Page 33 of The Heartbreak Hotel
“Almost two months. You?”
“About a month. I thought maybe this would get me out of the funk.”
“It will,” Mei says. “Lou’s a miracle worker.”
I roll my eyes straight at a nearby pine, knotted and towering and unmoved by me.No pressure.
“There’s no gettingoutof a great love.” That’s Nan, her voice rising above the whisper of wind in the aspen leaves. “Only a new kind of life that you find on the other side.”
“But how long were you married?” Bea asks, her Southerntwang unmistakable. “I was only with my ex for eight months—there’s no way he’s sticking with me forever.”
“He might,” Nan says lightly, and I can’t help myself—I shoot her a look. “It’s up to you, isn’t it? How much license you give him to stick around. I was married for thirty-four years and I hope I never have a day I don’t think about my Teddy.”
“He died, though, right?” Rashad says. A twig splinters under my hiking boot. “I’d want to remember my ex, too, if he went and died on me instead of breaking my heart.”
“He did break my heart,” Nan says. “Even if he didn’t mean to.”
“Pretty sure mine meant to,” Rashad says, and I call over one shoulder, “It’s not apples to apples, okay?” The group falls quiet, so I stop and turn back. “No one’s heartbreak is any more or less valid than anyone else’s.”
I feel Henry’s gaze like a magnet, and our eyes snap together. I hear his voice so clearly, that day in my kitchen when the article came out:That’s what this is about? Come stay here to get over your ex-boyfriend?But I’m not ashamed of this. None of it’s trivial.
“Pain is pain,” I say, raising my chin. “Loss is loss. You don’t get to give permission to let something hurt you—it just does.”
“Too true.” Mei nods. “Well said, Lou.”
I send her a telepathicThank you, and Henry clears his throat. I brace myself for an admonishment, but when he speaks what comes out is: “I think we missed the turnoff.” He points back over one shoulder, where a lichen-dotted boulder butts up against the slope of the mountain. We’re walled in on one side, trembling aspens as far as the eye can see on the other. “If you wanted to do the three-mile loop?”
I look around, realizing with white-hot embarrassment that he’s right. I was so busy eavesdropping on the conversation behind me that I wasn’t paying attention.
“Sorry,” I say. “I wasn’t—”
“Maybe Henry should lead,” Rashad says, then smiles at him. “I’ll follow you.”
“Louisa?” Henry says, as if Rashad hasn’t spoken. He waves a hand back the way we came and steps off the trail to let me pass him—like there’s no question I’ll be the one to lead us. When I pass Henry, his fingertips brush the middle of my spine. I don’t know him well enough to know what his gestures mean, but it strikes me immediately as an apology. Whether for correcting me or for saying what he said that day back in my kitchen, I’m not sure.
Bea and Kim start chattering as we make our way back to the turnoff. Behind them, I can just hear Nan: “Have you lost someone, dear?”
I want to stop walking. I want to tell everyone to shut up so I can hear how Henry responds. But I’ve already fumbled this hike, so I keep my chin lifted and my eyes forward, training every other ounce of energy I have into my ears. Too much of my energy, apparently—my boot catches a root and I trip right in the middle of the trail, letting out a truly regrettable scream on the way down.
I land with my wrists pointed straight out. Lunatic behavior. They fold up under me when my chest hits the dirt, and I just lie there for a moment with my eyes shut—like if I can’t see this situation, maybe it won’t be real.
“Bah!” Mei cries, a wail loud enough to scare off every bird in a two-mile radius. “Oh my god.”
I groan, rolling onto my back and flexing my wrists. Not broken. Four faces appear above me: Mei and Nan, Bea and Kim, their brows furrowed in varying stages of concern.
Rashad’s voice comes from behind them. “She did that pretty gracefully, don’t you think?”
Henry’s booted feet land next to my face. “Anything broken?” He peers down at me, washed out by the cloudless sky.
“Just my ego,” I say. I’m pretty sure there’s a rock immediately under my ass, which should make for a really lovely bruise. I try to prop myself up but am stopped by Henry’s sudden movement directly into my space.
“Your hands are bleeding.” He’s reaching for me before the sentence is out of his mouth, crouched beside my twisted body in the dirt, both of his hands wrapping around my wrists. He holds them up between us like the evidence of a crime—scraped, bloody, freckled with gravel.
I make a noise that’s trying to be “whoops” but lands somewhere around “whew.” Henry’s palms are warm and rough. His fingertips press into my pulse.
“First aid kit?” Mei prompts, and I blink.
“Backpack.” I struggle to tip myself into a seat with both of my hands in Henry’s. He releases them and helps me stand, taking a backward step as Mei starts rooting around in my pack. When she yanks out the red first aid pouch and hands it to Henry, his eyes flick up to mine—just barely—before he unzips it and pulls out a sleeve of isopropyl pads. I can still feel Mei adjusting things in my backpack when he holds out one hand for mine.
