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The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door
Have been silenced forevermore
And the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row
It seems farther than ever before (oh no)
I need you so much closer
—“Trasatlanticism” by Death Cab for Cutie
Lucy leaned back in her chair and tilted her face up towards the fading sun. The heat wave they’d been having had softened a bit the closer they got to evening; the warmth was almost pleasant instead of unbearable.
“Anybody want more?” George said, pushing his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
Kipps stretched across the table. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’ll take more of Holly’s salad,” he said as he grabbed the serving bowl.
Holly beamed. “I thought it would be a nice addition,” she said. “We should have dinners in the garden more often on nice nights like this.”
“We only have the night off because our client rescheduled,” Lucy said. “And thank god, it’s far too hot to do anything.”
“Hopefully this damn heatwave ends soon,” George said, pulling on the collar of his loudly patterned Hawaiian shirt. “I’ll be happy when I can stop wearing my holiday clothes.”
Kipps snickered. “I don’t know, Karim, fuchsia’s your color,” he said.
George shot him a dirty look. “I’ll have you know this wasn’t my idea, my mum bought this for our last family vacation.”
“So it’s better to admit your mum buys your clothes?”
“She bought these for all of us! She likes it when we match!”
Lucy laughed as they bickered. None of them except Holly had any clothes suitable for how hot it was; George had gone home to collect the clothes he wore for his family’s annual summer holiday trips, and Kipps was in basketball shorts and an old tee shirt with the sleeves and part of the sides cut off. Holly had been delighted to take Lucy shopping- anything she could have worn during the summer was at her mother’s house up north, if she hadn’t thrown all of her things away- and now she’d spent the past few weeks in sundresses.
“Lockwood, do you mind passing me the lemonade?” Holly asked. Lucy watched him out of the corner of her eye as he picked up the pitcher and handed it to her with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“Tony, you’ve got to be sweating to death,” Kipps said. He waved his fork around with reckless abandon. “We’re not working, you can relax like the rest of us.”
“I am relaxed, I took my tie off,” Lockwood quipped. That much was true, but he was still wearing his usual button down shirt and dark trousers. He had taken the tie off and he’d rolled his sleeves to his elbows, but he looked distinctly uncomfortable. On their last case he had even insisted on wearing his coat, saying it made him look more professional. Lucy privately thought the sweat undid any favorable impression the coat offered.
“I’m sure you’ve got summer clothes around here somewhere. Or you could borrow some of Karim’s, I’d kill to see you dressed like a middle aged American tourist,” Kipps said. George shot him a withering look.
“It’s no use, Kipps, he’s too stubborn about it,” Lucy said. She stood up. “I’m going to get ice cream, anyone else want some?”
Lockwood jumped up. “I’ll go with you,” he said.
“It’s fine, I can handle it myself.”
“No, I…I’ll help you,” he said.
She started to protest, but there was an odd look in his dark eyes, something akin to panic. She wasn’t sure why. “Oh, all right, come along,” she said instead.
He followed her inside. The house wasn’t that much cooler; Portland Row had been built before central air conditioning and they’d been making do with electric fans and a clunky mini AC unit that George had borrowed from his parents. “You get the ice cream, I’ll get the bowls,” Lucy said.
Lockwood opened the freezer. “Which flavor?” he asked.
“Mm, I don’t know,” she said absently, raising up on her tiptoes to reach the cabinet. “Little of everything, I guess.”
“We’ve been living off ice cream and popsicles this week,” he said. He opened a container and dug around in the drawer for the scoop. “Any luck?”
“I can only find four ice cream bowls,” she said.
“Oh, there’s only four in the set,” Lockwood said. He grinned. “Kipps can have his in a mug, I suppose.”
Lucy laughed and pulled one down. “That’ll work,” she said.
Lockwood adjusted his sleeves. “Hand them to me, then,” he said. He scooped a spoonful of mint chip into the first bowl she slid towards him. “I remember my mum buying these.”
Lucy nodded, holding her breath. He so rarely spoke about his family and she didn’t want to do anything to spoil the mood. “It was a bad heatwave, like this, and we were all in horrible moods,” he said. She slid the second bowl towards him. “We were doing the grocery shop when I had a major meltdown. Just couldn’t stop crying.” He looked at her and grinned. “For context, though, I was four.”
“Oh, yes, of course you were,” she teased.
“Mum was at her wit’s end, she and Jess couldn’t get me to calm down, so she decided to throw in the towel on grocery shopping and just get things for ice cream sundaes,” he said. “All our favorite flavors, a bunch of toppings, special bowls. It got me off the floor and not crying, at least. Dad was a bit surprised when we got home and Mum said we were having ice cream for dinner, but he wasn’t mad. And we got a lot of use out of these.”
Lucy smiled. “That’s sweet,” she said. “My mum never did anything like that when I was little. I don’t ever remember even having ice cream in the house.”
Lockwood smiled back at her. “Well, we’ll always have it here,” he said. He dumped a glob of chocolate ice cream in a mug. “That’ll do for Kipps.” He slid a bowl of mint chip across the counter and then leaned towards her, close and conspiratorial. “And that’s for you. But just watch, George will complain it tastes like toothpaste with chocolate in it.”
“Yes, well, George has no taste,” Lucy said, tilting her head up towards him as she picked up her bowl. Lockwood grinned at her, his face so close to hers their noses nearly brushed.
“Are you lot ever coming back?” Kipps hollered from the backyard. “You get lost?”
Lockwood straightened up. “Have a little patience, will you?” he called back.
They walked back out to the garden, Lockwood close at her heels. It was odd now that she thought about it, he had been staying awfully close to her lately, as if he couldn’t bear to have her out of his sight. But then again he’d been doing the same to George too.
“Ugh, Luce, how do you like that stuff?” George said, pulling a face. “It’s like toothpaste with chocolate chunks.”
Lockwood caught her eye and grinned. “Told you,” he mouthed.
Holly took a dainty bite of her ice cream. “We really should spend more time out here,” she mused. “Maybe fix it up a little, it’s a tad overgrown.”
Lucy saw Lockwood’s expression change, the tenuous grip on his good mood slipping. “No, no, I like it the way it is,” he said.
If Holly caught the note of panic in his voice, she didn’t let on. “I was just thinking of cleaning up the lavender a bit, we could plant some other flowers,” she said. “And maybe prune the apple tree a bit.”
The panic suddenly made more sense. Her thoughts flashed immediately to the closed off room upstairs, the brittle dried lavender that got replaced regularly with fresh blossoms. “I like it a little wild out here,” Lucy shrugged. “Besides, that’s so much effort, especially when it’s this hot out.”
From under the table she felt Lockwood grab for her hand and squeeze gratefully. His fingers flexed a little, as if he’d moved so impulsively that he didn’t know how he got there, but before he could pull away Lucy laced her fingers through his and squeezed back. His hand relaxed in her gentle hold.
Kipps tipped his mug back, trying to scrape every last bit of ice cream out of it. “So did the clients reschedule tonight’s case?” he asked.
“They did, for a week from now,” Holly said. “Unfortunately I had them blocked out for tomorrow night as well, so we don’t have anything planned. We could always see if there’s a last minute Type 1 situation.”
“Or we could just have another night off,” George said. “We don’t get these much.”
Lucy fidgeted absently with Lockwood’s silver ring. They still held hands under the table; he was running his thumb along the back of her hand. “Just keep me updated,” Kipps said. “Tony, are you just going to let your ice cream melt?”
Lockwood pushed his bowl of rocky road towards him. “You could have just used your grownup words and asked, Kipps,” he said.
Lucy frowned. He had only taken a few bites, and now that she thought about it he’d only picked at his dinner. She couldn’t remember if he’d eaten much at lunch or breakfast that day either. “You want to try mine?” she asked.
“Oh, that’s okay, we get the mint chip for you, Luce,” Lockwood said.
“I’ll try it,” Kipps said.
She shot him a look. “I think you’ve had enough sugar, Kipps,” she said. She dipped her spoon in her ice cream and held it out. “Here, try it. George might complain about the mint, but he shouldn’t talk, he likes chocolate with wood chips in it.”
“They’re almonds,” George protested.
Lockwood laughed, and he leaned closer so she could feed him the ice cream off her spoon. “Oh, I don’t know, George, she may have a point,” he said. “Hers is better.”
George rolled his eyes. “I can’t believe this,” he said.
Lucy laughed and took another bite. “Ha, Lockwood’s on my side,” she said.
It suddenly dawned on her that not only had she just stuck the spoon in her mouth after him, but they were still holding hands under the table. The back of her neck heated up. Those were things that friends did, right? Very close friends?
Yeah, it is, she told herself. I’d do the same with George or Holly and not care. And Kipps…well, maybe not Kipps.
She caught Holly’s eye across the table. To her surprise Holly was smirking. Oh god, she noticed , Lucy thought. The older girl’s eyes flicked down and then back up. Lucy felt an embarrassed flush rise on her cheeks. Holly could tell they were holding hands. She wanted to let go, but Lockwood’s thumb was still tracing along her knuckles, whisper light but steady. Lucy looked away quickly.
“Well, if we don’t have anything planned tomorrow, I might go on a date,” Kipps said as he polished off Lockwood’s ice cream.
George snorted. “Who’s the poor girl?” he said.
“She works at Satchells, and for your information she asked me out,” Kipps said.
“Pity about her glasses,” Lucy said.
Kipps frowned. “How did you know she wears glasses?”
“Her vision must be awful if she’d ask you out,” Lucy said, deadpan, and George and Holly burst out laughing. Lockwood grinned.
Kipps turned red. “All right, all right, that was a good one,” he said. “But it’s not like you have any place to talk. Karim hasn’t so much as held a girl’s hand, Holly doesn’t have a boyfriend, and I’ll be puttering around a retirement home before Tony and Lu-“
“Of course I don’t have a boyfriend, I think Julie would have a few questions,” Holly said.
“Who’s Julie?”
“My girlfriend,” Holly said. Kipps coughed, spluttering on his ice cream. “Speaking of Julie, I should probably start heading home, she’ll worry.”
Kipps cleared his throat. “A girlfriend, Jesus Christ, that makes a hell of a lot more sense,” he mumbled.
George checked his watch. “Yeah, it’s getting pretty late,” he said. “Sun will be going down soon.”
Lucy felt Lockwood’s hand twitch in hers. “You could always stay the night here if you wanted to,” he said. “It would be fine. Plus then tomorrow we could probably get some work done. Maybe some training.”
If the others picked up on the note of desperation in his voice, they didn’t let on. “Thanks, Lockwood, that’s so kind, but Julie really will worry,” Holly said. “I already told her the case got canceled and she’ll be concerned if I don’t make it home before curfew.”
“I might as well head out too,” Kipps said. “Thanks for dinner, though. Keep me updated if I’m needed tomorrow.”
“Well, just…call when you get home, yeah?” Lockwood said. He shifted his weight. “Just…just so we know you made it back. Things have been pretty rough lately from what I’ve heard.”
George gave him a funny look. “I’m sure they’ll be fine,” he said.
Lockwood let go of Lucy’s hand, his fingertips sliding against her palm, and stood up. “Oh, well, yes,” he said. “And we’ll see you tomorrow, I suppose?”
“Of course, bright and early,” Holly said.
They dispersed quietly after that. Lockwood’s odd mood put a strange damper on everything. Lucy couldn’t pinpoint what exactly was so odd. It was like he was clingy, almost. Like he didn’t want any of them out of his sight.
She started helping George clear the table. The garden was a bit overgrown, the grass long and the flowers rambling, and it was hard to see where the path ought to be. The toe of her trainer caught on a cobblestone and she caught herself against the trunk of a broad apple tree.
She heard a window open above her head.
Lucy looked up in confusion, her fingers still pressed to the bark of the tree. The window above her was still closed, but she could have sworn she heard it, the click of the latch and heavy scrape of the wood as the shutter raised.
“Anthony, come here!” a voice called. A girl’s voice, a teenager, sweet but a little husky. A shiver ran down her spine. It wasn’t happening now. She was Listening. Lucy pressed her hand against the trunk of the apple tree.
“Why?” a voice called back. A child’s petulant voice, a little boy.
“This would be so much easier if I wasn’t doing it by myself. Come help me!”
“But I’m busy, Jess, it took me ages to climb up here.”
“Come help me for just a bit, and then we can do whatever you’d like. We can have dinner in the garden and I’ll take you for ice cream.”
“I’ll help in a minute!”
Lucy squeezed her eyes shut tighter, listening to the echo of the conversation. She knew what would happen next and she was dreading it.
A crash. A startled scream.
“Jessica?” the boy’s voice said. “If this your idea of a joke it’s not a very good one.
She heard the rustle of branches and the scrape of his trainers against the tree. “All right, fine, Jessie, I’m coming,” he said, and his footsteps died away.
“Lucy?”
She took a step back, shaking her head. “What?” she said, her voice thick.
“You all right?” George asked from the back door.
“I’m…I’m fine, I just tripped,” she said. “I’ll be there in a second.”
She looked back up at the window overlooking the back garden. It was still closed, it was still blocked off with iron bars. If she squinted she could make out the outline of lavender bouquets on the sill.
George had filled up the sink with hot soapy water and was pulling on his rubber gloves. “If we don’t have a case to work tomorrow, I might make a trip out to the archives,” he said. “Want to come with me?”
“Maybe,” Lucy said. Her thoughts felt thick and hazy, like she’d had a fever that had broken. She took the plate he’d just washed and started drying it. “George?”
“Hm?”
“When did Jessica die?”
George’s hands stilled, submerged under the water. “Seven years ago,” he said, resuming his scrubbing. “Maybe closer to eight now. Why? That’s a strange thing to ask.”
“No, I mean like…when,” Lucy said. “What month?”
“I’m not sure,” George said. “Summertime, I think.”
Lucy’s stomach dropped. Everything was starting to click and she didn’t know how to explain it to George. But he looked at her over the sink, his eyes wide behind his glasses.
“Oh, fuck,” he breathed. “No wonder he’s been in such a state all week. It’s the anniversary of her death,”
It made sense now. The clinging, the moodiness, his inability to eat. Everything hinged on the anniversary of his sister’s death, looming over him as bright as her deathglow that still haunted their house.
Their silence was interrupted by Lockwood walking in. Lucy started guiltily. “Holly made it home,” he said. “Kipps called too.”
“That’s…that’s good,” George said. That made so much more sense now, why Lockwood didn’t want to let anyone out of his sight. He let his sister out of his sight and he lost her.
“I think I’m a bit tired,” Lockwood said. “Would it be all right if I begged off on chores for tonight? I’ll do double next week.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it,” Lucy said. She wanted to say more, but she didn’t want to overstep her bounds.
Lockwood smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I appreciate it,” he said. “I’m going to call it a night.”
Do you need company? Do you want to talk? Is there something I can do? she wanted to say.
“Go get some sleep, you look tired,” Lucy said instead.
This time his smile seemed genuine, albeit exhausted. “Thanks, Luce”, he said. “I’ll try.”
She watched him go, listening to his steps on the stairs. George turned back to washing dishes. “I can’t believe I hadn’t thought of that sooner,” he said. “That it’s Jessica’s…” His voice trailed off. Lucy went back to drying dishes. “I wonder why he didn’t say anything.”
“Grief runs in odd ways,” Lucy said softly. She knew that herself, but she didn’t know how to make it make sense to George. It didn’t make sense to her either. Sometimes she barely felt the pain, and sometimes her thoughts were so consumed by the memory of clinging to Norrie’s ice cold body and the aching realization of a lifetime stretching ahead without her in it that she could barely breathe.
They finished cleaning up in companionable, thoughtful silence. By the time they were done it was dark outside and the temperature had cooled just a little bit.
Lucy headed up the stairs to her attic. When she passed by Lockwood’s room it was dark and quiet, the door barely cracked so she couldn’t see inside. She hoped he was sleeping.
The attic was hot and stuffy; the portable AC unit George had brought her helped a little once she switched it on. A cold shower helped too, cooling her skin and washing away how sweaty and sticky she felt.
She dressed in a loose tank top and a pair of soft cotton sleep shorts before sitting down on her bed with the AC unit aimed directly at her and a book on her lap.
From downstairs she heard Lockwood scream.
She tossed the book aside and ran, her heart in her throat. Goddammit, goddammit, god fucking damn it, she thought. She should have expected this.
She opened the door to Lockwood’s room to find him sitting up in bed, gasping for breath with his hand on his chest. “What’s wrong?” she demanded.
“Weird dream,” he managed to say, his shoulders tense. “I’m all right. Did I wake you up?”
“No, I was just reading,” she said. He didn’t seem all right. He was shirtless, his skin pale in the moonlight filtering through the blinds, and an oscillating fan ruffled his hair every couple of beats. “Do you need anything? I can make you a cup of tea.”
He grinned a little at that, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “Never thought I’d say this, but no, thanks,” he said. “It’s too hot for tea.”
“Never thought I’d see Anthony Lockwood turn down tea, it’s the apocalypse,” she teased.
He laughed and the tension in her chest eased. “Am I truly that predictable?” he said.
“You are to me,” she said. “One of life’s constants is you immediately putting the kettle on as soon as something gets remotely stressful.”
“Yes, well, George refuses to let me touch anything else in the kitchen,” Lockwood said.
Lucy smiled. “You sure you don’t need anything?” she said. “I can get you water or something, or if you need company-“
She bit her lip. She hadn’t intended to say the last part.
Lockwood’s eyes flickered for a second, as if the idea of her keeping him company hassle sparked something in him, but it was so quick that she told herself she had imagined it. “I’m okay, Luce,” he said softly. “Go get some sleep, don’t worry about me.”
She lingered in the doorway wanting to tell him…what? You shouldn’t grieve alone, I know what it’s like, let me in so I can stay with you, I want to help you, I love-
“Goodnight, Lockwood,” she said instead, and she slipped out into the hall.
Instead of going back to her room she went down to the kitchen. It was too hot for tea but she wanted some anyway; she needed the comfortable familiar activity as much as the tea itself.
She went through the motions, mulling over what had happened and their conversation. There had to be something she could do or say that would help him. Not that she’d ever been able to come up with anything before, but surely she could think of something eventually.
When she heard him scream she was almost expecting it. She abandoned her tea and ran up to his room.
To her surprise he was asleep when she found him, one arm tossed above his head and the covers tangled around him. Her heart gave a little pang. Even though he had the whole bed to himself, he always slept on a side, as if he was waiting for someone to lie down beside him.
Lucy lingered in the door, making sure he was sleeping. He didn’t make a sound and his only movement was the steady rise and fall of his chest. After a while she went back to the kitchen to rescue her tea, but she didn’t go back to her room. She sat on the steps by Lockwood’s room, her fingers wrapped around the mug, listening closely. The house was quiet, just the normal pops and creaks of an old building settling. She strained to listen, nearly holding her breath.
When he cried out again she was ready. She set her mug down on his dresser and climbed up on his bed. He was sitting up this time, arms hanging limply at his sides, his dark eyes glassy and unfocused. Air caught in his lungs and rattled.
Lucy took his hand in both of hers and squeezed. “You’re all right,” she soothed. “You’re not there. You’re not there, Lockwood, you’re here with me.”
He stared past her shoulder, his collarbone jumping as he tried to catch his breath, and this time when he screamed she winced. She had heard him scream like that before, when she went into Jessica’s room and listened to her death loop. Lockwood had screamed like that then, frantic and terrified and grieving. He had told her once that he didn’t remember what exactly happened on the day that Jessica died, but his body kept the score.
Lucy knelt beside him, her thigh pressed against his as she wrapped her arms around him. She pressed her hand to the back of his head. “I’m here,” she whispered in his ear. She tangled her hand in his hair. “I’m here, you’re not alone. You’re not there.”
She hoped he would wake up, just so he would be released from the nightmare clutching him. But she also hoped he would stay asleep so she didn’t have to explain why she was holding him like that.
After a while he slumped against her, his cheek falling against her shoulder. Lucy let out a long sigh and ran her hand down his back. His skin felt a little too warm, tacky with sweat.
She eased him back against the pillows, cradling his head until he could lie back safely. His eyes were closed now, his lashes dark against his cheeks. She watched his chest rise and fall with his breathing.
Lucy shifted around to lie beside him, propping her cheek on her elbow. He rolled onto his side towards her and his hand caught against the loose fabric of her tank top, his fingers clutching at her.
She allowed herself to brush his hair off his forehead. Stay sleeping , she thought. He deserved to rest. He deserved peace.
She stayed like that for a long time, watching him sleep. He held her tank top like a child holding a security blanket, his other hand resting on the pillow, fingers softly curled. Lucy ghosted her fingertips along his hand, tracing the shape as she committed each scar and callus to memory.
Just sleep, she willed him. She just needed to get him through the night. Tomorrow would be better.
Exhaustion tugged at her as she watched him sleep, her eyes dropping closed of their own accord. She didn’t dare fall asleep, she had no clue how to explain herself in his bed if he woke up before her. But she didn’t want to leave until she was sure he was all right.
It took a while for the next night terror to start.
His breathing shifted first, going sharp and choppy, his mouth dropping open with the effort. Lucy sat up a little, suddenly wide awake. “It’s okay,” she said. He clutched her tank top harder and she covered his hand with hers. “I’m here. You’re all right.”
A tremor ran through his frame and his lashes flickered. Lucy ran her other hand through his hair. “Please don’t,” she whispered. “Oh, please, just sleep.”
A scream broke from Lockwood’s throat, raw and panicked. Tears smarted behind Lucy’s eyes. “It’s okay,” she repeated desperately, trying to sound soothing, but he was gasping for breath, his body shaking, and he screamed again.
Lucy struggled to wrap her arms around him and pulled him closer; he collapsed into her chest and she hoped he could hear her heartbeat. “I’m here,” she whispered into the shell of his ear. He cried out again, loud enough to echo, and she pressed her lips to his temple. “You’re not there anymore, Lockwood, you’re not, you’re here with me. You didn’t do anything wrong, you didn’t, I swear.”
His whole body was tense with panic. He mumbled something into her collarbone, quiet and insistent, and it took too long to realize what he was saying.
Sorry, sorry, sorry…
Lucy cradled him against her, whispering every soft foolish thing she could think of, trying to drown out anything else he might be hearing. His back arched as he cried out. She pressed a kiss like a blessing to his forehead and he whined through his teeth as though it stung.
She felt the tension tighten in his back, his legs thrashing against hers, and as she tightened her embrace he started to relax, as if he’d only just realized she was there. Lucy ran her fingers through his sweat-damp hair and he breathed out a long shuddering sigh before curling into her, nuzzling against the curve of her neck.
Lucy sank back, her death grip on him easing as he relaxed into her. She rubbed at her face in relief.
“So that’s why he’s been doing so much better lately.”
She started, inadvertently clutching at Lockwood to protect him. “George!” she hissed, and then she realized what he was looking at. “How…how long have you been there?”
George stood in the doorway, his curls wild from sleep and his dark eyes soft in the moonlight. “Since the last one started,” he said. “I was counting, he usually…he used to get these more often, and I usually wait for three before I come check on him.”
“You’ve been awake the whole time?” Lucy said.
George shrugged. “I had a feeling something like this would happen,” he said. He sat down next to them on the bed and searched Lockwood’s face. “I heard the two of you talking and thought he might end up okay, but…”
His voice trailed off. Lucy understood. Lockwood could pretend he was okay as much as he wanted, but he couldn’t pretend his way out of years of trauma.
“How often do you do this?” George asked, gesturing at them.
Lucy flushed, suddenly keenly aware that only was she snuggling with Lockwood in his bed, his bare chest pressed against her, but that George was eyeing them closely. For a moment she thought about lying. “Every time,” she confessed. “I just can’t bear hearing him cry and scream like that. And thinking about him dealing with it alone, I couldn’t leave him alone like-“
She broke off midsentence. Alone like me , she wanted to say. She still remembered when she was little and terrified of her Listening, when she would wake up with nightmares over and over again while her mother and sisters pretended not to notice. Norrie had been the first one to comfort her, Norrie who would bolt out of her bed and climb into hers and hold her until she was calm enough to fall back asleep. It was the memory she held onto when she woke up with nightmares now.
“He’s gotten a lot better since you came back,” George said quietly. “He had nightmares almost every night while you were gone, if he slept at all.”
“Well, I won’t leave him now,” Lucy said. “Ever.”
“I know,” George said.
They sat in tired silence for a while. Lockwood slept in Lucy’s arms, his chest rising and falling in slow deep rhythms. “He can’t keep going like this,” she said softly.
“Try telling him that,” George said. “All we can do is be here when he drops.”
Lucy stroked a strand of hair back from Lockwood’s forehead, not caring if George saw. It almost surprised her that she’d been so concerned for so long that George would figure out…well, how she felt, she supposed, but it seemed like he didn’t care. It almost seemed like he already knew. “I don’t want to do that,” she said. “I want things to be better for him.”
George was silent for a moment. “I didn’t think I could figure out a way to make that possible, but…I think if anyone can, it’ll be you,” he said. He squeezed her shoulder. “Come get me if you need me.”
She nodded. George left the room as quietly as he came, closing the door behind him.
Lucy laid herself back down, trying to find a comfortable angle. Lockwood pressed himself against her, his death grip relaxing on her tank top. His cheek rested against her collarbone, his warm breath ghosting against the side of her neck. She traced her fingertips along the muscles of his upper arm, feeling the slight flex-and-relax of his bicep, and watched his chest rise and fall.
She wanted so badly to stay with him but she didn’t dare stay the whole night. It was too risky. She waited until he had slept a full hour without waking- a good sign that he could make it through the night without another bad dream- before she slowly eased herself away from him and out of his bed. Lockwood slept deeply but his arm stretched out across the bed, as if he was still trying to reach for her. Lucy pulled the sheets up around his shoulders and brushed the lightest kiss against his temple before she slipped out of his room and back up to her attic.
She slept lightly, still listening for any noises from downstairs. When the morning light began to filter through her blinds she stayed in her bed until she heard the gentle clatter of George puttering around in the kitchen. He nodded to her as she walked in, a silent acknowledgement, and she sat down at the table as he started making breakfast and put the kettle on.
Lockwood shuffled into the kitchen and Lucy smiled at him. He smiled back tentatively. He’d pulled a white tee shirt on, but he was just wearing blue striped boxers instead of pajama pants. His hair was tousled and his cheek still marked with pillow creaselines, and he seemed so soft and rumpled and sleepy that she wanted to wrap her arms around him and kiss him soundly.
She blinked hastily, trying to shake the thoughts away.
“Morning,” George said. “Pancakes or waffles?”
Lockwood shifted his weight. “I…I had a question I wanted to ask the two of you,” he said, his voice still low and raspy from sleep.
“What’s wrong?” Lucy asked.
“Nothing’s wrong, it’s just that…” His voice trailed off. He looked out the window, just past George’s head. “Today is…well, today is the day that Jessica…that my sister passed away.”
Lucy stayed very still. She didn’t want to say anything that threw him off or interrupted, so she just nodded.
“I know we were going to get some work done today, but I don’t…I don’t think I’d like to be in the house today,” Lockwood said quietly. “Do you think it would be possible if we could just…if we could do something together today?”
“Of course,” Lucy said immediately.
“I’ll call Kipps and Holly, I’m sure they won’t care,” George said. “Anything you want to do?”
Lockwood hesitated, as if he hadn’t thought it all the way through. “You were talking about an art exhibit you wanted to see, we could go to the museum,” Lucy said. “Or maybe the zoo. We could get lunch.”
“Oh, good, one less meal to make,” George teased.
A hesitant smile tugged at the corner of Lockwood’s mouth. Lucy smiled back at him, meeting his gaze, until finally he was smiling at her in earnest, the corners of his eyes crinkling.