Page 29 of The Words We Lost

“Ingrid.” His expression is so excruciatingly sympathetic that even Rontu’s ears perk at the curious change in his master’s tone. “I’ve never asked you to hold back with me. Not once.” He pushes a hand through his hair. “I know things are different now, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve waited five years for you to return home. The last thing I want is for you to be here in body but stay absent in the ways that matter most.”

His words hit so unexpectedly that it takes a moment for me to regroup. In all the months I’ve been in therapy, I’m not sure I’ve been anywhere near that bold with Dr. Rogers.

Joel reaches as if to touch my arm, but pulls back before his fingers find purchase. “I was wrong to speak so freely about your grief yesterday, but I’m hoping we might get the chance to talk more about—”

“Knock, knock. You here, Joel?”

Madison’s distinctive voice, even from behind the closed door, carries the air of a southern belle, only I know from Allie that the two sisters grew up in eastern Oregon. Even still, her charm is impossible to ignore. Rontu stands at attention and whines for Joel to allow him off his bed.

Joel’s eyes are trained on my face as he moves toward the door, but I suddenly don’t have it in me to guess at what’s going on in his head.

“I’ll go,” I say. “Let me know when you’re free to read again.” I pat Rontu’s head just as Madison sweeps inside the room carrying her own bundle of puppy sweetness. Surprisingly, I don’t have to force a smile when I greet the duo. Despite my conflicting emotions, my fondness for the lithe strawberry blonde comes as naturally as Rontu’s affection for his high-fashion sister. Madison sets the petite, female version of Rontu on the carpet. Their size is far from the only difference between the puppies, though, as Rita is dressed in what can only be described as a doggie tankini.

“She’s ... wow. She’s adorable.” Despite myself, I release a light chuckle as Rita prances around the room in her ruffled, pineapple-patterned bathing suit.

“Thanks, I think so, too, even if I’ve entered the category of obnoxious pet owners.” But Madison’s laugh holds just enough self-deprecation for me to cross her off that particular list.

“You work in fashion and you love dogs. Rita’s the perfect combo.”

“Exactly.” Her smile brightens as she makes eye contact with Joel. “See, Joel? Ingrid gets it. Why can’t you?”

He crosses his arms and gives a slight shake of his head. “No, Ingrid’s just too polite to tell you otherwise. But that”—he points to the white pup spinning in circles as Rontu sniffs her with interest —“is embarrassing. She’s a dog, not a doll.”

I open my mouth to refute him, when Madison pipes up, stepping in close as if to include me in an exclusive club I’m fairly certain I’d rather not join considering Joel is likely the only other member. I don’t need a refresher course on “Boundaries With Your Ex” for meto know that getting involved with them as a couple is not a good idea for any of us.

“So get this: A few weeks ago Joel and my mom tried to stage an intervention over Rita’s outfits, claiming I was—what was it, Joel? ‘Displacing my maternal instincts on a fur baby’?” She rolls her eyes good-naturedly and swats playfully at Joel’s arm again, which I take as my cue to exit. It’s one thing to acknowledge their compatibility, it’s another to stick around and watch it unfold.

“Well, it’s been nice to see you again, Madison, but I should leave you both to—”

“Would you like to join us for lunch?” she asks as I retreat. “I usually take the kiddos here for a beach walk on Mondays since it’s my day off. They’re still leash training, but the pier has some great outdoor dining options.” She looks from Joel to me again. “And it’s such a gorgeous day for an outing.”

“It is,” I agree, careful to keep my voice upbeat and steady. “But I actually have a commitment to Wendy this afternoon. And I should probably head over there sooner than later.” I train my gaze on Madison. “Thanks anyway.”

“Come to the shop anytime. I’m always up for some girl talk, and there’s a lovely coffee shop next door. They make a killer iced mocha.”

“That’s good to know.” I’m two steps outside the threshold of Joel’s office when I turn back and take a mental snapshot of the happy family of four that I’m sure will haunt my dreams tonight. “Hope you two have a great walk with the kiddos.”

Halfway down the hall, a raw, unfurling sensation builds in the pit of my stomach despite my attempts to reason with it. Like a defiant teenager with something to prove, the feeling intensifies when I’m dumped into a sea of strangers waiting to be checked in at the front desk. And though I can nearly spot the exit doors through the lobby, I take a hard left toward the kitchen and wind myself down another short hallway, past the alcove where Cece hid the day the three of us met.

I stop outside a set of French doors I haven’t laid eyes on in half a decade. But when I grip the vintage bronze doorknob on the right, it doesn’t give. I try the one next to it, hoping the first was simply locked by mistake, but it, too, remains rigid.

I peer through the glass pane into a library that once fulfilled every childish longing of my soul and wish more than anything I could experience it all again for the first time: running my fingers along the spines of stories that shared their world with me.

“The library requires a staff keycard to open now. Too many break-in attempts after Cece went and got famous on us.”

At the sound of Joel’s voice at my back, I close my eyes. My lungs pause as he presses in close to reach for the little black box on the left side of the door. Upon his swipe, a light from within glows green, and the doors double click in response. But when I don’t make a move for either knob, it flares back to red.

“I thought you were going to lunch with Madison.” My breath fogs the glass in front of me.

“And I thought you were going to Aunt Wendy’s.” He finds my eyes in the door’s reflection. “But I happen to like this idea of yours better.” He lifts his arm to reveal Cece’s manuscript clutched in his hand.“It’s the perfect spot to read the next chapter.”

This time when he swipes his card and unlocks the doors, I push them open.

The library’s welcoming scent ushers me in like an old friend, though so much of this space appears new. The paint is fresh, and there are added rows of shelving backlit by fancy lighting at nearly every angle. I move toward the ornate, fully enclosed display case featuring all four books of the acclaimed Nocturnal Heart series—special editions, bound in leather with gold leaf lettering and gilded pages. Barry gifted me a set two Christmases ago.

I press in for a closer look. Cece’s last professional headshot, the one we nicknamed her “sorority girl grin,” is framed and propped next to several of her awards and plaques. I touch the protective glass, mindful of the fingerprints I’ll leave behind as soon as myhand drops away. But part of me wishes I could leave a permanent mark, the way she left one on me.

“Fog Harbor donated that to our family in Cece’s honor.”

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