She nodded again, and in a few quick steps, she was gone, Dusty whining as I closed the door behind her.

Once her car was out of sight, I returned to the bedroom and carefully slid the top dresser drawer open. Beneath my underwear and my mother’s scarf, John was still there, tucked neatly away.

I stared at the photos, all sorts of imaginings entering my head: clandestine portrait sessions, exchanged love letters … Something had happened to throw their friendship off balance, that much was clear. Was it your run-of-the-mill affair? Had it not been teenagers after all? Had someone found out, painted those words on their gallery? Had Vera done it herself, in a moment of wifely rage?

No, I thought. It didn’t make sense. It was probably just a portrait session. I was getting ahead of myself.

I nestled the photos back into the furniture brochure, then froze.

One, two, three, four.

I flinched. There had been five yesterday. I swear to god, there were five photos.

Pain seared my chest as I rushed from the closet, practically pouncing on my notebook. I’d written the words clearly: Bedroom closet: Five photos in top drawer of dresser (all of one man).

What the ever-loving hell?

You won’t leave, Lucy, you don’t have the guts.

Returning to the closet, I counted them again. I checked the other drawers, finding nothing. A feeling so real and physical, it was etched into my brain. Of knowing it had been one way, knowing the invoice had been right there on my desk, the scarf tied around my side of the headboard, but staring at a reality turned ever so slightly off-kilter.

I sank onto the bed and stared at the wallpaper – it looked like the pattern in my childhood bedroom in Seattle.

I didn’t need Ellie or even Vera. I needed my mom. My body ached for her, the phantom limb that was my mother once again making itself known. The one you needed when shit hit the fan, when you had the flu, when you didn’t get that promotion, when you ran out on your boyfriend and felt like you were losing your mind.

The one you’d never stop craving, no matter how often you told yourself to stop.

My phone rang, and I jumped, the sound still foreign, intrusive.

It was Vera.

‘Hi,’ I managed.

‘Hey, neighbor.’ Her voice was bright. ‘I was going to text you again but I thought it would be easier to call. We’re going on a hike in twenty minutes or so, want to come? I’ve filled the CamelBak and we’ve got granola bars and dark chocolate. All you have to bring is your lovely self.’

In the background, I heard John’s voice. ‘Tell her it’s a relaxed hike. Not too hard. No need for gear.’