Page 75 of The Design of Goodbye
“That’s really sweet, Liam,” I said, nervously ripping at my napkin, “but she obviously didn’t think I was all that amazing.” I sighed. “I still wonder why she left me. I must’ve donesomethingwrong. I should’ve encouraged her more and been a better daughter. Maybe she would’ve stayed.”
“Don’t do that to yourself,” he said firmly. “Dwelling on what could’ve been can break you. Trust me.”
I wanted to ask him if he was broken but now wasn’t the right time. “That sounds hard.”
“It is,” he said. “I can’t seem to take my own advice.”
“Why not?” His expression was one I never wanted to see again: agony, devastation, and longing all mixed into one. When he didn’t answer, I handed him our truth book. “You could write it down?”
“I appreciate you being so honest with me,” he said softly. Apologetic. “But I can’t write in the notebook. Not today.”
“That’s okay. You’ll have it for when you’re ready.”
“Thanks.” He zipped our truth book safely in his backpack. “Have you searched for your mom online? Maybe there’s an address or something.”
I shook my head. “I’m too scared. What if I find her and she’s moved on? I don’t think I can handle that. I’m not ready.”
“I get it,” he said. “Finding her might give you closure, though. If that’s what you want.”
I thought about the Harbor Fashion Show and my plan to get her back. I almost confessed my plan, but I held back because I was still terrified he’d think it was a bad idea. “Not right now. Maybe someday.”
“Maybe someday,” he agreed.
As he finished his breakfast, something occurred to me. “Can you promise me something?”
“Maybe.”
“If you ever get locked out again or need a place to stay, will you tell me? Or come here. I don’t care what time it is. I’ll let you in.”
“That’s not a good idea.”
I thought about last night. How cold, tired, and hungry he’d been. How often did that happen? I hated thinking of him wandering the streets alone at night.
“I’ll worry about you so much I’ll never sleep.”
He frowned. “I don’t want you to lose sleep over me.”
“Then, it’s settled,” I said. “Promise?”
Silence.
“Liam.”
“Okay, fine,” he agreed, wary. “I promise.”
I believed him.
What a strange thing honesty was.
* * *
That night, I woke up with an idea.
I barely slept the next four days.
chapter twenty-seven
Olive almost knocked me over when I walked into The Fresh Market the day after Thanksgiving.
