Page 18 of Somewhere Without You
“Kat?”I pressed, my head finding its way into her lap.
My sister’s fingers brushed through my hair, and Ifeltthe tremor in her touch as she swallowed a sob. “Everything’s going to be okay,”she whispered, her voice breaking.“Everything’s going to be okay.”
Nine
Now
Iwantedtoscream,but instead, I drove home in silence, my grip so tight on the steering wheel my knuckles turned bone white.
Katherinewaslying. Shehadto be.Ifshewasn’t,thenmy entire lifehadbeen a lie.
Jacksonwasn’thome when I pulled into the driveway, andhonestly, I wouldn’t have cared if hehadbeen. No slap to the facecouldhurt worse than the betrayal Ifeltrightthen.
I sattherein the car, engine idling, staring at the gaudy white columns of the front porch. Useless and expensive. Each onehadraisedthe value of the house by thousands, yet I would’ve traded it all in a heartbeat to be back inthattiny, two-bedroom rental on Wildwood Loop.I’dgive anything for the janky AC, or the waterthatsometimes turned orange, orevento fight over the bathroom one more time.
The bathroom.
I blinked, shaking off the grainy images of my mother’s lifeless body floating in the tub.
Pulling into the garage, Iwatchedthe door close with a soft thud behind me.ButI didn’t turn off the car.
Stillwearing my seatbelt, I leaned back and closed my eyes. How long until darkness took me?Wasthatwhat ithadbeen like for my mother? Minutes, seconds, before she ended it all?Andwhat about us?Wereweevena second thought?
I wondered what Jackson would do when he found me—my body cold and unmoving, like a shattered statue in the driver’s seat.
Would he call out my name, desperate for some sign of life, or would hejustwalk away?Maybehe wouldn’t care at all.Maybehe’dbe relieved,evengrateful,thatI’dfinallystopped making everything so complicated. I imagined him standingthere, looking at me—stone still and lifeless, whilefeelingnothing at all.Butit wouldn’t matter.Becausebythen, I would be beyond caring.
“. . . Mrs. Bishop?”
Rita’s voice broke through the hum of the idling engine. I opened my eyes toseeher standing near the side entry, her russet eyes flicking from me to the closed garage door,thenback again.
“Is everything okay?”she asked.
I nodded, shutting off the ignition.
Hesitation pulled at Rita’s face, but itfeltmore like pity than concern. She stepped aside,silentlywaiting for me to follow.
We’ddone this before.
A rush of cool air hit me as I stepped inside, and Ritaquietlyclosed the door behind us.“Isthereanything else I can do for you, Mrs. Bishop?”she asked cautiously.
I shook my head, waving her off. I needed to be alone.
Sinking into a nearby chair, I buried my face in my hands. I thought of those nights when Katherine would stay up late, begging for Dad to come home. He never did of course, butmaybethe rest of her wishcouldstill come true.
Iwasmy mother’s daughter, after all.
Jackson returned two hours later, but hewasn’talone. Laughter echoed up the stairs as Rita and her niece rushed down the hallway. I froze on the landing, a tight knot forming in my stomach. Jackson’s voicewasunmistakable, but the other. . . it sounded familiar, yet I couldn’t place it.
“Emily!”Jackson called, spotting me leaning over the banister. He motioned toward the man standing beside him, still with his back to me.“I’dlike you to meet my wife, Emily.”
I made my way down the stairs, a tentative smile on my lips, but itquicklyvanished when I reached the bottom.
Max grinned at me, his perfect smileevenmore dazzling in the daylight.
Jackson placed his hand on the small of my back. “Max, this is my wife, Emily. Emily, this is Max Meyers, owner and founder of Meyers and Associates.”
I expected him to act like thiswasour first meeting.Butinstead, Max’s hand extended toward me, “It’snicetoseeyou again.”
