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The wind off the tracks carried the faint metallic tang of winter, sharp enough to sting Marike’s nose as she stepped onto the platform. She pulled her coat tighter, more to steady her trembling hands than to keep out the cold. Two years — two long, hollow years — since she’d last stood anywhere near Jamie, and now she was minutes away from seeing her. The thought pressed on her chest like the weight of a hymnbook. Luca stirred in his car seat at her side, a small gurgle muffled by the knit blanket she’d tucked around him. She wondered how Jamie would react to seeing him first thing — no gentle lead-in, no easing her into the truth. Just a one-and-a-half-year-old in the back seat, living proof of how far life had shifted.
Marike’s mind darted to the stories she’d overheard about Jamie’s travels — Europe, sunlit streets, postcards from cities Marike could barely picture without thumbing through an atlas. She wondered if those adventures had carved Jamie into someone new, someone who might look at her now and feel only a faint echo of what they’d once shared. She silently thanked Aunt Beth for arranging this — for giving her the chance to pick Jamie up, even if it was just a short drive. Then, almost in the same breath, she chastised herself for not telling her own family where she was going. It was easier this way, she told herself. Fewer questions. Fewer explanations she didn’t have the courage to give. But the knot in her stomach didn’t loosen. She adjusted her grip on the car seat handle and scanned the crowd, her pulse tripping over itself when she finally caught sight of a familiar figure stepping off the train.
Jamie’s hair was longer now, messily tied back, a few strands curling against her cheeks in the wind. She had that same half-slouch in her shoulders, as if the weight of the world was a jacket she could never quite take off. Their eyes met across the platform, and for a moment, Marike’s feet rooted to the spot. She’d imagined this a hundred different ways — the embrace, the awkward handshake, the polite nod — but none of those rehearsals prepared her for the punch of reality.
Jamie slowed, one boot scuffing against the concrete as though her body needed an extra second to register who she was looking at. The duffel bag slipped slightly from her shoulder, and her gaze flicked from Marike to the car seat in her hand, curiosity and confusion sparking in her eyes.
“Hi,” Marike managed, her voice thinner than she intended. She swallowed and tried again. “I, um… asked your aunt if I could pick you up. Is that… okay?”
Jamie hesitated — not a long hesitation, but long enough for Marike to feel her chest tighten. Then she nodded once, quick, like it was a decision she didn’t want to think about too much. “Yeah. Sure.”
They walked toward the parking lot in silence, the sound of Luca’s soft breaths and the crunch of grit under their boots filling the gaps. Marike unlocked the car with a click, opening the rear door to secure the car seat. She felt Jamie’s eyes on her, the kind of gaze that carried questions but didn’t voice them.
When they were both settled inside — Jamie in the passenger seat, Marike adjusting her mirrors — a small gurgle broke the quiet. Jamie turned toward the sound, and her breath caught when she saw the baby.
“This is Luca,” Marike said, her hands tightening imperceptibly on the steering wheel.
Jamie’s eyes lingered on the boy’s round face, his half-lidded eyes, the tiny fist curled against his blanket. She hesitated, then reached back and let her fingertips brush his knee. “How old?”
“A year and a half,” Marike answered.
Jamie smiled faintly, the expression caught somewhere between wistful and genuine. “He looks like you.”
A quiet laugh escaped Marike before she could stop it. “Sometimes, when he’s mad at me… he makes a face that reminds me of you.”
Jamie’s gaze snapped back to hers, a flicker of surprise crossing her features. For a few seconds, neither of them looked away.
Marike finally broke the moment by shifting the car into gear. “We’re gonna take the long way,” she said softly.
The drive wound past stretches of snow-dusted trees and quiet houses, the sky pressing low with clouds that looked heavy enough to break. They stole glances at each other, the road between them both a connection and a barrier.
When the frozen lake came into view, Marike slowed, pulling onto the shoulder. She killed the engine but left the heat running, staring out at the expanse of ice that gleamed under the dull winter light. “School going okay?” she asked.
Jamie nodded. “Yeah. I finish next year.” She hesitated, then added, “I went to Europe last summer.”
“I know,” Marike said, almost shyly. She reached into the backseat, pulling out a worn canvas bag. From it, she retrieved a stack of postcards, edges softened by handling. “Your aunt gave these to me.”
Jamie’s brow furrowed. “She never told me that.”
“I asked her not to,” Marike admitted.
Jamie’s voice was quieter now. “You… really read all of these?”
Marike nodded. “About a million times.” Her thumb brushed over one of the cards, the image of a Paris street faintly faded. “Was it… like we imagined?”
Jamie’s eyes shone, the edges turning glassy. “You should have been there.”
Marike looked away quickly, pretending to study the lake, but her own eyes stung. Without another word, she started the car again, guiding them back toward Aunt Beth’s. The silence this time was heavier, weighted with everything they hadn’t said.
When they pulled up to the house, Jamie reached for the door handle, but paused. “Are you okay?”
Marike’s hand froze on the steering wheel. She shook her head, voice barely audible. “I think about you all the time. About… us.”
Jamie swallowed hard. “Every day.”
Her gaze flicked toward the windows of Aunt Beth’s house, checking for movement, before she unbuckled her seatbelt. But as she reached for the door, Marike’s hand darted out, clicking the buckle closed again.
“Not gonna let me leave?” Jamie asked, a ghost of a smile tugging at her lips despite the ache in her chest.
Marike’s eyes softened at the memory the question stirred, one from another time, another version of them. She shook her head.
They stared at each other, time stretching thin, until Luca’s gurgle broke the moment. Marike turned instinctively toward the sound, and Jamie took the chance to unbuckle and slip out, boots crunching against the frozen ground as she hurried inside.
Through the windshield, Marike watched her disappear into the house, the door closing behind her. She sat for a moment, hands loose on the wheel, then started the engine and drove away with Luca, the weight of everything unsaid riding shotgun.
Jaime slipped inside the house, shutting the door softly behind her. The warmth of the living room met her—lamplight spilling across the rug, the faint smell of cinnamon tea lingering in the air. Aunt Beth sat curled into the couch with a book balanced on her knees. She looked up immediately, her face lighting with a smile, and rose to her feet.
“Jaime,” she said, crossing the room quickly. Her arms wrapped around her niece.
Jaime let herself be held but only half returned the embrace, her arms loose, her cheek brushing Beth’s shoulder for a moment before pulling back.
“How are you?” Beth asked, voice gentle but searching.
“Fine,” Jaime lied without hesitation, her tone flat.
Beth studied her face, her eyes tracing every line that hadn’t been there two years ago. She nodded slowly, then smoothed a hand down Jaime’s arm. “Jean-François will be home for dinner tonight.”
At that, Jaime stilled. Her shoulders tightened as she eased back from Beth’s grasp. “I… I might not make it to dinner.”
Beth tilted her head. “Why not? You just got here.”
“I wanted to see Nate,” Jaime said, already turning slightly, as if distance might soften the conversation.
“You’ll have time for that tomorrow,” Beth replied firmly. “Tonight, you’re having dinner with us. And we’ll be at the meeting.”
“I don’t want to go.” Jaime’s voice was quiet, but edged.
Beth didn’t flinch. “You don’t have a choice. Everyone must make sacrifices for the greater good.”
Jaime dropped her gaze, mumbling under her breath, “What greater good…”
Beth pretended not to hear. She smoothed a stray strand of hair from Jaime’s face and smiled softly. “Go unpack. I’ll start dinner.”
With only a short nod, Jaime turned and slipped up the stairs.
Her old room welcomed her like a time capsule. The desk in the corner still held the chipped lamp. Posters, once taped hastily, curled faintly at the edges but hadn’t been touched. Even the small jewelry box by the window sat in its place, lid closed. She sank onto the bed, pressing her palms into the familiar quilt.
She thought of what Beth had once told her—that she and Jean-François would wait until the new system to start a family. Jaime whispered into the quiet, a bitter smile tugging at her lips. “Then you’ll never have kids.”
Falling back onto the mattress, she stared up at the ceiling. Beth had made it clear—dinner, meeting, participation. Which meant Marike. Jaime’s stomach twisted at the thought. She imagined trying to slip out, cause enough disruption to be left behind, but she knew better. Aunt Beth would call her mother. Her mother would scold her. It wasn’t worth it. Best to get the week over with.
---
Beth’s hands moved automatically in the kitchen, chopping onions, stirring sauce. Her mind wasn’t on the recipe. It circled back to Jaime, the half-hearted hug, the dimmed light in her eyes. Jaime had always pushed back against the meetings, against the rules. Tonight would be no different. But Jean-François was the head of the house, and her word rarely shifted his.
She chose spaghetti—it had always been one of Jaime’s favorites. Maybe that small comfort would help.
The sound of a car door outside cut through her thoughts. Beth wiped her hands on a towel just as Jean-François entered, leaning in to kiss her forehead before glancing at the simmering pot.
“Spaghetti?” he asked, brow raised. “Special occasion?”
“Jaime’s visiting,” Beth said simply.
“Ah.” He nodded once, lingering by the counter. “Haven’t heard much from her. Besides those postcards—for you.”
“She’s busy,” Beth replied quickly. “College. She only really writes me. Hardly calls.”
Jean-François’s jaw tightened. “If she wanted to make time, she would.” With that, he disappeared down the hall to change.
Beth lowered her gaze and returned to stirring the sauce, the aroma rising warm and heavy.
---
Upstairs, Jaime lay on the bed, a book open in her lap. She wasn’t reading. She had caught enough of her aunt and uncle’s voices drifting through the floorboards to know—he wasn’t happy she was here. She muttered to herself, “Same. Wish you weren’t either.”
She thought of slipping out, maybe hiding out until after dinner. But the sound of footsteps on the stairs stopped the fantasy. Her door opened.
“Dinner’s ready,” Beth said softly.
Jaime pressed the book closed and followed reluctantly.
At the table, she saw the spaghetti and nearly smiled. At least something good. Jean-François bowed his head, and Beth followed. Jaime sat stiffly, hands in her lap, waiting until the prayer was done.
Conversation began as expected—Beth asking about his work, him answering that it was stressful but bearable “with Jehovah’s help.” Jaime twirled her fork silently, chewing quickly, tuning them out.
It was only when Jean-François turned his gaze on her that she froze mid-bite. “The meeting tonight is important,” he said. “You’ll attend.”
Jaime nodded once.
She drifted through the rest of the meal, her answers no more than murmurs. Afterward, she helped Beth wash dishes, her hands moving automatically through warm water and soap. Jean-François had already retreated to his chair.
Back upstairs, she opened the closet. The same green dress hung there, pressed and waiting. The sight of it made her sigh. She slipped it on anyway.
Beth’s gentle knock came before the door eased open. “Oh—you’re wearing the dress,” she said, a note of approval in her voice.
“Jean-François would’ve said something if I didn’t.”
Beth chuckled. “He wouldn’t have.”
“You don’t know your husband,” Jaime muttered under her breath, tugging at her shoes.
Minutes later, they were on the road.
The Kingdom Hall loomed familiar and unwelcome. In the parking lot, Jaime caught sight of Marike’s car. Her breath caught. Inside, she followed Beth to the back, eyes down, but she knew Marike was seated up front with her family. She could feel it. The moment Marike’s head turned, Jaime lowered her gaze, burying herself in stillness.
The meeting blurred. Words passed over her like wind. She thought of Nate, of tomorrow, of how many cigarettes it would take to settle the storm in her chest.
The end came when Beth shifted beside her, reaching for her purse. Jaime nudged her. “Can we leave right away? I don’t feel good,” she whispered.
Beth frowned. “Why?”
“Probably ate too much,” Jaime lied.
“Alright,” Beth said, turning back.
Relief loosened Jaime’s chest. As soon as the final prayer ended, she was on her feet. “I’ll wait outside.”
She slipped into the cool night air, drawing in a deep breath.
“Hey.”
She turned to see Simon approaching.
“Hi,” she answered warily, scanning for Beth.
“Where’ve you been these past years?” he asked.
“Back home. Didn’t mean to stay,” Jaime said flatly.
“Maybe we could catch a movie sometime.”
“Maybe.”
Then Amanda appeared. Their eyes locked, and Jaime’s pulse quickened.
“So,” Amanda began slowly, “why are you back?”
Jaime scoffed. “Just visiting my aunt. Then I’m gone.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes.” Her tone was sharp. “Nothing tying me here.”
Amanda’s eyes flickered. “Have you talked to Marike?”
“Why don’t you ask Marike? Just because I’m here doesn’t mean I know her business.”
Amanda studied her, then softened. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Jaime snapped. “Just want to go home.”
Amanda let it go. “I’ll get your aunt.” She walked back inside.
Soon Beth emerged with Jean-François. He said nothing as they went to the car. Beth glanced at Jaime. “You do look pale.”
At the door of the Hall, Jaime caught sight of Marike, holding Luca. Their eyes met. Jaime looked away quickly, nausea rising.
Back at the house, she bolted upstairs, into the bathroom, hands braced against the sink as if she could purge the feelings clawing at her chest. Marike. The Hall. The people who had never cared.
Finally, she collapsed onto the bed, still in her dress.
Beth appeared in the doorway. “You okay?”
“Yeah,” Jaime lied smoothly. “Just ate too much.”
Beth gave a small smile. “Next time, stop before it’s too good.” She left with a quiet goodnight.
Jaime let the words drift over her until sleep took her.
---
When she woke, the clock glowed 2 a.m. She pulled on jeans and a t-shirt, listening carefully as she crept downstairs. The house was dark. Snores rumbled faintly from the master bedroom. She slipped out the door.
The night air was sharp as she walked to Nate’s. She tapped on his window until his sleepy face appeared, then brightened when he saw her. Moments later, he let her in, and Jaime pulled him into the tightest hug.
“Whoa,” he laughed, hugging her back.
“Let’s go to the mancave,” she said.
They did. Between puffs of smoke, she told him about Marike, about the words still circling in her head.
“She still thinks about you?” Nate asked, wide-eyed.
“Yeah. Even with a kid.”
“That’s wild,” he said, shaking his head.
“It was her solution—for both of us. For eternal life.”
Nate exhaled slowly. “If you want my advice—follow your heart.”
Jaime blinked. “When did you get so wise?”
He grinned. “Got a girlfriend. Changes things.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? Since when?”
He reminded her about the girl in science class. Jaime teased, “Sure I won’t steal her?”
“You gotta win your girl back first,” he shot back, both of them laughing.
But the laughter settled into silence, the truth heavy between them.
“The heart knows,” Nate said simply. “The brain clogs everything. But the heart—it just loves or hates. And you love Marike. And she still loves you. That’s clear.”
Jaime’s throat tightened. “What if I’m not ready to forgive her?”
“Then you’re not ready. And that’s okay.” He shrugged. “She chose her imaginary friend over you. I’d be angry too.”
She smiled faintly. “I missed this.”
“Same,” he said.
They sat until fatigue finally tugged at her. On the way out, she hugged him again, longer this time.
The walk back was quiet until she saw a light. Aunt Beth sat at the table, tea cup in hand.
“You’re out late,” Beth said softly.
“Needed air,” Jaime replied.
“Hard being back?”
“Yeah. Just… a lot of memories.”
“Good ones?”
Jaime hesitated. “I don’t know.” She kissed Beth’s cheek quickly. “Goodnight.”
Beth whispered it back, watching her disappear upstairs.
Alone again, Jaime stared at the ceiling until the imperfections blurred in the dark. She turned onto her side, eyes closed, hoping for sleep to claim her.