Page 75 of Never Forget
"You're not calling him," I said.
"I know." She picked up the bouquet and looked at it for a long moment. "Do you have a favorite elderly neighbor?"
I almost smiled. "Mrs. Thompson. 4B. She waters her plants every morning."
"Perfect." Jamie set the flowers on the counter.
Then she picked up the gift bag and pulled out the stuffed animal. It was a generic brown bear with a pink ribbon around its neck. She turned it over in her hands. Squeezed it. Hard. Like she was trying to strangle it.
"You don't have to take it out on the stuffed animal," I said.
"I just want to make sure that creep didn't put a camera in this."
She wasn't joking. Or maybe she was. With Jamie, it was hard to tell.
She squeezed it again, checking the seams, the eyes, the ribbon. Finally satisfied, she set it on the table. Rosie would probably love it. That was the worst part.
The card—a small white rectangle that had been tucked into the bouquet—went straight in the trash.
CHAPTER 19
Jamie
Rosie was standing by the couch in her pajamas, watching Sam sleep.
I found her there in the gray light of early morning, bare feet on the carpet, her expression serious in the way it got when she was trying to figure something out. She didn't move when I approached. She just stood there, studying him.
Sam was too big for the couch. His feet hung off the end, one arm dangled toward the floor, and his neck was bent at an angle that made my own spine ache just looking at it. Even in sleep, he looked uncomfortable. His brow was furrowed, his jaw tight, his body arranged in a way that couldn't possibly be restful.
He'd been sleeping like this for weeks. For us.
"He's like Goldilocks," Rosie whispered. "But the couch is too small."
Something cracked open in my chest.
I'd known, of course. I'd seen him stretching in the mornings, rolling his shoulders, rubbing the back of his neck. But I hadn't let myself look at it directly. I hadn't let myself feel the weight of what he was giving up every single night so that Rosie and I could have his bed.
Sam stirred. His eyes opened slowly, blinking against the light, and then he saw us. Both of us, standing there watching him like he was an exhibit.
He smiled. That easy, warm smile that made my stomach flip in ways I was trying very hard not to think about.
"Something wrong?" His voice was rough with sleep.
Rosie pointed at his feet. "You're too big for the couch."
Sam laughed and pushed himself upright, wincing slightly as his back protested. "I'm fine, Rosie. The couch and I are old friends."
Rosie shook her head, unconvinced. "Goldilocks found a bed that was juuuust right. You should find one too."
He laughed again, but I saw the way he rubbed his shoulder when he thought we weren't looking. I saw the stiffness in his movements as he stood.
I didn't believe him. And from the way Rosie was still frowning at the couch, neither did she.
After we dropped Rosie at school, I found myself noticing Sam's apartment in a way I hadn't before.
When we first arrived, I'd been in survival mode. Getting through each day. Getting Rosie fed and bathed and to school on time. I hadn't stopped to look at where we were actually living.
Now I did.
