Page 88 of The Likelihood Of You

I had to put whatever was happening with them aside; we had more important things to sort out. I seriously hoped that Addy had the knowledge we needed to help Florence. Now that I had a plan, there was no stopping me from making this right. I had a good idea that it wasn’t me she needed to see in order for her to feel herself again, to give her back that hope she’d likely lost over the past week.

Even if it wasn’t me who could give it to her, I knew just the person who could.

Chapter thirty-two

Florence

Did you know it was possible for the cover of a book to taunt you? Well, neither did I, but apparently it was.

The signed copies ofWicker Manor: Part 3had turned up a few days ago. I’d ordered them for me and Jacob to read together, but after recent events, they’ve been sitting dormant on my bedside table for three weeks, collecting dust.

The urge to pick up my copy and dive into the twists and turns that held me captive all those months ago was deafening. Defying that voice telling me to leave them alone also meant I could finally find out which of our theories was right and whether or not I could rightfully bask in the knowledge that I’d be getting free pastries for the rest of my life and that sweet hundred dollar bill.

I didn’t feel right to read it without Jacob sitting by my side, reading his copy along with me.

It’s been hard not seeing him. But no matter how many times I tie my laces and zip up my coat to head out the door to see him, I never make it further than the stairwell. Even if I did turn up at his door, I wouldn’t know what to say to him.

Distracting myself with baking wasn’t helping either. It reminded me too much of him. It was like I was fifteen again, wandering the stages of grief and finding it impossible to flick through my recipe sheet or grip a wooden spoon without morphing into a ball on the floor, letting my tears fall just like the rain outside.

The only thing I was certain about was that running away, throwing in the towel and going back home, would never be an option.

Falling in love was never on my checklist in the first place; it was an accident. Jacob walked into my life and took me and my heart for a spin around the universe, and before I knew it, I was his. Everything about me belonged to him. But just because things didn’t turn out how I thought they would, doesn’t mean my time here should be thrown in the fire along with my heart.

I’d built a life for myself. I’d become the woman I dreamed I’d have the strength to become one day. And so what if I still felt terrible for accepting help? Who could blame me? I’d spent years listening and believing the lies Hugo convinced me were facts. Feeling guilty for depending on others was something I did without thinking now, and I know it will take time to grow out of that habit.

Being so far away from home helped. So, what was the point in going back?

Luckily, it was approaching 8:00 AM, meaning that I could pause time for a little while, forget how damaged I was and let Nanna Dorothy distract me from my life, which was a crumbling, derelictmess. I hadn’t told her about what had happened, mainly because I didn’t want to recall it all, and I wanted our phone calls to be an escape.

I sat up from lying on the couch and reached for my phone that had slipped into the depths of the couch cushions, placing it on my knees and waiting for it to ring. She missed our call yesterday, which set off a million internal panic alarms, because I've never known a woman to run on such a tight schedule. I waited until 8:15 AM to dial her nurse’s number, who confirmed that she was okay, and alive, and that she was just sleeping.

You best believe I was going to grill her for sleeping in till noon when she called today, giving her a taste of the medicine she’d spoon-fed me in the weeks I’d arrived here, before returning to our regularly scheduled programming of her rattling off everything she did yesterday and the new gossip that was floating around the retirement village.

I sat and waited, noting the time was now 8:05 AM. But there was no call.

Was she not going to call again today? Was she trying to torture me just like those pesky books were? I needed her distraction, dammit.

I waited. It was now 8:13 AM. The panic alarms were starting to buzz.

I told myself to wait until quarter past to phone her nurse, but 8:14 AM rolled around, and I said screw it. Something was wrong. I could feel it.

I grabbed my phone and found the number of the nurse I’d called yesterday, but as I went to call it, three quiet knocks sounded on thedoor. I stood up, my mind still focused on whether Nanna Dorothy was okay, and paced towards the sound.

As I reached the short hallway, my heart rate picked up. I would deal with whoever this was quickly so I could call the nurse and find out what was happening. My hand grabbed the door knob, pulling the door open with force, and then it swiftly rose to my chest, because I was either still dreaming or this was actually her.

“Oh, my baby! Candy Floss, come here!”

I broke down. I let my emotions take over. My God, was she a sight for my sore eyes. I pulled her in for a hug, my knees threatening to buckle and my body shaking with a risky mixture of adrenaline and shock.

Nanna Dorothy was at my door. She was here, in New York.

Surely I was in a lucid dream.

As a myriad of questions came to the tip of my tongue, all that I could let out was a slightly inhuman wail, followed by a fresh flood of tears and a few more sobs, which only made Nanna’s five-foot frame hug me tighter.

“Oh, it’s okay, little one. Shh. Let me in, and we can talk. How about that?”

My voice had disappeared. It had fled with all my energy and rational thoughts the moment I saw her standing in that hallway. I did manage to let her go, though, my arms sliding down her short back to usher her into the apartment. But not before our eyes held each other for a few seconds, the familiar Dayes green shade warming my heart.

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