Show Me the Way (Fight for Me 1)

For too long.

Fingers trembling, I managed to type the name into the search bar. A task I’d attempted at least twenty times before I’d set out on my journey back home. I had never found the courage to press enter.

Today, I did.

She was the third listing. A grainy picture. Almost indistinguishable. But I knew it was her.

Missouri.

She lived in Missouri.

I slammed the lid down.

That was all I needed to know.

As long as she wasn’t here? I could totally manage staying in this town.

“Tell me you’re miserable without me.”

Laughing quietly, I flitted around the kitchen on my bare feet. My cell was pressed between my ear and shoulder as I slowly unpacked the few things I’d brought. I hadn’t needed much since my grandmother had left everything she owned to me.

“Completely miserable,” I told Macy, letting the tease wind into my tone as I hiked onto my toes to set my favorite Christmas mug on a high cupboard shelf.

“Huh. That’s weird. I haven’t even noticed you’re gone,” she deadpanned.

“Says the girl who’s called me like ten times today,” I ribbed.

She giggled. “Okay, okay, I might have kind of noticed.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “It’s just that I think the apartment is haunted.”

“The apartment is haunted? And this happened sometime in the last three days?” Skepticism rolled from my tongue.

“You know how these things work. Ghost girl has been stalking me, and the second she felt your absence, she slid right in to take your place.”

“You know you’re absolutely ridiculous, right?”

“Which is precisely why you love me.”

Affection pulsed. How was I ever going to live without seeing her every day?

“Honestly, though, Ryn. How are you doing there by yourself? It must be weird to be alone in that old house. God knows it’s weird around here without you.”

I paused to look around at my dated surroundings—the floors linoleum, the cupboards hailing from the early eighties, the beige Formica countertops dingy and faded to a dreary yellow. The décor was mainly all the trinkets my grandmother had collected over the years, and the same two floral placemats I remembered from my childhood were still on the small round table.

It was as if she’d been waiting for me to return all this time. Next to nothing had changed since I left eleven years ago.

The house needed a full renovation. That was when, or if, I ever had the money to do it. Honestly, I still didn’t know how I was going to manage to hold on to all these frayed threads, if I could come back here and take over where my grandmother had left off. If I had what it would take to breathe life back into everything she had built.

But when I inhaled? I could almost smell the lingering memory of sugar browning in the oven. When I focused hard enough, I could almost taste the tart cherries and sweet crust melting on my tongue. When I listened intently enough, I could almost hear the steadfast belief in her voice echoing from the walls.

“Honestly?”

“Yeah,” she said.

An old warmth surrounded me, all mixed up with the reservations and fear that had kept me away for so many years. “It feels like home. Like I never left. Like I could walk through the door and my grandmother would be standing right in this kitchen, pulling a pot pie from the oven for dinner.” I swallowed over the lump that grew heavy at the base of my throat, the loss that echoed back her presence. “I just wish I would have come back earlier. Before it was too late.”

My heart clutched at the memory of the phone call I’d received two months before. A social worker had been on the other end of the line telling me my grandmother had suffered a massive heart attack while behind the wheel of her car, that though the responders had tried, there had been nothing they could do. She was pronounced dead upon arrival at the hospital.

Macy’s voice dipped in sincerity. “You can’t blame yourself, Ryn. Even if she didn’t know the reason you left, I think she at least understood why.”

“Then why does it feel like such a pathetic excuse now?”

“Maybe I was never lucky enough to meet your grandma in person, but in all the time we lived together, I don’t remember a day that passed without you talking to her. So maybe the circumstances sucked. But I promise you that she knew how much you loved her. And you want to know why it feels pathetic now? Because you’ve moved beyond it. Above it. You’re not even close to being that timid, insecure girl who answered my ad for a roommate eleven years ago. You’ve grown, changed. Your grandma got it. That was one smart woman.”

I exhaled slowly. “I know. I just . . . I wish I would have come back before it was too late.”