Love You More(67)

“Definitely. If that’s what’s best for her.”

“Do you mean that? You’d really move here?”

“Of course. We’ll be a family.”

“Thank you, Dean,” I say, letting out a slow breath.



* * *



— When I walk back into the house, Mick is alone in the kitchen, wiping down the counters.

“Where’s Phoebe?” I ask, setting my phone facedown on the counter.

“Getting changed,” he says, still wiping.

“Don’t clean up. I know you have things to do.”

“Change of plans. Phoebe wants to go fishing.”

“Oh. That’s fun,” I say, picturing them in his small aluminum boat.

“You’re invited,” he says, glancing up at me.

I hesitate. “Are you sure you don’t want some alone time with her?”

“I’m sure.”

“What about Joan?”

“I just talked to Eliot,” he says. “They’re coming back now, and he said he’ll hang out this afternoon and keep an eye on her.”

“That’s kind of him.”

“Yeah. And good news—they toured the Waters and liked it.”

“That’s great news,” I say. “It’s so close.”

“Yeah. Eliot said the staff was really nice, and they have a spot for her in memory care.”

“What did Joan think?”

“They said she was very cheerful and seemed to like it.”

I nod. “So what’s next?”

“We just have to sign some paperwork and pay her first month’s rent. I can take care of that and then pay myself back after we sell the house.” He pauses. “I assume you’ll want to be guardian of Phoebe’s finances, too?”

“That’s fine,” I say. “Probably easier to handle both. And I can take care of Joan’s stuff, too.”

“I got it covered. You’re going to have your hands full getting ready for Phoebe.”

“Thank you,” I say.

“I guess she’ll move after school’s out?” he asks.

“I think that makes the most sense.”

He nods, looking out the window over the sink.

I study his profile, that familiar ache returning. “Mick?”

He turns to look at me. “Yeah?”

“Are you sure you’re okay with this decision?”

He gives me a pained smile. “I guess I have to be.”

“You don’t have to be. You get to feel how you feel,” I say. “And you can still overrule me on this.”

“Why do you say that?”

“Because you’ve been here—with Erin and Phoebe. You’ve earned the right.”

He shakes his head. “You were Erin’s best friend. I trust you on this. And anyway—we both know you’re much smarter than I am.” He smiles.

I smile back. “You got a higher grade in Ms. Sprinkman’s class.”

“Yeah.” He chuckles. “Here’s to peaking in the ninth grade.”

“Hardly.”

“I have to tell you, though…. For a moment there, I pictured you back here. Finally.”

I hold his gaze and feel suddenly, achingly young.

He leans in so slightly it feels like gravity—not a choice—and suddenly he’s close enough for me to feel the warmth of his breath.

Phoebe’s footsteps pound through the foyer, and we both step back.





Chapter 38


About an hour later, Eliot returns with Joan, talking up the Waters.

“Would you like to go check it out before we go fishing?” Mick asks Phoebe.

“Sure,” she says.

We pile into Mick’s truck and head to the Waters. The drive is short—only a few miles from Joan’s house. Close feels better.

When we park, Mick rolls the windows down halfway while Hank stays in the truck, his paws propped up on the dash like a lookout.

The building is plain but pleasant—gray clapboard and stone, tidy landscaping. I’ve only been inside one place like this, when we’d visit my grandmother after things got really bad and her life had shrunk to a single room. I know this is the beginning of the end for Joan, too, but for now, I tell myself it’s only a narrowing meant to keep her safe.

Mick pauses at the door, letting Phoebe and me go first. She tilts her face up, her expression caught between curiosity and dread.

“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper, taking her hand. Her fingers are cool, her grip tight.

I brace for an antiseptic tang, but instead I get lavender and fresh laundry. The lobby is warm and bright, anchored by a seating area where three women lean toward one another over coffee, a deck of cards spread between them.

Phoebe’s grip on my hand eases.

At the reception desk, a woman with a sleek bob greets us. Mick introduces us, explaining that our friends just brought Phoebe’s grandmother, Joan, over for a tour.

“Oh, yes! Joan!” she says. “What a lovely lady!”

“We were wondering if we could see the memory care unit?” I ask.

The woman apologizes, explaining that no one is available to give us a tour, but that we’re welcome to look around the common areas.