Page 4 of Back to Square One

Rowan turned to her left. “Holy crap, look at this kitchen.” It was huge. Gourmet. A white countertop marbled with gray, white cabinets, white subway tile backsplash.

“Oh, Justine will be in her glory here.” Justine was a chef, and even though she was always told her friends didn’t expect her to cook for them, more often than not, she insisted on cooking for them.

Rowan nodded, circling the island in the center of the room, the double sink crowned with a tall and gleaming faucet, the countertop pristine and shining.

“So, we thought we’d put you in one of the upstairs bedrooms,” Stevie said. “That way, if you needed some space and quiet, you wouldn’t have four other—likely intoxicated—people traipsing around making noise. The other room up there would be Claire’s, if she even comes.” She wiped a hand across the air between them. “But if you’d rather have a different room, that’s totally fine. We’re here first, so we get dibs.”

Rowan shook her head. “No, that sounds totally fine. I’m gonna go look.”

“Me, too,” Stevie said, looking for the door to the downstairs while Rowan found the steps.

The floor throughout the whole place was a weathered gray hardwood. Probably easier to clean when renters left than carpet would be, she thought as she climbed the stairs. At the top was an open space with a railing, one bedroom to the left and one to the right. She went right.

The room was huge. A queen-size bed took up one side, a large oak dresser across from it, chunky and solid. Like the family room, floor to ceiling windows took up an entire wall, the lake spread out in glorious sparkling blue before her, and the view nearly took her breath away. There was a third-story deck outside, and again, Rowan belatedly noticed that one of the windows was actually a French door. She pulled it open and stepped out onto the deck. Below her was the deck from the family room, and below that was a patio she assumed the lower bedrooms looked out over.

Once more, she inhaled deeply, taking in that fresh lake air, letting it fill her lungs to capacity. It was another thing she’d learned in all her physical therapy after the accident: how to simply stop and breathe. It still shocked her how quickly she could calm down, fight off stress, just by taking the time to fill her lungs, hold it, and let it out slowly.

Back inside, she peeked into a bathroom that could hold three of hers from her house, an enormous clawfoot tub the centerpiece. Baths were another way she’d found helped reduce her stress and ease her headaches, and she was already picturing herself soaking in this one.

“Wow,” came Stevie’s voice, and when Rowan exited the bathroom, Stevie was setting her suitcase down at the foot of the bed.

“Right?”

“I thought the bedrooms downstairs were classy, but this one takes the cake.”

Rowan frowned. “Should I let Becca have this one? She did all the work finding the place. She should have first pick.”

Stevie shook her head. “Nope. This one’s yours. Trust me, it’s not like the ones downstairs are subpar. This whole house is just…” More head shaking. “Crazy elegant. I can’t imagine how much it costs.”

“It’s beautiful. These views. God.”

“Think you can relax here?” Stevie asked with a grin.

“If I can’t, there’s something seriously wrong with me,” Rowan answered with a soft laugh.

“Hello!” came a voice from downstairs.

Stevie let out an adorable little gasp and her blue eyes went as wide as a child’s who was seeing the Christmas tree lit up for the first time. “They’re here!”

Rowan laughed as Stevie did a cute little hop, then sprinted out the door. She took one last look around the room that was going to be hers for the next week, then followed her out and down the stairs.

“Rowan! Oh my God, I’m so glad you’re here.” Before Rowan could say a thing, she found herself wrapped in Becca’s tight embrace. “Holy shit, it’s good to see you.” Becca gripped Rowan’s shoulders, holding her at arm’s length and squinting at her as if studying her. “You look great. Like, seriously great. How’s the melon?” Her fingers whisked across the side of Rowan’s head, barely touching it, as if Becca was afraid of hurting her.

Rowan’s body filled with warmth at the look of love and concern on her friend’s face. “It’s still attached, so that’s a plus.”

Becca threw her head back and laughed, a bit louder than necessary—and maybe a little forced—but Rowan didn’t take it personally. One thing she’d learned in the past month was that most people didn’t know exactly what to say or how to say it. They had questions they weren’t sure they should ask. They had observations they weren’t sure they should give voice to. Sometimes, they simply stood and looked at her until it became awkward. She’d learned not to take any of it personally.

Considering her memory of Becca was from a few years ago, she really hadn’t changed. The dark curls were a bit shorter than Rowan recalled, but they were the same deep, rich brown. Nobody messed with Becca. Tall and formidable, she was walking muscle, spending a lot of time in the gym in the free weight section. Rowan flashed back to Stevie saying Becca had settled down, and while it was something Rowan never expected to happen, there was something different in Becca’s face. Something softer. Kinder. And then the front door opened and a Black woman about the same height as Rowan came in. Her energy was so calming, Rowan could feel it the second the woman met her gaze.

“Babe, come here, I want you to meet somebody,” Becca said, gesturing to her. The woman set down the bags she was carrying and smiled widely. “Jasmine Tennyson, this is my very good friend, Rowan Thomas. Rowan, this is my Jazzy.”

Rowan held out her hand and shook Jazzy’s, and there was something about her that made Rowan feel instantly safe. It was something she was more in tune with since the accident: the energy of other people. She hadn’t quite figured out the hows or whys of it all, but it was a thing now.

“It’s so nice to meet you, Rowan,” Jazzy said, closing her other hand over their shaking ones. “Becca’s told me so much about you.”

“Well, even if she had told me about you, I wouldn’t remember, so…” She grinned at Becca.

“Wait.” Becca glanced at Stevie. “Amnesia jokes are okay? Nobody told me that.”