She fits. It’s surreal and, to be honest, a little overwhelming. We just finished eating dinner, but we’re all still sitting at the table. Diem is curled up in my lap, and I’m sitting next to Kenna.
She seemed nervous when we first sat down to dinner, but she’s eased up a lot. Especially after Patrick started telling stories, giving Kenna a highlight reel of Diem’s life. He’s telling her the story of when Diem broke her arm six months ago.
“She spent the first two weeks thinking she had to wear the cast forever. None of us thought to tell her that breaks heal, and Diem assumed when a person broke a bone, it stayed broken for good.”
“Oh, no,” Kenna says, laughing. She looks down at Diem and runs a soothing hand over her head. “You poor thing.”
Diem reaches a hand toward Kenna, and she accepts it. Diem effortlessly slips off my lap and onto Kenna’s. It happens so fast and quietly. Diem tucks herself into Kenna, and Kenna wraps her arms around Diem like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
We’re all staring at them, but Kenna doesn’t notice because her cheek is pressed against the top of Diem’s head. I swear I’m about to lose it right here at the table. I clear my throat and push my chair back.
I don’t even excuse myself because I feel like my voice will crack if I try to speak, so I silently leave the table and walk out back.
I want to give the four of them privacy. I’ve been somewhat of a buffer for all of them today, but I want them to interact without me there. I want Kenna to feel comfortable with them and not have to lean on me for that comfort, because it’s important she has a relationship with them outside of me.
I could tell Patrick and Grace were pleasantly surprised at how different she is from what we all expected her to be.
It proves that time, distance, and devastation allow people enough opportunity to craft villains out of people they don’t even know. But Kenna was never a villain. She was a victim. We all were.
The sun hasn’t set yet, but it’s getting close to eight, and that’s Diem’s bedtime. I’m sure Kenna is nowhere near ready to leave, but I’m looking forward to the aftermath of today. I want to get her alone and be near her while she processes what I’m sure has been the best day of her life.
The back door opens, and Patrick walks onto the porch. He doesn’t sit down in a chair. He leans against one of the pillars and stares out over the backyard.
When I left him and Grace alone with the letter last night, I was expecting some sort of immediate reaction. I wasn’t sure what it would be, but I thought I’d get something. A text, a phone call, a knock at my front door.
I got nothing.
Two hours after I left them, I finally worked up the courage to look out my window at their house, and all their lights were out.
I’ve never felt as hopeless as I felt in that moment. I thought my efforts had failed, but this morning, after an entire night of insomnia, I heard a knock at my door.
When I opened it, Grace was standing there without Diem or Patrick. Her eyes were puffy like she’d been crying. “I want to meet Kenna.” That’s all she said.
We got in my truck, and I took her to Kenna’s apartment not knowing what to expect, or if she was going to accept Kenna or reject Kenna. When we arrived at Kenna’s place, Grace turned to me before exiting my truck, and she said, “Are you in love with her?”
There was absolutely no hesitation when I nodded.
“Why?”
There was no hesitation after that question either. “You’ll see. She makes it a hell of a lot easier to love her than hate her.”
Grace sat in silence for a moment before finally getting out of my truck. She seemed almost as nervous as I was. We walked upstairs together, and she told me she wanted some time alone with Kenna. As hard as it was not knowing what was being said between them inside that apartment, it isn’t nearly as hard as not knowing what Patrick thinks about all this.
We haven’t had a chance to talk about it at all. I’m guessing that’s why he’s out here.
My hope is that he and Grace are on the same page, but they might not be. He might only be accepting Kenna because Grace needs him to.
“What are you thinking?” I ask him.
Patrick scratches his jaw, mulling over my question. He answers without looking directly at me. “If you would have asked me that question when you and Kenna arrived a few hours ago, I would have told you I’m still pissed at you. And that I’m not sorry for hitting you.” He pauses and sits down on the top porch step. He clasps his hands together between his knees and looks over at me. “But that changed when I saw you with her. When I saw the way you looked at her. The way your eyes teared up when Diem crawled onto her lap at the dinner table.” Patrick shakes his head. “I’ve known you since you were Diem’s age, Ledger. Not one time in all the years I’ve known you have you ever given me a single reason to doubt you. If you’re telling me Kenna is worthy of Diem, then I believe you. The least I can do is believe you.”
Fuck.
I look away from him and wipe at my eyes. I still don’t know what to do with all these fucking feelings. There have been so many since Kenna returned.
I lean back in my chair without a clue how to respond to him. Maybe I don’t. Maybe his words are enough for this conversation.
We sit in silence for a minute or two. It feels different from the bouts of silence I’ve sat through with him before. This time, the quiet is comfortable and peaceful and not at all sad.
“Holy shit,” Patrick says.
I look over at him, but his focus is on something in the backyard. I follow his line of sight until . . . no. No way.
“I’ll be damned,” I say quietly. “Is that . . . is that a fucking pigeon?”
It is. It’s an actual pigeon. A real live white-and-gray pigeon just walking around in the backyard like this isn’t the most miraculous timing a bird has ever had in the history of birds.
Patrick laughs. It’s a laugh full of bewilderment.
He laughs so much it makes me laugh.
But he doesn’t cry. It’s the first time a reminder of Scotty doesn’t make him cry, and I feel like this is huge. Not only because the chances of this random pigeon landing in this backyard at this very moment are probably one in a billion, but because Patrick and I have never had a serious conversation related to Scotty that didn’t end in me sneaking away so he could cry alone.
But he laughs, and that’s all he does, and for the first time since Scotty died I feel a sense of hope for him. For all of us.
The only other time Kenna has been inside my house was right after she showed up on this street unannounced. That wasn’t a good experience for either of us, so when I open my front door and guide her inside, I want her to feel welcome.
I’m looking forward to getting Kenna all to myself tonight, in an actual bed. The few times we’ve been together have been damn near perfect, but I’ve always felt she deserved better than an inflatable mattress, or my truck, or a hardwood floor.
I want to show her around, but my need to kiss her is stronger. As soon as I close the front door, I pull her to me. I kiss her the way I’ve been wanting to kiss her all night. It’s the first kiss without a little sadness or fear in it.
This is my favorite kiss so far. It goes on for so long I forget about showing her around the house, and I pick her up and take her straight to my bed. When I lower her to the mattress, she sprawls out and sighs.
“Oh, my God, Ledger. It’s so soft.”
I reach to the remote next to my bed and turn the massage mode on so the bed vibrates. It makes her groan, but when I try to lower myself on top of her, she kicks me to the side. “I need a minute to fully appreciate your bed,” she says, closing her eyes.
I sidle up next to her and stare at the smile on her face. I lift a hand and gently outline her lips, barely touching them. Then I trace my fingertips across her jaw and down her neck.
“I want to tell you something,” I say quietly.
She opens her eyes and smiles gently, waiting for me to speak.
I bring my hand back up to her face and touch her impeccable mouth again. “I’ve spent the last couple of years trying to be a good role model for Diem, so I’ve read a few books on feminism. I learned that putting too much focus on a girl’s looks can be damaging, so instead of telling Diem how pretty I think she is, I put the focus on all the things that matter, like how smart she is and how strong she is. I’ve tried treating you the same way. It’s why I’ve never complimented your looks before, or told you how fucking beautiful I think you are, but I’m glad I’ve never told you before this moment, because you’ve never been more beautiful than you are right now.” I kiss the tip of her nose. “Happiness looks good on you, Kenna.”
She touches my cheek and smiles up at me. “Thanks to you.”
I shake my head. “I’m not responsible for tonight. I’m not the one who saved up every penny and moved to this town and walked to work every day to try and—”
“I love you, Ledger.” She says it so effortlessly, like it’s the easiest thing she’s ever said. “You don’t have to say it back. I just want you to know how much you—”
“I love you too.”
She grins and then presses her lips firmly to mine. I try to kiss her back, but she’s still smiling against my mouth. As much as I want to take off her clothes and whisper I love you repeatedly against her skin, I’d much rather just hold her for a while and give us both time to process everything that happened today.
So much happened today. And there’s still so much left. “I’m not moving,” I say.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not selling this house. I’m going to sell the new one. I want to stay here.”
“When did you decide that?”
“Just now. My people are here. This is my home.”
Maybe I’m crazy, considering how many hours I’ve put into building that house, but Roman put those hours in too. Maybe I’ll sell it to Roman for the cost of materials. It’s the least I can do. After all, Roman might have been the catalyst for how today turned out. Had he not forced me to go back and check on Kenna that night, I’m not sure any of us could have gotten to this point.
Kenna is done talking, apparently. She kisses me, and she doesn’t stop until an hour later when we’re exhausted and sweaty and satiated and wrapped in each other’s arms. I stare at her until she falls asleep, and then I stare up at the ceiling because I can’t fall asleep.
I can’t stop thinking about that fucking pigeon.
What are the chances Scotty had no connection to that? What are the chances he did?
It could have just been a coincidence, but it also could have been a sign. A message from wherever he is.
Maybe it doesn’t matter whether something is a coincidence or a sign. Maybe the best way to cope with the loss of the people we love is to find them in as many places and things as we possibly can. And in the off chance that the people we lose are still somehow able to hear us, maybe we should never stop talking to them.
“I’m going to be so good to your girls, Scotty. I promise.”
