Page 59 of True Blue

Ellie’s room.

Quietly, I walk through the door, but freeze when I see that it’s already packed up.

Her floral bedding is gone, her antique lamp is gone, and her closet is empty. All of her framed pictures, her little knick-knacks, the treasures that used to crowd her dresser and vanity and side table—all gone.

My heart twists painfully in my chest as I search around the room for any evidence of Ellie.

I open drawers, I peek under the bed, getting my black dress all dusty, desperately hoping to find something.

Then I see it, tucked behind the side table near her bed, like it slipped and was forgotten. The blue wave cap she wore when she lost her hair from chemotherapy.

The one I gave to her.

With shaky hands, I grab it and immediately pull it to my nose and inhale deeply, searching for any trace of her scent—warm and sweet and so damn comforting.

I can't find it.

But still, I press it harder to my face and finally—finally—feel the tears sting. The numbness and shock finally break. And I feel all of it.

Grief, tearing my chest apart.

I’ve never lost someone like this before, always observing others, consulting them through death and grief, encouraging them to speak to someone. I don’t want to speak to anyone. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.

Somehow, I don’t feel like I have the right to feel this way. I was only Ellie’s doctor, but she made me feel like family. She and Teddy are the only family I’ve ever known.

And now she’s gone.

One by one, hot tears run down my cheeks, salt gathering on my lips, and I let out a whimpering sob, muffled by the fabric catching it.

My breath tears in and out of me. I rock back and forth, my muffled cries loud in the empty room. But I can still hear the laughter downstairs.

And that’s good.

It’s good to laugh through grief.

But for one awful moment, it feels like Ellie isn’t the only one who died in this room.

11

INDIE

JANUARY

Idon’t know how long I stay in Ellie’s room—her bedside clock is gone too—but by the time I finally lift my head, the winter sun has long since set.

And it still hurts, but finally breaking after holding it together for too long felt… well, not good, exactly, but necessary.

“Honey?” Teddy’s voice comes softly from the hallway.

“In here,” I call back, my voice rough and scraped raw from crying.

He appears in the doorway a second later, his black jacket discarded somewhere downstairs, his tie loosened, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. He squints into the dark until he finds me on the floor, and when he does, his whole face softens.

“Honey,” he murmurs, walking over and crouching in front of me. “I’ve been looking everywhere. What are you doing?”

“I just…” My voice catches, and I clear my throat. “I just needed air. I was getting a little overwhelmed.”

He nods like he understands exactly, and I glance around the room again, my throat tightening all over.