Page 46 of With Every Breath

I had just picked my parents up at the airport. Apparently, they were under the impression they were staying where I was staying, which only had one bedroom.

“I’ll crash on the couch tonight and figure something out,” I offered.

My mother leaned forward from the back seat, squeezing my shoulder lightly. My father glanced over from the passenger seat, adding, “We can figure something out too.” My mother insisted on riding in the back so my father had more leg room. “So how is she?” he asked.

“Gram seems okay. She had a scare, mostly feeling weak and dehydrated from what I understand.”

“That’s not like her,” my father replied.

“I don’t think she has much of an appetite,” I explained. “Her spirits are good, though.”

My mother let out a soft sigh behind me. “It’s just hard to believe she may only have a few more months.”

“I know. She’s as nosy as ever, though,” I offered with a chuckle. “I know you’re worried, and so am I, of course. I think you’ll feel better when you see her.”

“I hope so. How are you?” my mother asked.

I caught her eyes in the rearview mirror before looking back toward the road. “Pretty good.”

The space inside my truck felt loaded for a moment. I knew my parents wanted to ask if I was thinking about teaching again or if I was having nightmares and flashbacks. I didn’t want to talk about it. Not with them.

I loved them both dearly and was grateful to have parents like them, but talking about the shooting and its aftermath with them was too much. I’d seen a therapist after it happened. All of us at the school had been automatically referred for an assessment. I still had the option to see the therapist I’d met for the first few months afterward. Since I’d moved, it had dwindled to a session every month or so over videoconference.

Knowing that they would only keep worrying if I didn’t say something, I offered, “I’m sleeping well, and I love my job here.”

“That’s good to hear,” my mother said with a forced cheerfulness in her tone.

Something that was rarely discussed when you experience an event that fell into the horrifying category was that those who cared about you and loved you had their own trauma and pain related to the event. It was like when someone lost someone they loved, and you were never sure how often you should check in with them, whether you should be more discreet about it, and so on. This was even bigger because that kind of loss was more common. People wondered, worried, and wanted to fix it for you and undo it. Yet you could never undo that. You couldn’t unwind time.

My parents shifted to more mundane topics, with my father asking questions about Willow Brook, his hometown, and my mother sharing that they were considering retiring here.

A short while later, we were at my grandmother’s house. She had made more brownies, calling over to me, “And I made a batch for Alice. You must take them over to her. Also, I checked with her, and you can have her spare bedroom.”

“Excuse me?” I glanced over, my brows hitching up.

My grandmother had a gleam in her eyes. “There’s no spare bedroom here, and your parents need a bed, so they’ll stay in the cabin. Alice has a two-bedroom house, fully furnished. She said it was fine.”

I hadsomany thoughts. I should’ve known my grandmother would do this. All I did was nod. I knew better than to let her see my reaction. “Okay.”

“Alice?” my mother prompted as she turned to glance over from where she sat at the kitchen table.

Gram nodded. “Her parents lived next door. She moved back to town recently. Do you remember her from summer visits?”

“Oh yes, such a nice girl. What is she doing? I recall her parents died, but I don’t know what happened.”

I did not know this detail, so I listened as I filled a mug of coffee from my grandmother’s ever-full coffee pot.

“Oh, yes,” my Gram said as she crossed over to the kitchen table, setting down a plate of brownies in the middle before seating herself across from my mother. “They died in a fishing accident. A storm came in while they were out, and the boat capsized. They never found the bodies. It was so sad.”

My heart twisted sharply in my chest.

“What a terrible way to die,” my mother said, her hands flying to her chest.

Gram nodded. “I know. Alice returned for the funeral, and I checked on the house while she was away. She was in veterinarian school at the time. She’s taking over the vet clinic here.” My grandmother looked over toward my father, who entered the room. “Do you remember the old vet, Dr. Dan?”

“Of course,” my dad said. “Surely he’s retired by now.” He immediately walked across the kitchen and reached for a brownie.

Gram nodded. “If you ask me, he worked too long. He retired two years ago, and they’ve been covering the clinic with visiting vets. They’re giving the business to Alice.”

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