SOMETIMES SHE smiled. Sometimes she looked very far away.
Mark had hugged her when we came back to the house the day she shifted back. They hadn’t really spoken, just clung to each other for what seemed like hours.
She didn’t cry.
Mark did, though.
He’d said, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Not for the first time, I thought everything my father had told me had been bullshit.
Robbie was in awe of her.
“Don’t you know who she is?” he’d hissed at me.
I did. “She’s Elizabeth.”
“She’s a legend.”
Tanner, Chris, and Rico fumbled through their introductions, blushing furiously as she kissed each of them on the cheek, lingering and sweet.
I made fun of them for that later. They blushed again.
I didn’t know if she tried to call Joe or Carter or Kelly. I didn’t know if they felt her better than I ever could. I told her what I knew, how long it’d been, the vague responses I got.
She’d nodded, looked off into the distance, and said, “We should do dinner on Sunday.”
So we did.
Because it was tradition.
Elizabeth stood in the kitchen, sashaying to a song playing lowly on the old radio. I didn’t think it was Dinah Shore. I thought maybe that would hit too close to home right now.
Mark and Tanner were on the grill outside, even though it was cold. Rico and Chris were setting the table.
Robbie looked unsure as he stood along the edge of the kitchen, near the doorway.
“Ox,” Elizabeth said. “Are you finished with the onions?”
I said, “Yes,” and handed her the bowl they were diced in. Because we were pretending that everything was all right.
“Thank you,” she said, and she smiled. It was a shadow of what it used to be, but it was there. She was stronger than I’d given her credit for. I wouldn’t make that mistake again.
She stirred in the onions and said, “Robbie, is it?”
“Um,” Robbie said. “Yes?”
“Are you sure? You don’t sound sure.”
“Yes,” he said. “I’m sure.”
He still didn’t sound very sure.
“Robbie what?”
“Fontaine.”