Winter just nodded, stepped back, hands on hips. She’d used one of Sonya’s hair ties to pull her chin-length hair—nearly the same shade as her daughter’s—back in a stubby tail. Her eyes, hazel to Sonya’s deep green, scanned the now loaded bathroom counter.
“We’re going to need more boxes.”
“Screw boxes,” Sonya decided. “I have trash bags. He has so much stuff! Where am I in this? Why didn’t I notice I have half the space he did? He had the entire closet in the spare room, and more than half in the main bedroom closet. And somehow he took over the desk in the spare room for work, and I ended up using the dining room table.”
“Erosion happens gradually.” Winter rubbed Sonya’s shoulders. “A rock’s strong, but it doesn’t notice how the water’s wearing it away.”
“You look so much alike,” Cleo murmured. “The shape of your faces—that heart shape, your hair color. That peaches and cream skin that tells me I need this high-dollar skin care more than either of you.”
“You have gorgeous skin,” Winter told her. “Gold dust on caramel, a gift from your wonderfully diverse ancestry. My girl has her father’s eyes.”
Winter gave Sonya a quick hug. “He’d have kicked Brandon’s ass. I don’t think I’d have tried to stop him. Andrew MacTavish was a gentle man, but when roused?” She gave Sonya another squeeze. “Stand back.”
Then she nodded. “Trash bags. Yeah, seems fair. More than.”
“I’ll get them. And order the pizza,” Cleo offered. “We’re closing in on done.”
“She’s a treasure,” Winter said when Cleo went out.
“I know. She says the fates saw to it we were roommates in college.”
“What do you say?”
“Luck of the draw—really lucky for me.”
“For both of you. Your art, your work, didn’t hurt. Now she’s an illustrator, you’re a graphic designer. I’m proud of both of you.”
“I need to go into work Monday. So will he. I should never have gotten involved with someone at work.”
“Stop.” Winter turned her around. “Don’t let what he did, what he is shake who you are or what you do. You loved him enough to plan a life with him. You thought he loved you enough to do the same.”
“I was wrong.”
“You were wrong,” Winter agreed. “The mistake wasn’t in loving someone. He wasn’t faithful, and you ended it. You know what I haven’t heard from you? What did I do wrong? Why wasn’t I enough? What did he see in her he didn’t in me?”
“I—Mom—”
“You know why I haven’t heard that? Because you’re too smart to fall in that ditch. You know this isn’t about you. It’s about him. His character. You believed in him. He proved you wrong. That’s all there is to it. So clean sweep, close the book, lock the door. Change the locks,” she amended, “then lock the door.”
“I’ll call a locksmith tomorrow. He’ll corner me—or try to—at work on Monday.”
“And you’ll deal with it.”
“I’ll deal with it.” She shut her eyes. “I’m embarrassed.”
“Of course you are. Anyone would be, even when it’s not their embarrassment. So, Sonya Grace MacTavish, make it his embarrassment.”
She kissed Sonya’s forehead. “That—especially to someone like Brandon? It’s more painful than chronic jock itch.”
* * *
They ate pizza, and while Sonya and Cleo drank more wine, Winter switched off to iced tea. Together, they made a plan. Then they carted boxes, suitcases, and Hefty bags out to the car.
On the second trip, her neighbor stepped out of her side of the duplex.
“Do you all need some help with that? Bill’s home. He’d give you a hand.”
Winter sent her a winning smile. “Thanks, Donna. If he wouldn’t mind. We’ve got a couple more loads.”
“No problem. Bill! Come give Sonya a hand.” She put a hand on her hip, a woman with three grown children who’d downsized with her husband and had moved into the duplex just over a year before.
A nice couple, Sonya thought, neighborly but not pushy. Important qualities, in her view, when you shared a common wall.
Bill came out in a Red Sox T-shirt and cargo shorts that showed off his knobby knees.
“Moving out on us?” He grinned when he said it, making it a joke.