Page 121 of Spindrift

“Yeah.”

“Areyou okay?”

Shetucked her hands into Morgan’s belt and toyed with the loops. “It’s . . .weird.”

“Wecan go to my place, if you want.”

“It’snot weird in a bad way. I . . . I don’t know how to describe it.”

“Doyou believe in heaven?”

Startled,Emilia bit her lip before answering. “I don’t know. I didn’t, before Dad. I’mnot religious. But now . . .” She trailed off, then forced herself to continue.“I just can’t believe I’ll never see him again, or talk to him, or . . .” Herthroat closed up.

“Oneof my best friends died a few years ago.” Morgan wiped a tear from Emilia’scheek as she spoke. “It’s the hardest thing in the world to lose someone youlove. Nothing about it makes sense.”

Emilianodded, unable to speak.

“Theonly thing that ever helped me was thermodynamics.”

Shestared at Morgan, here in her father’s kitchen, brushing her strong handsthrough her hair. “Thermodynamics?”

“Yes.”Morgan’s thumb rested on the curve of her jaw. “Conservation of energy. Sciencecan prove they are still with us.”

“Ican’t talk to protons and atoms.”

“Haveyou tried?”

“Whatdo I do, call his cell?”

“Outloud. Talking out loud.”

“No.”

Morganpulled Emilia’s loose hair toward her and let it drape over her shoulder,running her hands through the strands. The gentle tug soothed something deepand animal inside her, and the door she’d slammed shut on her feelings opened.

“I’mso angry at him for leaving.”

Tearsfollowed the confession. Morgan pulled her in, and she sobbed convulsively intoher shoulder until the sounds of rattling pot lids punctured the bubble of hergrief. She surfaced, aware she must look like a wreck, and aware also thatMorgan was looking at her with a compassion born not of pity, but ofunderstanding, and in this moment she was friend and lover and could not havecared less about puffy eyes and tear-stained shirts.

“Pasta,”Emilia said.

“Hey.”Morgan tilted her chin to look her squarely in the eye. “I’m here for you.Whatever happens. Whatever you need. Okay?”

“Okay.”She let the warmth of those words flow through her.Thermodynamics.Ifthat was true, then her father’s energy filled this house. Perhaps the heatcreated by her body bumped against the lingering heat of his, and the molecularevidence of his footsteps echoed hers. It still wasn’t enough.

Morgan,though, was real, and for the first time since her father’s death she allowedherself to come apart with the knowledge that one day she would, and could, putherself back together.

• • •

Morganstudied Emilia as she chopped garlic for the sauce and sautéed it in a fragrantolive oil. Her shoulder was still damp with Emilia’s tears.

Emiliaheld the wooden spoon in a practiced grip as the sound and smell of cookinggarlic filled the kitchen. Her shirt had slid off one shoulder, and her hair,now piled on top of her head in a messy bun, curled in the steam. The sight ofthat smooth skin distracted Morgan from her thoughts. It didn’t matter thatshe’d already memorized the way that skin felt beneath her lips. Each memoryjust fueled the longing. Only the damp reminder of fresh grief restrained herfrom standing behind her as Emilia had stood behind Morgan on her boat, kissingher neck while her hands lifted the loose cotton of her shirt and felt the warmskin of her stomach. She tightened her grip on the counter.

Emiliachose that moment to glance over her shoulder. The side of her mouth quirked ina lopsided smile. “What?”

“You’rebeautiful.”

Itwas the truth. No one could deny Emilia Russo was hot, but the roughness of herown voice, thick with the words she couldn’t say, invoked far more thanphysical beauty.

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