Page 34 of Saving Her Heart
Kendall looks at me like she's seeing me for the first time. "You've changed."
"Maybe. Or maybe I finally figured out what actually matters." I look directly at her.
Sarah approaches us, tears in her eyes. "Thank you. This is... thank you."
"We need to Gertie-proof the apartment before she destroys anything," I say, noticing the goat eyeing a potted plant with obvious intent.
"I’m on it," Kendall says, moving the plant to a higher shelf.
We spend the next hour in controlled chaos. Mrs. Parsons talks to Gertie about every photo, every memory. The goat, surprisingly, stays relatively calm, occasionally bleating in what seems like agreement. Sarah uses the distraction to pack essentials while Kendall and I create a barrier of furniture to keep Gertie from the more valuable items.
"She ate my arrest certification," I mutter as Gertie munches on a corner of paper I didn't move fast enough out of her reach.
"Technically, that's destruction of official documents," Kendall says, but she's smiling. "That's got to be at least three more violations."
"Add it to the list."
We work in comfortable rhythm, anticipating each other's moves. When Gertie heads for the kitchen, Kendall's already there with a handful of carrots for distraction. When Mrs. Parsons gets agitated about a missing album, I find it under the couch.
"You two make a good team," Sarah observes. "Like you've done this before."
"We've had practice," Kendall says, then catches herself. "I mean, with the goat. Earlier this week."
Sarah smiles knowingly. "Sure. The goat."
Mrs. Parsons suddenly stands, surprisingly steady. "Harold, remember our first apartment? That tiny place above the bakery?"
"That sounds nice," I whisper.
She looks right at me, and for a moment, her eyes are completely clear. "You're not Harold."
"No, ma'am. I'm Jax."
"Jax." She studies me. "You're the boy who broke Kendall's heart."
The room goes very still. Even Gertie stops chewing.
"Yes," I say quietly. "I am."
Mrs. Parsons nods slowly. "Harold broke my heart once too. We were young. He thought he knew better, thought he was protecting me by leaving." She reaches out and pats my hand. "Men always think leaving is noble. It's not. It's just stupid."
"Mrs. Parsons—" Kendall starts.
"But he came back," the elderly woman continues. "Took him three years, but he came back. Got down on his knees right in front of my mother and everyone at church and begged me to forgive him." She smiles at the memory. "I made him wait a week before I said yes."
"A week?" Sarah asks.
"Well, three days. But it felt like a week." Mrs. Parsons' clarity starts to fade again. "Harold? Where's Gertie going?"
The goat has discovered the bathroom and is now attempting to eat a towel. Kendall rushes to intervene while I help Mrs. Parsons back to her chair.
"Don't wait too long," she whispers to me. "Pride's a cold bedfellow."
"You're right," I tell her. "It is."
The afternoon wears on. We pack, we redirect Gertie; we listen to stories that jump between decades. Mrs. Parsons shows us her wedding album, narrating each photo to Gertie, who seems genuinely interested, though that might just be because the album binding looks edible.
"This was our first dance," Mrs. Parsons says, pointing to a black-and-white photo. "Harold stepped on my dress and tore the hem. I was so mad." She laughs. "Seems silly now"
