Page 97 of It's Always Been You
Downstairs, I pull on my clothes and whirl into action. I clean up the nail polish scattered over the coffee table. The pile of mail on the table by the front door. I hang jackets in the closet and pick up shoes from the floor, and consolidate three bags into one. I straighten cushions and fold blankets and find two lip balms, three earrings, a missing bracelet, and more hair ties than I can count.
How can Gabe possibly live like this?
No one should have to.
My breaths come in pants and sweat drips down my back, and when there’s nothing left to clean at Gabe’s house, I grab my car keys and shove my feet into the first pair of shoes I can find, walking out into darkness just being pierced by the early morning light.
I pull up at the office and unlock the door, taking the stairs up two at a time. My focus is on one thing and one thing only.
Make order in the chaos.
So, I do.
I straighten piles and throw away papers and file client documents. I clear off the top of my desk and organize all the drawers, and take five empty mugs down to the kitchen. I clean out the closet, alphabetize client files, and vacuum because no one is here to disturb.
My phone pings with text messages. Then it starts to ring. I ignore it all.
If I stop, I’ll think. If I think, I’ll drown.
And I don’t think anyone would be able to rescue me.
When everything is organized and there is nothing left to clean, I do the only other thing I can do to keep my busy brain quiet. I sit down at my desk, turn on my computer, and lose myself in work.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Gabe
“Beer?”
I turn and take the bottle Ben holds out to me.
“Thanks, Ben. And thanks for opening up the bar like this. It’s really great of you and Jeremy.”
Allie’s funeral was this morning, and afterward, Ben and Jeremy closed Fireside to the public and invited everyone here. There are people scattered all around the space. The girls are huddled together in a corner. Jordan slumps at a table, hair a mess and eyes glazed and unfocused as his three brothers try, unsuccessfully, to engage him in conversation. Jordan’s parents are talking to Ben’s parents at the other end of the bar. Hallie’s parents and her sisters, Hannah and Jo, occupy one of the other tables.
It’s subdued but comforting, in a way. It feels like home and family. Like an exhale at the end of this long, difficult day.
Ben shrugs, taking a sip of his own beer. “Jordan has been my best friend since we were roommates our freshman year of college. I would do anything for him, and he needs us now. We needed to be together. Jordan would never say it, but he didn’t want to go to that stupid country club thing Allie’s parentsplanned. What he really wanted was to go home and shut himself in a dark room, but his mom forced him to come here. Told him that when you’re at your worst, you need your family to get you through.”
“Sounds like your mom and Jordan’s have a lot in common.”
Ben’s mouth quirks up. “If you mean nosy, slightly overbearing, and they enjoy smothering their children with love, then they absolutely do.”
I drain my beer, my eyes straying to Molly and the girls. They’re carrying on some kind of conversation, but I don’t have to be over there to know Molly isn’t a part of it. Not really. She’s there in body, but I’m willing to bet she hasn’t heard a word.
I don’t think she’s heard much of anything in the past four days.
“How’s she doing?” Asher asks, striding up to us with Jeremy close behind, following my gaze.
I blow out a breath and set my empty bottle on the bar, dropping onto one of the stools. It feels wrong, talking about Molly, but I’m worried about her, and this is her family. We might be together now, but there were so many years when I wasn’t here, and they were. She needs them too.
“Not good,” I admit, rubbing a hand over my forehead. “She’s here, but she’s not here. She’s either cleaning or burying herself in work. She rarely talks, and she isn’t sleeping. Not well, at least. I can’t…”
My voice breaks and I take a slow, steadying breath. “I can’t reach her.”
That’s the toughest part to swallow. The night Allie died, I thought I had reached her. Made her understand she could lean on me. But the next morning, I woke up alone to an empty, immaculate house. No clutter. No shoes on the floor. No jackets tossed on chairs. And no Molly.
When I finally tracked her down at her similarly clutter-free office, she was surrounded by work and was plowing through it like a woman possessed. It’s been that way for the last four days. She eats food when I put it in front of her, which I do as much as I can, bringing it to her office myself when she won’t come home. She drinks water only when coffee isn’t available. And lying next to me at night, when she finally comes to bed, she’s quiet, the only evidence she’s there at all, her hand gripping onto mine.
