Love You More(72)

I head downstairs and feed Hank, letting him out the back door. The sky is the color of pewter, dew beading on the grass. Hank noses the ground, tail sweeping, oblivious to the wreckage.

I jog to my parents’ house, take a quick shower, and pack my suitcase. Then I lock up and drive back to Joan’s in the rental. It’s hard to believe Dean just left yesterday. It feels like a different lifetime.

I park in the driveway and go back inside.

With nothing left to do, I brew a pot of coffee, trying to keep my mind as blank as possible.



* * *



— A little after ten, I hear Joan and Phoebe coming down the stairs. I take a deep breath and put on a smile that feels like a mask.

“Morning!” I say as they round the corner.

Phoebe wipes her eyes, then blinks. “Are you leaving today?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“When do you have to go?”

“In a couple of hours.”

“When will you be back?”

“Very soon. And in the meantime, we can start talking about New York,” I say.

She smiles.

I smile back. I can’t wait to get her to the city—a place without a land mine buried under every memory.



* * *



— I make pancakes for breakfast. Phoebe and Joan chat while they eat. Joan sounds lucid this morning, and I cling to it.

I clear the dishes, then text Mick: Leaving the house at 12. Can you be here for the handoff?

He texts back: No problem.



* * *



— A few minutes before noon, Mick’s truck pulls in. I’m standing in the driveway with Phoebe and Hank.

Mick parks and steps out. He looks like he hasn’t slept.

“Morning,” he says, his voice rough.

“Good morning, Mick!” Phoebe says.

I look right past him before turning to hug Phoebe.

“I love you,” I whisper.

“I love you, too,” she says.

I climb into the car and pull out of the driveway with a quick goodbye honk.

In the rearview mirror, Mick waves beside Phoebe as if nothing has changed.





Chapter 42


I fall asleep before takeoff and don’t wake up until the plane thuds down on the runway at LaGuardia.

I text Dean that I’ve landed and invite him over for dinner.

Would love that, he writes back.

As I get into my Uber, the sky splits open, rain slamming the windshield.

Midwest rain is cozy—an excuse to hunker down. Here, it’s just gross—black water pooling at curbs, the stench of wet wool and diesel, hot-metal steam rising from subway grates.

When we finally pull up to my building, I dash into the lobby, soaked in an instant, leaving a trail of water all the way to the elevator.

Inside my apartment, I kick off my shoes and head straight to the bathroom, peeling off my clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water bites, then settles, soothing me, at least on the surface.

For the next few hours, I distract myself with laundry, mail, and inbox triage—anything to keep my thoughts at bay.

At one point, I check my phone and find a wall of words from Mick: Billie, I’m so sorry for what I did, but I need you to understand that it meant nothing to either of us. We should have told you, but we were both ashamed and just wanted to bury it. Erin loved you too much to tell you. She was just trying to protect you. I hope one day you can forgive me.

I shake my head, muttering as I type: You don’t lie to the people you love.

Ellipses appear—and then: Sadly, sometimes you do.

Part of me wants to hurl the phone across the room. Another part wants to understand what happened. Neither wins. I just sit there, staring at the screen.

I hear the lock turn and put my phone down. Dean steps inside, his messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He sets it on the floor, water beading on the nylon, then crosses the room. I stand, and he pulls me into a long hug. I rest my head on his shoulder, and for a moment, the storm in my head quiets.

“How was the rest of your trip?” he asks as we separate and sit down.

“Ugh,” I say. “I have a lot to tell you.”

I turn toward him and take a deep breath. “So last night, I started to worry about our decision to move Phoebe to New York.”

He nods.

“The more worried I got, the more I wondered what Erin would have thought of our plan.”

He nods again, a slight furrow in his brow.

“So I read her old journal, hoping it might give me some insight. It felt like the closest thing to talking to her again.”

Dean puts his hand on my leg. “And? Did you find anything?”

“Unfortunately not,” I say. “What I did discover is that she’d been hiding a huge secret from me.”

“What kind of a secret?” he asks.

I take a deep breath and say the words aloud. “She and Mick slept together. It was after we broke up—but still.”

“Jesus, Billie. I’m sorry. That’s tough.”

“That’s not even the worst part.” I meet his eyes. “There’s a chance that Phoebe could be his.”

Dean blinks. “Are you serious?”

I nod. “A small chance—but a chance.”