Page 36 of The Trust We Broke
But none of them would understand this world. I’m not even sure what I want to share with Greer…just…that I don’t want to be alone after what just happened.
Before I can knock on the door, my phone vibrates in my hand, and I see another message from Henry.
I’m not giving up that easily, Lucy. You’re the woman for me and I know I nearly let that slip through my fingers. But I’mgoing to message you every day until you remember how good we were before I screwed up.
Attached is a photograph of a trip we took to Nantucket. We’re standing with the Brant Point Lighthouse behind us and smiling because, in that moment, we were, I thought, genuinely happy.
It stings, even though I know my own mind and am adamant that we aren’t getting back together. I’m wise enough to know that I could never trust him again, no matter how he promised to change. But I’m also human enough to be hurting.
My thumb hovers over the block button.
“Lucy,” Greer says as she tugs the door open. “I’m so happy to see you. The security cameras Butcher insisted on installing showed me you were here. Come in.”
“Thank you,” I say, closing my phone without pressing the block button as I step inside.
Greer holds out her hand for my coat, and I pass it to her before toeing off my shoes. But I keep my bag close because it now holds important evidence.
“Wait,” she says. “You’re shaking. Is that because of the cold or…?”
I take a deep breath, then another. “It’s the ‘or’ option. I wasn’t sure where else to go.”
Greer pulls me in for a hug. “Then, I’m glad you came here. Let’s get you warm. We can talk…if you want to.”
“You have a beautiful home,” I say, not ready to talk about what happened. It’s a true log cabin. And I realize I don’t know where Grudge lives anymore. I wonder if he has a home just like this. I can’t imagine he’s still in the horrible old apartment that he never quite fit into, and yet always seemed at home in.
The hallway opens up into a breathtaking living space. A huge window looks out beyond the fields to the jagged mountains. The peaks are already snow-covered.
But the inside looks as though it’s being demolished.
“Oh my gosh, you’re busy, I’m sorry,” I say.
Greer shakes her head. “We’re gutting the lower level. Nolan is in demolition mode, and we haven’t even finished packing up yet. Please”—she removes the clear plastic cover off the sofa—“take a seat. Coffee?”
“Yes, please.”
She grabs a mug and pours me a cup from the pot that sits on what’s left of the kitchen counter. “Hope you don’t mind. It’s decaf and all we have. Nolan’s trying to clean up his diet, and given I’m pregnant, we decided we didn’t need caffeine.”
I put a hand to my chest and mock gasp. “Do without coffee? How can you?”
Greer chuckles. “It’s been hard, I’m not gonna lie. Cream?”
I shake my head. “Just black, please. I couldn’t live without coffee. I’m just going to drink this and be grateful it’s coffee flavored.”
“Honestly, I do the same thing every time I drink it. But Quinn, who runs the bakery, sells this, and it’s deliciously caffeine-free. If you go in there to buy coffee, don’t speak to Quinn about books, or she’ll rope you into her book club.”
I sip the coffee, and Greer was right, it’s delicious. “What kind of books do they read?”
“One hundred percent caffeinated romance.” There’s the slight sound of disdain in Greer’s tone.
“The last book I read wasSlaves In Parisby Miranda Spieler. It’s biographical, about enslaved people in pre-Revolutionary Paris.”
“Oh, that sounds really interesting. I tried telling Quinn about a book I was reading about an all-female-run medical hospital in France during World War I, and I could see her eyes glaze over. I called her a bibliotaph, she called me highbrow.Then, we laughed and ended up discussing how vast the world can be if you read.”
It’s clear from the way she talks that she loves her friend. There is genuine affection in her tone as she sits down next to me on the sofa. “You should stay, and then we can have book club on the same night, even in the same place, but they can talk about the books they read, and you and I could pick our own.”
“I love that idea. But it’ll have to wait until you confirm you no longer need my services. I try to keep professional boundaries, despite suddenly showing up here.”
Greer nods. “Of course. As a surgeon, I know what you mean. Doctor-patient privilege is the same as lawyer-client privilege too. But, in this case, my issue is most definitely closed.”
