuck a loose strand of messy hair behind my ear, her expression full of love. “Don’t think you need to prove anything to anyone—evenyou. There’s no time limit on healing,” she whispers with delicate care. “I’m not going anywhere, West isn’t going anywhere, bars and fun and social gatherings aren’t going anywhere. No one gets to decide when you’re ready, except for that beautiful heart of yours.”

Tears prickle my eyes, loud and defiant. I try to hold them back with a sharp inhale. “You remind me of him sometimes.” I’m not sure where the words come from, but I know it’s from someplace raw and real, so I continue, my breaths ragged, my chest tight. “You always know exactly what to say… just like Charlie.”

Leah crinkles her nose as her hand runs up and down my bicep, squeezing affectionately. “The right words are easy when they come from an unselfish place. Don’t listen to anyone who doesn’t have your best interest in mind, babygirl.”

I nod with my lip caught between my teeth, eyes averting to the now-tattered ballet flats Charlie purchased for me when we first started dating.

This place feels so foreign, despite the fact that it was our favorite hang-out. Our most frequented establishment to grab a drink with friends, or just relax and talk about our day over beer nuggets.

Our.

It’s foreign because I’m a foreigner in my own life. A stranger. I’ve lost my way, and I’m not sure how to get back to the girl I used to be.

Before him.

Before tragedyinfectedme.

With a sigh, I raise my chin and offer Leah a remorseful smile. “I think I’m going to go.”

“I know.” Leah smooths my hair down, her cat-like eyes flickering over my face. “And wipe that apology off your lips. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

A chuckle slips out. “Except for these shoes I’m still wearing from 2012.”

“You can only see the holes if you lookreallyclose.”

We laugh together, and it’s a liberating sound, an eager ray of sunshine poking through my stone cracks. But the feeling is fleeting, and the clouds soon roll in, because I can’t help but think…

I wish I could say the same thing about me.

On the drive home, I remember that I’m out of butter, so I make a quick stop at the grocery store to prepare for another day of baking. A yawn escapes me as I stand in the checkout line, drained from the mental exertion of socializing and faking my way through conversations and pleasantries. I shuffle forward, distracted by my own hollow thoughts, when chitchat behind me catches my attention. My eyes remain fixed ahead, but my ears soak up every word.

“Did you hear about that hit-and-run in Lake Geneva yesterday?”

“Oh, my God, yes. Terrible. I heard the child survived, but the mother is critical.”

“My worst nightmare…”

My stomach coils as the voices fade out, and I become drenched in my own horrible memories. There were two men involved in Charlie’s murder, but only one was caught. A bystander grabbed the license plate off the truck that hit my husband, and Alfred “Alfie” Kent was quickly arrested, then eventually sentenced. He refused to give up his accomplice.

An elderly gentleman begins ringing up my items, puncturing my bleak fog. “Yer eyes are too pretty to look so sad,” the man mutters, slipping the sticks of butter into a paper bag. “That’ll be seven-twenty-one.”

I stiffen as I swipe my debit card.

He hands me the purchase, along with my receipt when the transaction goes through. “Have a nice night, Peaches.”

Something inside me freezes—a snap, a trigger. An ice-cold draft rolling in like a winter stormfront.

“You smell like peaches, Mrs. March.”

The old man flashes me a toothless smile, reminding me that I should return the gesture.

I’m good at smiling. I’m good at sucking people in like a happy vacuum.

They have no idea my real smile was sucked away almost one year ago today—that it’s now permanently shrouded in gray clouds and should-have-beens.

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