A Love So Bright (Insomniac Duet 2)

“I love it, though.” Busy doesn’t cover it, but I love seeing people who make me happy. Hopefully, I will add Micah’s family to the list when we have dinner with them tonight.

When I clear my plate, Micah takes both ours to the sink, rinses them off, and places them in the dishwasher.

“He’s domesticated,” Reese announces with a shit-eating grin. “Does he have a clone?”

I chuckle and scoot off my stool. “Just a sister. But I don’t think she’s looking for love.”

“Boo. Well, let me know if you find his doppelgänger in the world.”

“What happened to Trent?” Last I knew, he and his beau were still together. Which is a record for Reese. Long-term relationships aren’t high priority for him—not that I judge how he lives his life.

Reese drops his head between his shoulders. “He wanted to take a break while on his work trip. Said he didn’t want me to feel tied down.” Reese lifts his head and meets my gaze. “But I like it when he ties me down.”

“I almost felt bad for you,” I say as I slap his arm. “Ass.”

“No, seriously. I like him. Enough to make roots. But that’s a story for another day and when he returns.” Reese slaps my ass. “Now, go get ready for Ms. J. I want my crochet beanie before winter.”

In the bathroom, I crank the shower and strip out of my clothes. As the sweats slide down my thighs, Micah steps up behind me, grabs my hips, and peppers kisses along my shoulder.

“Don’t have much time,” I moan out as he nips the skin below my ear.

“A quickie.” Kiss. Lick. Suck. “Then I’ll wash you.”

Will I learn how to say no to this man again? Don’t see it happening. And the notion doesn’t bother me one bit.

* * *

Ms. Jenkins has lost weight. A lot of weight. And her skin doesn’t seem to bolster the same radiance I usually see. It appears more translucent and wilted. Will she crumble if I touch her?

Seeing her like this—slowly fading—stirs up unpleasant memories. Memories that brought me to work at Gulfside in the first place.

Naturally, death is a part of life. Is unavoidable and happens to every species. Doesn’t mean I have to like it. Doesn’t mean I need to be okay accepting it.

“How’ve you been? Feel like I never see you anymore.”

Ms. Jenkins stares at the crochet hook and yarn in my hands. “Your cap looks great. Who’s the lucky recipient?”

Why didn’t she answer my question? She never avoids answers. In fact, she usually tells me what is on her mind without hesitation. Gives me her two cents and a few quarters to boot.

So, why the evasion now?

I set down the beanie project in my lap and lay a hand on hers. Her hand is so cold. Too cold. And her skin feels as if it could peel away any minute. The need to wrap her in a thick blanket and hug her close overwhelms me immediately. Something about this entire situation is off and I don’t like her obvious avoidance.

“Tell me what’s wrong. Please,” I say an octave above a whisper.

Ms. Jenkins sets down her own project—a baby blanket—and faces me as best she can. “You’re such a sweet girl, Peyton.” A cool hand cups my cheek as she gives me a soft smile. “I’m just an old lady. And my time is almost up. That’s how life works.”

For a minute, I stare into her warm brown eyes and digest what she said. Yes, eighty-seven is old. But I have known several people to live well into their nineties. Does she think she won’t? Why would she think that?

“Last I saw you, everything seemed good. What’s changed?”

Her thumb brushes slowly over my cheekbone. “Not sure. I just feel a change inside me. It isn’t painful. More like my body is preparing for the inevitable.”

A tear rolls down my cheek. “I don’t want you to go.”

The corner of her mouth lifts as she wipes away the tear. “I know. But when it’s time, it’s time. We can’t fight what is meant to be. But we can use what time we have left wisely. Pass on pieces of ourselves so we live on in others.” She looks down at the crocheted beanie in my lap. “Life has more meaning when we share and enjoy it with someone. That is my wish for you.”

“Your wish?”

“Yes, sweet Peyton. Live your life. Seek adventure. Learn new things. Don’t live your life in fear. Share yourself with others, so you too can live on through them when your time comes.”

I don’t want to leave here today. Ms. Jenkins says to live without fear. But how can I do that when I fear what will happen when I walk out the front door today? Why does today feel like goodbye and not see you next time?

“Why are you saying all this?” I ask through fresh tears.

She lifts her other hand to frame my face. “You know why.”

“What if I want to be selfish and keep you?”

Her thumbs wipe at my tears. “As much as you want to, you won’t be. It’s my time. And Stephen is waiting for me. I won’t be alone.”

Oh god. Right here, in the middle of the community room at Gulfside, I am about to lose my shit. Weep and wail like a child. Throw a fit because this isn’t fair. Life isn’t fair.

And yes, it is petty of me to want her to stay when she seems ready to go. But I am so tired of loss. Downright exhausted at feeling it time and time again. Ms. Jenkins may not be my family by blood, but she is my family nonetheless. Not seeing and hugging and chatting with her will rip me apart. Not hearing her stories or crocheting beanies or sitting in the sun with her will gut me.

She drops her hands from my cheeks after one last swipe at my tears. “I have lived a long, happy, and fulfilling life, Peyton. Today will be the last day you cry about me. Understood?”

“How can you ask that of me?”

“How can I not?” She tucks loose strands behind my ear. “Last thing I want is people mopey. Remember all the wonderful moments. The ones that make you smile and laugh. Those are the ones that matter most. Not some morbid ritual where people think only of loss and not all the joy that person brought to others. Remember the joy, Peyton. Then go out and live your life. Experience love and the world. Hopefully, both at the same time. And when you remember me, I want you to think about our talks and crocheting and strolls outside. You hear me?”

I nod and wipe under each eye. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Now, let’s finish this cap and blanket.”

The rest of my time at Gulfside is spent learning all the final touches on my project as well as hers. And when I walk out the front door, I do so with a heavy, full heart. I pray today isn’t the last time I see Ms. Jenkins, but know the possibility is there. Not that I will ever be okay with losing someone I care about, but at least we had today. At least, I got to say goodbye.

* * *