Page 44 of Now and Then

I know what she’s asking. How did I make it through all that pain?

“That’s not a question I can answer,” I admit. “The truth is, I’m not sure I ever really got through it. I merely got good at hiding it, burying it down as deep as I could get it until, after a while, it was only a memory.”

“Did you ever go to therapy?” Navy asks.

“No, and trust me,” I pull my blanket up under my chin, wishing I could disappear beneath it. “I know I should have. I was . . . I was just trying to survive. And after a while, it felt like it didn’t matter anymore.”

Greer humphs and draws my blanket away from my face. “It’s never too late, Sutton. We aren’t meant to process such deep pain alone.”

“I know,” I say, “but I had Hunter. That’s why I called him. Hunter has always been the one person I run to when everything falls apart. Without him, I don’t know how I could have survived that first year. He showed up when I couldn’t get out of bed, sat with me through appointments I didn’t want to go to. Made sure I was eating and sleeping most days.”

I pause, tracing the blanket’s pattern. “With Dad gone, the business gave me something to focus on, and Mom needed my help. I think on some level, she knew that my moving back in with her was just as much for me as it was for her.”

Navy tucks her feet under the couch cushion. “Your mom never sensed something more was going on with you?”

“I’m sure she did,” I say. “It’s not every day you find your daughter crying near the baby section at the store. But she never asked, and I never said anything. It’s hard to save anyone else when you’re drowning in a sea of your own pain.”

Duke, Greer’s dog, pushes under my legs and rests his head on my thigh. I smile and pet behind his ears. His deep, brown eyes meet mine.

“This explains why you always seem so closed off,” Navy says.

I nudge her with my thigh. “I try not to be, but I’ve never really had friends like you two. And it’s not like this is something to casually bring up over brunch.”

Navy shifts closer, taking my hands in hers. “Most things aren’t. You bring it up anyway. Okay?”

A tear slips down my cheek. “Okay.”

“Thank you for trusting us enough to let us all the way in,” Navy says. “I know it wasn’t easy.”

I sniffle. “It wasn’t.”

Navy reaches for my hand. “You don’t have to carry anything alone anymore.”

My throat tightens. “I’m starting to realize that.”

“We’re always here for you,” Greer says.

Emotion clogs my throat. The day the three of us met at Ground Up, there was an instant connection. For so long, I’ve kept my guard up, not wanting to be hurt again. But now? I’m so thankful to have them. Thankful I can share my pain with women who care about me.

“I know,” I say and pick up the TV remote. I’m done feeling sad and ready to just be with my girls. “Ready for another scary movie?”

Forty minutes later, we’re huddled together on the couch, hugging our knees with blankets pulled up to our chins and trying unsuccessfully to calm our pounding hearts.

“They better not go in that shed,” Navy says, jaw tense.

“Do you think the murderer is in there?” Greer’s eyes widen with fear.

Bang! A loud thump sounds at the door, and we all scream. We whip our heads around and stare at the front door as if someone will come bursting inside at any moment.

“Greer?” Navy crawls onto the couch and braces her hands along the back, poised to jump into action. “Are you expecting someone?”

“No,” Greer says. “Only you girls.”

We exchange fearful looks.

Greer stands, sets her blanket off to the side, and walks toward the door.

Navy reaches a hand forward to stop her. “What are you doing? You’re not going to open it, are you? Haven’t we learned our lesson from all the damn movies we’ve watched?”