especially since she’s still holding on to her things, but it’s the best I can do in this screwed-up moment.
Her shoulders sag further into my embrace, like she’s allowing herself to let go.
With me.
My chest tingles from the close contact, and I don’t move, not even an inch. I don’t want to break the moment, especially since she seems to need it. So I just stand there, offering her what little comfort I can give her, hoping it’s enough to soothe the hole in her heart. At least, a little.
Chloe has always been closer to her parents than I have been to mine. Her parents were actually present while they were loving and doting on her. The pain this must have caused her. And her mom.
After another minute, she clears her throat and sniffles before pulling back. Her eyes are watery, but I’m not sure if she cried or not.
“Thank you.”
I nod. “No problem.”
“Um.” Her voice cracks and she clears her voice several times. “Sorry about that. But I was planning on telling you anyway so you’re prepared, you know?”
“I’m so sorry you lost him.”
“It was better for him. He was in a lot of pain at the end after battling cancer for years. It was hard to let him go, but we knew it was coming, so at least we were able to enjoy the time we had left with him and say our goodbyes.” She tilts her head back and blinks a few times, inhaling and exhaling deeply through her nose.
She was able to say goodbye to him.
Her words trigger something, and even though I know it’s irrational and incomparable to her actually losing her dad, all I can think about is that I never got to say goodbye to her.
I was never able to get the closure I wanted, maybe even needed.
She disappeared out of my life like a ghost, taking everything with her except my memories that drove me insane for a long time.
And now she’s here, and we’re having a conversation.
Apologizing. Dancing around our pain. Trying to empathize with the other.
But for what? After we’ve finished the mural, that’s it. Chloe will be gone from my life.
Again.
Fifteen
Chloe
When I come back from my run the next morning, my mind is still a mess.
Noah's confession yesterday, the way he opened up to me like we’re still . . . something. Like he still trusts me and wants to confide in me.
Then the mention of my dad, and the way he cradled me in his arms. So gingerly, like I’m fragile and he doesn’t know how to hold me properly. Definitely not like it used to be. He once knew exactly how to hold me.
But I guess it’s a good step in the friendship direction, right? Talking about meaningful topics, confiding in each other, and offering comfort.
When I’m almost home, I exhale all my conflicted emotions and push the Bluetooth speaker in my ear to disconnect from my phone, then stop short.
What?
Two of my elderly neighbors—who’ve been nothing but welcoming since I moved into the neighborhood last month—are walking on the strip of grass next to the sidewalk.
That’s not the unusual part about this, but rather the fact that they’re both dragging lawn chairs behind them in one hand, and big mason jars with straws in the other.
What on earth are they up to?
And where are they going? They aren't going . . . wait a moment. To my lawn?
Bessie huffs when she stops and leans on the back of her folding chair, gasping for breath. "Oh hey, Chloe. There you are. I knocked a few minutes ago to check if you were home, but no one answered. It's okay if Agnes and I relax on your front lawn for a little while, right? You have the best view, and we'll be gone as soon as the show is over, I promise."
Agnes is just a few feet behind her, taking a sip from her mason jar. The orange-red liquid reminds me of . . . Wait a second, is that a cocktail?
When she stops next to Bessie, she grins at me. “Hey, sweetie. Are you going to watch with us? It’s our favorite show in the whole neighborhood.”
“What show are you guys—”
“Oooooh. I think I saw movement.” Agnes whistles, frantically trying to open her chair while Bessie is scrambling to do the same.
I, on the other hand, stand there like a total idiot, no clue what the hell is going on. Both ladies have plopped in their chairs,