Page 17 of The Savior

“Why doesn’t this feel weird to anyone else?” He gestured toward the living room then the bacon.

Her pen hovered over the paper, then finally, she lifted her head. “It does. It feels terrible.”

He didn’t know what to say.

“You know what I miss?” she asked, twisting the pen between her fingers.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. “Hmm?”

She smiled, glancing to the side, then laughed. “This morning has been so quiet.”

He froze and realized that even with the buzz of conversation, the kitchen was quieter than it would’ve been with Julia’s laughter. Then he smiled too. “You two were loud.” He laughed. “Even when youthoughtyou were being quiet.”

Feigning surprise, she said, “You act like we were obnoxious.”

“And you act like I never received a drunk-dialed pick-up request from a bar.”

She laughed again. “Never.”

He snorted.

“But if we ever did, we couldn’t have been obnoxious.”

They laughed, and he relaxed as they reminisced. Each recalled story brought on another one until he realized that this was what everyone else did yesterday. He leaned back in his chair, feeling not as empty, but he sobered.

Chelsea offered an understanding nod as though she could read his mind. She inhaled and finally let it go when she picked her pen back up and returned to her work.

“What are you doing?”

Her face scrunched. “I’m making edits. Or at least trying. But they’re not working.”

“Why aren’t they?” He leaned over the table to eye the page. It was mostly filled with pictures. A large amount of the text had been crossed out. Tiny notes filled the margins with arrows and lines, and several photos were marred with question marks and slashes.

“Because she was always the photographer and the one with the artistic eye. I don’t know why something isn’t working. I just know it isn’t, and—” Chelsea pushed back from the table and retrieved another print from under her purse then laid the regular-sized page in front of him. “And because my pictures are awful compared to hers.”

He eyed the pages but didn’t see any difference. “Eye of the beholder, maybe?”

Shifting her weight, she frowned. “Probably not.”

He couldn’t see a problem with any of the pictures. Hell, he couldn’t distinguish between Julia’s work and Chelsea’s. He eased back in his chair and focused on his coffee, trying to remember the last time he’d asked Julia about the book, but came up blank. “I didn’t pay enough attention, did I?”

Chelsea cocked her head. “To the books?”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

“You did,” she promised and made a cross over her heart. “I would’ve heard otherwise.” She paused with a knowing look. “Actually, webothwould’ve heard otherwise.”

He chuckled, then leaned back, arms crossed, and realized that he had been moving through the motions for the last year, not living life, wishing each day would start and end differently. Yesterday’s celebration and today’s coffee with Chelsea had seemed like torture, but maybe those were the two things he needed.

Needed for what? The past wouldn’t change. The future waited. All he had to do was live. But hell, he’d forgotten how.

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