Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

“Why?” She set down Patches and took off her leash. “You’re not doing anything wrong, she is.”

“No-”

“It’s true, Dad.” She straightened. “You came here, you’ve done everything you needed to do, and all she’s done is shove you away at every turn and make you want to go-”

The studio door opened to a pale Rachel. She looked at Emily. “I’m guessing you have something to say to me.”

“Yeah.” A sullen expression replaced Emily’s earnest one. “Dad wants to go away and it’s all your fault. You make it obvious he doesn’t really live here, that he has to go the minute you’re better.”

“There are circumstances you don’t understand-”

“I understand! You’re selfish and mean and I hate you!”

Rachel drew back. “Well. That’s new.”

“I mean it!” But Emily’s eyes were wide and filled with tears. “I hate you.”

“Em-” Ben’s heart pinched at the look on Rachel’s face, but she held up a hand halting his words.

“Let her finish.”

“That’s all. That’s all I have to say.” Emily crossed her arms over her chest. She added a shaky little hitch of breath. Ben guessed she was one beat away from meltdown.

“Okay, one thing at a time.” Rachel drew a shaky breath. “You know your dad doesn’t live here, you also know he has to go back at some point. If he wants to go now, there’s nothing holding him here.”

“But there is,” Emily cried. “Me. I’m holding him here!”

Ben’s throat went tight. “You know I love you, Em, but it’s true. I don’t live here. I have to go.”

“But why? I’m here. What else could you want?”

Ben took her hand and tugged her closer, then cupped her soft, sweet, hurting face. “Yes, you’re here, which makes this house one of my very favorite places. But I’ll see you. I’ll call you.”

“That’s not how a real family works.”

“Not all families live together, you know that. And you’re old enough to understand why.”

“Because Mom doesn’t love you.”

Yeah. Rachel didn’t love him. Hadn’t that always been the problem? “As your mother said, there are circumstances you don’t understand, and no, we’re not going to explain them to you. But one thing I can and will tell you, Emily Anne, is that the way you talked to your mother just now is unacceptable-”

“Ben-”

Now he held up his hand to halt Rachel’s words. “It’s okay to be mad at someone you love,” he said quietly to a now sobbing Emily. “But it’s not okay to be cruel.”

Emily buried her chest in Ben’s chest and unable to do anything else, he wrapped his arms around her. Putting his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “I love you. Your mom loves you. You have it pretty good right there, Em, trust me. I’m sorry we can’t give you the rest.”

She squeezed him so hard she nearly stole the life right out of him, and he closed his eyes as he listened to her cry, his daughter, his blood, his only family, the best part of his heart.

Then she pulled back, sniffed, and shoved her hands into her pockets. Looking at her toes, she said to Rachel, “I’m sorry I said I hate you. I don’t, not really.” Then she took off running toward her bedroom.

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.

Patches whined.

Ben let out a shaky breath. “Whew. Twelve is fun, huh?”

Rachel stared down the hallway for a long moment. “If you’ve truly got one foot out the door already,” she said quietly. “Then get the rest of the way out.”

“Rachel-”

“No more buts, Ben, this is killing us. Killing all of us. I understand the possible threat of Asada-”

“He’s more than a possible threat.”

“We both know that threat lessens every day that passes. Yes, there’s Emily, and obviously she wants you to stay, but we both know that isn’t going to happen.”

“We’re…bonding,” he said, feeling oddly desperate.

“So finish bonding.”

“I don’t know how to tell her I’m going.” He felt bare, stripped down to the soul.

“She already knows.”

“She’s hurting.” I’m hurting. “She’s only twelve.”

“She more mature than you give her credit for. Tell her. Tell her soon.”

“Rach-”

“Dragging it out, Ben? How unlike you.”

Yeah. He probably deserved that. “I need a little more time.”

“Fine. A little more time. Take it. Then go, just go.” And with as much grace as ever, she walked away.

A headache started right between Ben’s eyes.

The puppy watched her go and let out a pathetic little whimper.

He scooped her up and got himself licked across the mouth for his effort.

Just go, Ben.

How many times had he heard that now? Damn it, he never stayed where he wasn’t wanted.

Never.

Patches whined again, more softly now. “Yeah,” he whispered, holding her close. “I know the feeling.”

ONE NIGHT shortly after Emily’s blowup they played Scrabble, just the three of them. Rachel sat on the couch in the living room, with Emily and Ben on the floor around the coffee table. Patches lay asleep on Ben’s feet.

Emily, tongue between her teeth, holding back a smile, carefully laid down the letters D-A-D, then beamed at Ben.

With a grin, he added the D-Y, making the word daddy.

Rachel looked down at her letters, the ones that seemed to dance around and mock her with their uselessness. “How come I always lose at this game?” she asked as she put E-S to Ben’s Y, making the word yes.. “Woo-hoo, look at me get the points.”

“It’s all in your attitude,” Ben said.

Emily nodded in agreement and used the S in yes to spell bestest.

“That’s not a word,” Rachel protested.

“See, negative attitude.” Emily tsked and added up her points.

Ben laughed. “Sweetness, are you cheating?”

“She always cheats.” Rachel glared at her daughter. “It’s why she always wins.”

“Fine.” Emily took away the E-S-T and left best. “Happy?”

“I will be if I win,” Rachel teased.

Ben sprawled on the floor and smiled up at her. Beside him, Emily was positively glowing, happier than Rachel had seen her in a while.

The moment was so good, so bittersweet, she wanted to freeze-frame it. A perfect snapshot in time, with everyone’s hearts light and happy.

Ben cocked his head, then sat up and put a hand on Rachel’s arm, looking into her eyes. “You okay?”

“I am,” she said, and it’d never been more true. “I really am.”

He smiled again, and went back to the game.

But left his hand on her arm.

AT THE END of the week, Ben was still there and Rachel didn’t know whether she was sorry or relieved. They’d had coffee together every morning. Lunch, too, at the house if she didn’t have a therapist or doctor appointment, or at a café if she did. They had dinner together as well, with Emily, the three of them somehow finding things to talk about.

Or argue about.

But things were never dull. She’d gotten rather used to his presence, shockingly enough, to listening to him talk, laugh, watching his tall, lean form play basketball as if he were sheer poetry in motion, hearing him mutter to himself in his darkroom, seeing him with Emily. Every part of having him live in the house was both a comfort and a nightmare.

When he left, her life would go back to “normal,” to what she’d built for herself and Emily, and it was a great life. She had her daughter, her house, her career…well, maybe not her career, but even so, she had no real regrets.

And yet, when it came to personal relationships…she’d be alone. She was alone now, no doubt. But with Ben’s presence she could almost imagine how it would be if he ever settled down and stayed in one place.

The weekend arrived, and per her usual Saturday morning routine, she sat in the kitchen with a cup of tea and the newspaper. Her leg ached today, so she had it elevated with cool packs. She sat there telling herself it was okay with her that Ben had managed to get her lazy daughter out of the house at dawn for a hike.

She told herself she enjoyed the peace and quiet of the empty house, but the truth was…she would have enjoyed the hike more.

Even if she didn’t have the strength for it.

But neither of them had asked. She held her cup of tea and looked around her, as always in quiet moments like this, experienced some lingering uneasiness about Asada. She hated that she still felt the urge to peek over her shoulder, and chastised herself for her paranoia.

The FBI had reassured them over and over that with every passing day their chances increased that Asada wasn’t ever going to make a move. Which meant Ben was in all likelihood free of any obligation.

A good thing, Rachel decided. A very good thing.

Suddenly the door opened and Melanie bounced into the kitchen with unaccustomed energy for a Saturday morning. Shocked, Rachel stared at her. “Hey.”

“Hey.” Mel tossed her keys on the table and plopped herself down. She was made up and dressed to kill with a leather skirt, halter top and do-me heels. “Thought I’d visit.”

Rachel eyed the difference between the two of them-she in her loose, gauzy, shapeless sundress, hair undoubtedly wild, feet bare, no makeup-and had to laugh at the two extremes. “Last I checked, it was a Saturday. A day you traditionally reserve for sleeping past noon, getting a manicure and catching a movie.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I’m all movied out.”

“Uh-huh.” Rachel narrowed her eyes. “What are you really up to, Mel?”

“Me?” Mel dumped three tablespoons of sugar into her tea, then after a moment’s hesitation, went back for a fourth. “Just wanted to see how you’re doing, that’s all.”

“You just saw me last weekend, plus you called three times this week.” Rachel cupped her fingers around her tea, still needing to be warm all the time in order not to stiffen up. Her life had forever changed, there was no doubt of that, but she refused to let others change their lives because of what had happened to her. Leaning in, she put a hand over her sister’s. “Mel, you don’t have to give up your life for this. For me. I’m doing fine.”