Page 32 of The Long Way Home
Chapter Eight
RHETT
Rachel follows behind me in her car. I check my mirrors more than I need to, in order to make sure she is still there. I am wholly convinced she is going to change her mind and decide this is a bad idea.
Because Rachel is a smart woman and this is a bad idea.
My house is a small, single-story tucked into a quiet neighborhood just outside the city. Nothing fancy, but it feels like mine. For the first time in years, it feels like I’m building something permanent.
I unlock the door and push it open, flipping the entry light on with a quick flick of my wrist. The bulb overhead casts a soft, yellow glow over the half-unpacked chaos.
“Home sweet half-unpacked home,” I say, holding the door open for her.
She steps inside, pausing in the entry. Her eyes sweep over the room, and I can’t tell what she’s thinking.
“Thanks,” she says finally. Then she toes off her shoes and adds, “It’s nice, Rhett. Smells like new paint and takeout in here.”
I smile, shutting the door behind her. “Seeing as takeout is basically my entire diet right now and I just finished painting the kitchen last night, that tracks. You’ve got a good nose.”
Boxes line the living room wall, stacked two or three high. She walks over and taps one with the side of her foot.
“Which ones are we tackling?”
I glance at the box she is eyeing and groan. “The ones labeled ‘miscellaneous,’ which probably means stuff I didn’t want to deal with when packing.”
She cracks a smile, already pulling at the tape. “You’re lucky I’m good at this.”
I try to hide the way that smile hits me. God, I missed seeing that look on her.
We spend the next hour sorting through a mess of random junk: extension cords, picture frames with no glass, mugs from places I don’t remember visiting. Rachel moves through my space as if it’s familiar to her. She hands me a tangle of cables, flips through a stack of old CDs. She makes fun of my hoarding tendencies in that dry, effortless way only she can. And for a while between us, it’s easy. It feels good.
It feels like it always has with her.
She moves toward a shelf and lifts one of the few framed photos I unpacked the first night I moved in. Her fingers hover over the glass before she picks it up.
“Is this at the lake house?”
“Yeah. Josh, Margo, you, and me. That summer before everything changed.” It’s hard to miss the sadness that creeps into my voice.
She stares at the photos, and I watch her thumb trace along the edge of the frame.
“I forgot how happy we were back then,” she says softly.
“Me too,” I admit. That photo has been with me through four apartments and two cities. I never leave it behind. “Feels like a different lifetime.”
She sighs, then finally looks up at me. “Do you ever think about that summer?”
“Every day.” And I do. The memory comes back sharp and vivid.
That summer was the last one untouched by tragedy. We were all together, steady in our own rhythm. Josh and Margo were still lost in their honeymoon glow, radiating the kind of love that made everything else feel easier. Rachel and I just followed that current. We spent our days on the dock and nights around bonfires. For me, it was the summer of clarity.
Rachel had changed that summer. She became lighter somehow. I’m not even sure how that was possible, but she did. She was more certain of herself out on that lake. I was mesmerized by everything she did.
She would steal sips from my drink when everyone else had gone to bed. Her feet ended up in my lap during movies. We laughed over stupid things, like the time we fought for the last popsicle, and she nearly fell off the deck into the water. Every moment with her from that summer is stuck in my head. Well, I guess every moment with her is stuck in my head.
I have always felt the pull towards Rachel, even from the beginning. Looking back now, I know the group dynamic was a factor in my decision not to pursue her since the day I met her. I wasn’t willing to risk the balance we had. I didn’t want to be the one to break it. I was a coward.
And Josh was my brother in all the ways that counted. I never had siblings growing up, and my dynamic with my parents is complicated. So Josh was the only family I had. The idea ofmessing that up by crossing some invisible line with his sister didn’t feel like something I could do.
