I kept walking.
She let it go, which was unusual. It meant she was filing it for later. She moved on to school instead—an incident involving Noah and the class fish tank that she relayed with the accuracy of a court reporter. It included a dramatic reconstruction of Mrs. Alvarez's expression.
I listened and made the right noises. We kept a steady pace, and for the first time in a decade, I wasn't looking for the nearest exit. I was just... there. It was a lightness I hadn't felt in—I didn't even know how long. It felt strange.
Good strange.
We stopped at the corner shop for milk. Lily managed to talk me into a bag of gummy bears, a total tactical win she probably sensed I was too distracted to fight. I gave in because it was a good day, and apparently, I really was smiling like Gerald on the radiator.
Outside, she walked beside me in her purple fox jacket, the gummy bears crinkling in her hand. Somewhere between theshop and the house, she slipped her hand into mine. She didn’t ask, and she didn’t look up. It was just what you did when you were walking and someone was there.
I looked down at her.
She was staring at the street ahead, working through a green gummy bear with total focus. She had no idea what she’d just done to me.
I thought about Maddie. The afternoon, the conversation, the way the light had hit the floorboards in her room. Lying there, I’d felt something that had been snapped for twelve years finally beginning to set. I thought aboutI’m working on itandmore than enoughand the way she’d looked at me when she woke up.
I thought about what Cassie would make of all this. I had a feeling I knew.
"Is Maddie coming on Friday?" Lily asked. She was still watching the street, still chewing. She asked it the way she asked everything—like she was just checking the oil.
"Yeah," I said. "I think she is."
Lily nodded. Satisfied. She held out the bag. "Gummy bear?"
"Thanks."
We walked home.
Chapter Forty-Seven
Madison
Lily had strong opinions about popcorn.
Not about the film—she’d picked that in four seconds, something animated and musical that she’d apparently seen six times and considered no obstacle to seeing again. The popcorn was the variable. She stood over me at the stove, explaining her methodology, which involved a specific ratio of salt to butter she’d perfected through what she called "extensive research."
"How old were you when you did this research?" I asked.
She gave it a moment of genuine thought. "Five."
"You’re still five."
"I’ve been five for a long time," she said, dead serious.
Behind us, I heard Jack make a sound in the doorway. He tried to turn it into a cough, but he didn't quite pull it off.
I followed the instructions. The popcorn came out exactly as specified. She examined the bowl like a quality control inspector before declaring it acceptable. Which, as far as I was concerned, was high praise.
We ate at the coffee table while the film started. Lily sat cross-legged between us, Gerald in her lap and a bowl of popcorn managed with both hands. The room had a kind ofFriday evening warmth—lamps on low, curtains drawn against the dark. It was the kind of light that made everything inside feel more permanent than the world outside.
I'd been here dozens of times by now. I knew the layout, knew where the good mugs were, knew which step on the stairs creaked. And yet tonight felt different from the inside; I was here differently. Taking up a different kind of space.
The film was as advertised: extremely musical. Lily sang along under her breath, unaware she was doing it. I watched her for a moment in the glow of the screen—the total absorption of her. She was completely in it, and I felt something settle in my chest that I'd been feeling more and more lately, something I didn't quite have a word for yet.
Jack's arm was along the back of the couch. He wasn't touching me, but I was aware of the heat of him, a steady, quiet presence.
I was very aware of it.