This Story Might Save Your Life(55)

“Hey.” I squeezed his knee. “Did you drive or walk?”

“Drove. It was hot.” Sheepishly, he added, “Richie’s paws are sensitive.”

“Blaming the dog.” I stood. “Take me to your place. I want to see what you’ve done with the Zen Den.”

Mallory lifted her head with interest.

“Yeah?” Benny asked. “Really?”

He’d been coy about his renovations since hiring his contractor. I tried to convince myself that this was why I hadn’t visited his house in months—so he could do a “big reveal” when it was ready. But we both knew this wasn’t the only reason, and the fact that he was surprised by my suggestion filled me with sadness. We could do better. “Yes, I’m sure. Let’s go.”

I ducked down to avoid the stalker as we traveled over the hill, and didn’t come back up until we were safely inside Benny’s garage.

“You have so much furniture,” I said, turning a circle in his living room, which was no longer an empty bachelor pad but a mid-century dream home. “You have accent chairs. And vases. Benny, you have a vase.” I held up a gray earthenware urn with a dropped jaw.

“Sarah,” he said with a shrug.

Another tug of guilt. It should’ve been me. “All right.” I gestured toward the back doors. “Let’s see it.”

He scratched his beard. “Remember, it’s not done yet. We still have some painting to do, and none of the chairs have arrived yet. And some of the trim is still miss—”

“Oh my god, Benny, just show it to me.”

He did.

It took my breath away.

There was no way this was the same dim, musty outbuilding he bought five months earlier. It was light-filled, and cozy, and utterly peaceful. This whole time he’d continued referring to it as a shed, but there was nothing shedlike about it anymore. I wanted to live in there. I wanted to nap on the ridiculously soft sofa and wake to the view of the jagged LA skyline. I wanted to bask in the glow of the skylights, and record podcasts with Benny at the fancy walnut desk in the center of the room. I circled the space, hand on chest, speechless.

“You like it?” He was watching me from the open door.

“I think…” I shook my head with awe. “I think that if you were ever reincarnated as a building, it would look like this.”

“That’s … not how reincarnation works.”

I laughed. “I’m saying I love it.”

He was clearly pleased. But just as quickly as it arrived, his smile faded, and his green eyes clouded over. He stepped back outside and pressed his hands to the porch railing.

“Hey,” I said, following him out. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head.

I waited. “Do you want to talk about it?” I asked quietly.

“Do you?”

I wasn’t sure what “it” we were referring to—Luna? The stairwell of the Fox Theatre? The months of distance between us? Did I want to talk about the sleep hallucinations I’d been having about my stalker? That he’d broken in, a faceless shadow in the corner as I lay paralyzed in bed? That lately it was only ever upon waking to find my barky little watchdog sleeping peacefully at my feet that I could convince myself I was safe? There were so very many things to choose from.

“No.” Without letting myself overthink it, I said, “I just want a hug.”

He didn’t have to be asked twice. He wrapped his arms around me, and I flattened my cheek on his chest, smelling his Benny smell, listening to his heart thump. I didn’t want to let go. He pressed his face into my hair and gently kissed the top of my head, and I held the air inside my lungs until I felt I would burst. For what felt like forever, we swayed back and forth in the heat, in the shade of his perfect little porch.

“I should go,” I eventually managed.

Benny nodded as if he’d expected as much, and drove me home.

That night, a picture of Benny kissing the top of my head in front of the newly rebuilt Zen Den appeared online.





Benny Abbott


Day Three

Sarah and I wait anxiously in the shade of a patchy pear tree at the edge of the elementary school parking lot. There are more people than I expected. A hundred? Two hundred? Whenever I try to count, more arrive, THIS STORY MIGHT SAVE YOUR LIFE and WHAT DOESN’T KILL YOU MAKES YOU … A SURVIVOR taunting me from hats and T-shirts in every direction. Now our catchphrase feels glib. I want to gather up each piece of merch and burn the pile to the ground.

“Luna’s here,” Sarah says.

I lift my gaze to find my ex-wife approaching in oversized sunglasses, dark curls cascading out the back of her denim baseball cap.

“I didn’t expect so many people,” she says before registering Sarah’s presence. “Oh my god, you came.”

Sarah hugs her. “This must be so hard for you.”

It’s as if Luna’s waited her entire life to hear these words because her whole body sinks into the embrace. “God, it’s nice to see you. When did you get here? Have I missed anything?”

On the way over, I tried Keller’s direct line multiple times, hoping to share our speculations about Xander and ask if anyone else has brought forward similar information. She didn’t pick up, so for now, Sarah and I have agreed to keep our theory to ourselves. I half listen to Sarah’s response as my every other thought goes back to Joy’s password-protected file. Piece together. What are you telling me, Joy? What am I missing?