and a turquoise tee along with my favorite pair of flip-flops and tie my long hair up into a messy bun, fill up a bottle of water, and head out.
It doesn’t take me more than ten minutes to get to Chris’s house but it takes me another fifteen to muster up the courage to get out of my car, grab the empty laundry baskets out of my back seat I brought with me to carry Zoey’s things, and climb the front steps of his porch.
After unlocking the door with my key, I take a deep breath of fresh air and twist the knob, pushing open the mahogany wood entry door and stepping inside. I shut the door behind me with a gentle push. The quiet click sounds like a shot gun in the stillness of the air around me.
Another deep breath, this time it’s not fresh air I’m inhaling. It’s the plug-ins Chris always kept refilled that smell like fresh cotton. Looking around, I bite my lip before taking a step forward. Then another.
Zoey was conceived in this house.
She might have lived primarily in my home the first year when Chris would stay in the guest bedroom as often as possible so he was there to help, but this was also her home.
I glance at the couch and swallow against the pain. He held me as I cried over the news of my mother’s illness and when I looked up into his eyes, they held so much… everything, I couldn’t resist leaning up to kiss him. He responded instantly, without a single moment of hesitation. Both of us knew what we were doing. He asked if I was positive and I assured him I was.
Thank goodness that night happened. Not only do I have Zoey. But my mother got the chance to meet her granddaughter and Chris… well…
I peek into Chris’s bedroom but quickly shut the door, not quite ready to go in there yet. It was the room where Chris took his last breath. Knowing he was alone when he passed away almost brings me to my knees.
Opening the door to Zoey’s bedroom, I smile at her unmade bed. For as organized and neat as Chris was, he hated making the bed and never made Zoey’s or had her make it herself. Zoey definitely picked up on that trait. She thinks making her bed is the worst kind of punishment.
I clean out her closet first then move to the small dresser. It doesn’t take me long to gather her belongings, but I do take the time to strip her bed and pile up the sheets into one of the baskets so I can wash them when I get back home. After bringing the clothes to my car, I go back inside and pack whatever toys and books I can find.
I make another trip to my car and then go back inside to clean out the fridge and do a walk through the house and make sure everything is as it should be. I open one of the windows in the living room to let some fresh air in and get to work cleaning the fridge and pantry. Music streams through a satellite radio app on my phone and I get lost in the process, not allowing my mind to think about the job I’m doing and why I’m doing it.
“My Truck” plays through the speaker of my phone and I hum along, shimmying my hips as I separate the food that’s gone bad and the things that can be kept. I cannot get enough of the beat to this song… even if the lyrics don’t apply to me in any way. Plus, Sam Hunt’s voice is pretty much everything that is good in this world.
Just as I’m spinning around to toss some moldy cheese into the trash bag, a deep chuckle hits my ears and Beau’s smiling face greets me. I squeal and jump, placing a hand against my chest. He’s leaning a shoulder against the wall opposite me as calm and casual as can be. Meanwhile, my heart is about to leap right out of my chest.
“What the hell, Beau?” I shriek, moving to my phone to turn off the music.
His grin broadens to one of my favorite smiles of his. “Don’t mind me. I was enjoying the hell out of your performance.”
With a well-practiced eye roll, I complete my task and cross my arms over my chest.