Page 6 of Amethyst

“I’m not sure I can see him.”

Though I want to see him. I want to see him so badly. He was always my safe place.

More than he ever knew over the last years of my life.

“Only when you’re ready,” Mom says. “He’ll understand.”

“What’s he doing these days?”

“He’s doing well. He’s in marketing, I think. Dad and I haven’t seen him for a while, but I ran into Harriet at the grocery store a couple months ago.”

“Is he…withanyone?”

“He’s engaged, Harriet said. Her name is Mimi something.”

“Flaherty,” Dad says, without emotion. “Mimi Flaherty. That’s what you told me after you ran into Harriet.”

“What does she look like?”

I’m not sure why I asked. It came out of my mouth automatically. Back in the day, I always took notice of the girls Max went out with.

“I’m sorry,” Mom says. “I didn’t ask.”

“Oh.”

Of course. Why would my mother ask Max’s mother what his fiancée looks like? She’s probably blond. Max always had a thing for blondes.

I bite my lower lip. “I don’t know if I’m ready to see anyone.”

“You take your time,” Mom says.

Max. So many times we sat outside on our front porch laughing, talking. Eating popsicles. Making fun of the people who gave us grief as school. Max’s house didn’t have a front porch—only a stoop—but ours had a swing and a bench and a perfect panoramic view of the cul de sac where we used to play.

I close my eyes. I’ve only been home one night.

The front porch looks basically the same, except for a crack in the concrete in front of the door. The bushes Mom and I planted the summer before my senior year have grown. Red brick, green trim. A nice colonial two-story in an upper-middle-class neighborhood. Except for one glaring addition.

Security cameras and an alarm system.

Yesterday, when I walked into my home for the first time in eight years, a black Labrador Retriever barked at me.

“Where’s Lucy?” I asked Mom.

Mom squeezed my shoulder. “Honey, Lucy had cancer three years ago. We had to put her down.”

Of course. Eight years is an awful long time in dog years. Lucy was an adorable chocolate lab that I raised from a pup.

I don’t know what I was expecting. Mom didn’t mention it during our phone calls and visits while I was in my year of intensive therapy. She probably didn’t want to upset me more, but I wish she’d told me rather than blindside me like this.

But we’re all learning how to deal with this new normal.

“This is Lexi,” Mom said, petting the lab. “Easy, Lex. This is Jenna. She’s going to love you.”

I didn’t want to cry.

But I couldn’t help it. Silent tears streamed down my cheeks.

And all I wanted was Lucy. Her big brown eyes looking up at me, telling me everything was going to be okay. After Max, Lucy was my safe space on the island. Many times she sat invisibly at the foot of my hard bed, helping me through the horror. It never occurred to me she wouldn’t be here. Talk about a gut punch.

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