Page 62 of Salvation
She did this the other night, too. Her entire personality seemed to shift whenever she looked at her phone, and there’s a bad feeling in my stomach, screaming that it had everything to do with him.
“What about you?” I ask casually, hoping she doesn’t catch on to what I’m doing because I’m afraid she might shut down if she does. “Are you in love?”
She hesitates for so long, I’m afraid she won’t answer. Eventually, she does, though.
“I don’t know. Maybe? I guess I don’t know what love is supposed to feel like.”
Love is complicated.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to say that because that’s been my experience with it. Expectations, mistakes, disappointments, all crowd in to steal the dream of what I once thought love was. But that’s not how I want Willow to view love. I want her to know that loving her shouldn’t be complicated.
“Love always protects,” I say finally. The familiar verse cuts like a knife, but I know it’s true regardless of how I feel about God. Campbell always protected me, at least he tried. “To me, falling in love should feel safe.”
“Then no. I don’t think I’m in love.” Willow pushes a headphone into her ear, effectively ending the conversation, all while that worry roots in a permanent place in my stomach. We go back to working in silence, only this time it’s shadowed by our conversation.
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Another hour passes before I need to stand and stretch. Willow spares me a glance before returning to her part of the painting. The headphone has stayed in her ear since the end of our conversation, offering no more opportunities for us to talk.
I’m pressing my hand into the small of my back when a small voice comes from behind me. “Are you two twins? Because you look like twins. And I would know because I have one.”
Spinning around, I find Mason, the kid I met at the coffee shop a few weeks ago, staring up at me. His soft eyelashes sweep against his face with each blink, waiting for my answer. With a quick glance around, I look for his mom before turning my attention back to him.
“Hey, Mason,” I say with a smile. “We aren’t twins. This is my daughter. So that’s why we look alike.”
His face screws together in puzzlement. “But you don’t look old. Why do you have a daughter that big?”
I wince, knowing that’s not a conversation to have with a four-year-old. “I justlooklike I’m not old. I’m actually ancient,” I say, wrinkling my nose. He giggles. “Is your mom around somewhere?”
That same guilty look he’d been wearing the day I met him washes over his face, and he avoids my eyes. “She’s at the coffee shop.”
I glance down the street at the shop that sits just a couple of blocks down, then back at Mason. “And does she know you’re out here?”
He kicks at a rock on the sidewalk, suddenly finding it very interesting.
“No,” he mumbles into his chest, then he looks up, his eyes pleading, “But I was watching you paint from the window, and it looked so cool. I just wanted a closer look.”
I sigh, brushing back a curl that slipped from my ponytail. “Mason, you’re going to worry your mom.”
“Shealwaysworries, though, and I never get to do anything fun,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.
My eyes slice to Willow and then back to the boy before me. His lip sticks out, pouting, so I squat down, tapping him on the nose and leaning in with a whisper. “Want to know a secret?”
His eyes light up, bobbing his head and forgetting that he was supposed to be upset. My lips twitch as I fight back a smile. “It’s a mom’s job to worry.”
Mason seems to consider this for a moment, his brows screwing together in concentration like he’s trying to figure something out. He leans in too, pitching his voice low in a whisper like mine. “Do you worry about your daughter?”
He looks over my shoulder, and I turn just enough to see Willow out of my peripheral. She’s watching us with a brow raised. I keep my head turned long enough that she knows I’m talking to her when I answer Mason. “All the time.”
Willow turns her head back to the wall and tightens her jaw. I sigh, feeling like I just took fifteen steps back.
A shadow falls over me, and I turn back in time to see Campbell step up beside Mason.
He’s wearing a pair of worn blue jeans and a long-sleeved shirt that clings to his shoulders. His eyes are hidden beneath a well-worn ball cap, but I can see his mouth. It’s twisted up into a smirk, drawing my attention, and suddenly it feels like I’m in the depths of summer instead of fall.
When did the sun get so warm?
“Are you telling secrets, sunshine?”
