Page 41 of Beautifully Broken
Emily.
She wore a sundress the color of ripe peaches, soft and summery. Her hair was down for once, falling over her shoulders in waves, and her white sneakers made her look like she’d stepped straight out of a July afternoon.
Irene lit up. "Emily, honey."
"Hi, Mrs. Bennett," Emily said, walking straight into a hug. "You look amazing."
"Look who’s talking." Irene gave her a once-over, then leaned slightly toward me. "Pretty as a peach. Don’t you think, Caleb?"
I looked.
Not just glanced—looked.
I’d seen Emily a thousand times, but something about today... the dress, the light, the ease in her laugh. It all hit at once. The swell of her hips undersoft fabric. The way her smile tugged at something deep inside me. My gaze lingered too long, and guilt punched me in the gut.
Betrayal. Twice over.
To Hannah. To Emily.
Irene must’ve noticed. She reached out and patted my hand. "It’s okay to notice, Caleb. Noticing doesn’t mean forgetting."
Emily glanced between us. "Okay… what’d I walk into?"
"Nothing," I said quickly. "Just paint."
"Creamy white," Irene added. "He’s helping me choose."
"Excellent choice," Emily grinned.
"I’ll get your gallons," I said, already stepping away.
Irene followed me to the register and pulled out her card, but I waved it off. "I’ve got it."
She narrowed her eyes. "You’ll do no such thing. Put it on my tab."
I obeyed, rang her up, and handed her the receipt. She squeezed my wrist gently. "Keep going, Caleb. You don’t have to know where you’re going yet. Just don’t stop."
She left, the bell over the door jangling as it closed behind her.
Emily stood by the paint aisle, hands on her hips. "Need anything?" I asked.
"New hammer. Some nails."
"Back left. Next to the levelers."
"Thanks." She started walking, then paused. "Hey… you made up your mind about the reunion?"
My stomach twisted. "Still deciding."
She gave a half-smile. "You’ve got a week to make up your mind."
I watched her disappear down the aisle, her peach dress swaying like a memory I didn’t know I had.
I didn’t want to go. Not really. Too many people. Too many looks. Too many quiet conversations wrapped in condolences.We’re so sorry she’s gone. You doing okay?
But there would also be people I hadn’t seen in a long time. Friends who’d drifted. Parts of myself I’d lost.
Maybe Nate was right.
