Page 72 of Every Thought Taken

An ache blooms in my chest at the idea of Anderson out on his own, driving from one corner of the state to the other to escape all the hurt here. To escape me… because I am part of that hurt.

The table falls quiet as everyone turns their attention to Anderson. The boy I knew years ago would have shrunk under such treatment. He’d have gotten up from the table and found a nook away from the group. Somewhere dark and undisturbed. The man before me is no longer that boy.

Still reserved, he isn’t blurting out the past six years on the road without provocation. But he isn’t shy about his time away. He doesn’t hide himself.

Though I’ve missed him, his happiness gifts me some peace.

“I’d love to hear of your travels,” Geoff says. “Maybe later you can share your favorite spots on Orcas.”

A bright smile highlights Anderson’s face and my mouth goes dry.Damn.

“After dinner, I’ll share some photos.”

The table erupts in conversation once more while I sit awestruck. Everyone is deep in discussion, except for me. Social butterfly was never a title I received, but I’d also never been reticent either. I always fit somewhere in the middle.

For some strange reason, seeing Anderson again, existing in the same space as him again, has my life off-kilter. Wobbly. In a good way.

For the first time in years, I am awake. Alive. Able to breathe fully.

All because he is here.

And if I am lucky, maybe this time he will stay.

CHAPTER41

ANDERSON

When did Helena become the quiet one?

Ales garnered most of the attention when we were younger, but Helena never recoiled during conversations or gatherings. She stood tall next to my sister and Mags, sharing her piece in any given moment. Of the three of them, Mags had been the most reserved.

Seeing her so aloof among friends has me dizzy. Her reticence brings a long list of questions to the surface. Questions I’m not sure I want answers to.

Did she fall madly in love with someone else, only to have her heart broken? Did something happen to her parents? During one of my sporadic check-ins with Ales, she’d mentioned Mr. Bishop passing but nothing about Helena’s parents. Has she lost one of them? Both of them? If not them, what has her so withdrawn?

Earlier, outside her store, I hadn’t been oblivious to the melancholy highlighting her expression. I hadn’t been impervious to her caved posture and fabricated smiles.

Why the sadness?

My appearance tonight was unexpected, I’m sure, but the moment she walked in the door, I anticipated at least one solid conversation with her before going back to Ales’s apartment. Since exiting the bathroom, I’ve mentally prepared myself for an onslaught of questions, even if generic or forced. Yet, we have exchanged less than twenty words.

I don’t get it. What am I missing?

Mags and Geoff rise from their seats and carry dishes to the kitchen. Ales and Braydon get up to help, shuffling inside with plates and serving dishes. Logan’s eyes are glued to his phone, his fingers moving rapidly over the screen.

Owen stands, downs the rest of his water, and extends a hand in my direction. “Was nice meeting you, Anderson. Sorry to eat and run, but I have more work to do before crashing. Hope to see you at the next gathering.”

With no definitive plans on how long I will be in Lake Lavender, I take his hand and keep my response vague. “Nice meeting you. Don’t work too hard.”

Eyes still on his phone, Logan scoffs. “Owen is married to work, unlike the rest of us.” He peers over his shoulder and lands on Ales at the sink. “Kind of.”

In my short time back, I’ve witnessed the relentless hours Ales puts in at the coffee shop. Before returning home, anytime I called or messaged her, she was working. Since Braydon, she has backed off the number of hours she clocks each week. Not an easy feat for a small business owner. Then the vandalism and fire happened, and time has been this strange thing for her and everyone at the coffee shop. Boards still cover the broken glass on the doors, but the shop is slowly returning to its former glory. One day at a time, her pride and joy is getting back to rights.

Logan bolts up from his seat, a bright, toothy smile on his face. “Good to meet you, Anderson.” He offers his hand and I shake it. “See you next week, Lena.” He lifts a hand to his face and salutes us before stepping inside.

Everything goes hazy as his familiarity with Helena sinks in. The way my sister’s shortened version of Helena’s name rolled off his tongue with ease. Too much ease.

I have no right to be upset, no right to correct him. But neither of those facts stops my blood from boiling. Neither stop my fists from clenching beneath the table or my molars grinding hard enough to crack a tooth.

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