She’d faked her way into a few activities. The grief group, pickleball. She’d hung out with Ellen and Cooper. She’d started her business. And now she was back where she’d begun, feeling awful all the time. If she was completely honest with herself, she was tired of it. Tired of feeling bad, of being lonely and sad. She wanted to be different, but didn’t know how.

Her phone buzzed. Unity opened the text from Ellen to find a half dozen pictures from the Monterey Bay Aquarium—otters and fish, and one with Ellen standing between Coop and Luka, both teens dwarfing her.

Miss you. Xoxo

Unity texted back the same, then scrolled through the pictures again. Ellen looked happy.

Before she could put down her phone, Howard sent a text saying they were done with the window replacement and were heading out for tacos and did she want him to bring some back for her.

At least she had tacos to look forward to, she thought, trying to find humor in the situation. And seeing Ellen again. And hanging out with Dagmar and talking to Coop about which college had been his favorite. She had her business. She had friends who made her happy, and she had the promise of tacos. None of them were big, Stuart-size things, but it was more than a lot of people had.

Carmen was right—grief group wasn’t helping. Unity didn’t want to try therapy again, but she was willing to admit that she’d been miserable, she’d been stuck and neither of them had felt very good. Maybe it was time to try something else.

I’ll meet you guys at the taco place, she texted Howard, then got up and walked out to her van. She was tired of being tired, she told herself. Moving backward meant more suffering, and staying stuck was just as bad. That left moving forward. There had to be an answer somewhere. All she had to do was find it.

eighteen

Keith felt his heart thundering in his chest as his body tried to recover from yet another extraordinary lovemaking session with Ellen. She straddled him, her long, wavy hair tumbling down her back, her whole body arched as she claimed the last ounce of pleasure from what he would guess was her third orgasm of the night. With her, it was difficult to keep track.

Not that he was complaining. Ellen was the perfect sexual partner. She was game for anything, had zero inhibitions, was always in the mood and came easily. There was no bad here.

She drew in a deep breath and gave him a satisfied smile. “You’re really good at this.”

“So are you.”

She slid off him and stood, then stretched before turning to head to the bathroom. He watched her go, his gaze settling on her still-healing tattoo. He had to admit, the shooting star looked good on her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “Don’t judge me.”

He got up and followed her. “Why would I judge?”