Page 86 of Golden Hour

I hum a response.

“I said I would pass along a message. They said they’ve tried to reach out. They want to see you. Why don’t you talk to them, Jackson?” Her tone is curious, not accusatory.

“Once Amy passed away, there really wasn’t a need to.”

“You were married to their daughter.”

“I went to Seattle immediately after the funeral so…”

“You’ve been back for over a year now. Is that why you never left your house?”

She looks at me with her big blue eyes, searching my face for the answers. She assumes I’m a whole person, not this broken man who avoids his former in-laws because they talk about his late wife.

“We really don’t have anything to talk about. It’s okay, Shiloh. We’ve moved on.”

“Have you, though?” She stands up, tucking her hands in her armpits as she paces. She’s never questioned me. Ever.

“You’re here.”

She flinches like the words were a raised hand. Her eyes terrify me, how round and questioning they are, on the verge of tears. I stand up to hug Shiloh, but she slips from my grasp. Her back is to me when her whispered words leave her mouth like a song. “I love you, you know.”

My tongue is heavy. I don’t know what to say, how to react. The words are right there, so close, but I can’t say them.

She turns, her arms tucked in front of her, tighter now.

“Look, Shiloh….”

She backs away, holding up her hands. Sobs leave her mouth, and my stomach twists, coating my throat with nausea.

I cannot say anything, and Shiloh’s shoulders fall while her body heaves with tears. Regret fills my stomach, twisting and rolling it.

“You’re not ready for this. For me.” Heartbreak is written all over her face.

“I care about you, Shiloh. So much.”

She wipes the tears from her cheeks. The red around her blue eyes make them piercing, so vibrant. I want to hold her, but I stay frozen in my stance.

“Are you ready for me? Truly,” she asks, placing her hand on her chest.

“I don’t know,” I say.

She tilts her head when she looks at me, and I know where this is going. I did this. This is my fault.

“I just need some time. I didn’t expect you.” My voice shakes. “I’m so sorry.”

“I am too,” she says.

I pull her in for a hug, and she cries against my chest; the tears are about me. I smooth her hair away from her face as she sobs softly. We stand there for seconds or minutes or hours, I don’t know, before she pulls away. Her face is red and splotchy, shiny from tears.

“Shiloh, you’re my best friend.”

She nods and opens the door. I reach for her, but her hand stops my forearm. “I need to go.”

“I don’t want this to be over.”

She places her hand on my cheek, and I lean into it. A single tear rolls down her face. “I want you to find peace. Maybe it’s better if I’m not in the picture for a while. I’m just a bandage over a gaping wound.”

She kisses me on the cheek and whispers, “I love you.”

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