Zoey nodded, not sure why his casual compliment made her skin heat up the way it did. “After her little meltdown, she realized she had no real reason why she didn’t want to go. I think it was a control thing—she felt like she didn’t have enough choice in the matter. Add in a flood of estrogen, and panic briefly took over.” She reached for her own cup of wine. “PMS is the ultimate loss of control, especially at that age. You open your mouth and it feels like someone else is doing the talking. It’s a little like being possessed.”

He chuckled. “Becca used to say the same thing. She’d swear she didn’t mean the words that came out.”

Zoey stared at him in surprise. He looked up and frowned.

“What?”

She was on unfamiliar ground here.

“I... I don’t know. You usually have this little...catch...thing in your voice when you mention Becca. But just now, you sounded...normal.” She set her cup down and refilled it, then slid the wine bottle toward Mike so he could do the same. “Are those memories getting easier?”

His forehead furrowed. “I was going to say no. But Nana and I were talking about it earlier today—how time dulls the edges eventually. She thinks I’m on a threshold of some kind.”

Zoey stared down into her wine. Mike had been stuck for so long in this limbo of being afraid to be happy again. Grief was different for everyone, but he’d been punishing himself ever since Becca’s accident. He had nothing to do with what happened. The driver had been drinking and claimed they were blinded by the sun when they came around the curve. But the car never should have been that far on to the shoulder where Becca was jogging. They were also speeding. Becca never had a chance, dying instantly.

“What kind of threshold?”

“That’s the kicker.” Mike sat up, bringing the front legs of the chair back down to the floor with a thud. “She has no idea, and neither do I. Is this me moving on, whatever the hell that means? Or is it just a hiccup and there’s some giant cliff ahead of me?”

He’d been a broken man after Becca died. He and Becca had one of those fairy-tale marriages—two beautiful, successful, kind people who truly loved each other. But their fairy tale didn’t have a happy ending. She was glad to see her friend beginning to move away from his grief.

Zoey picked up the small screwdriver and attached the base back on the upright vacuum cleaner standing upside down against the workbench. It was one of those massive all-plastic things that was like a Jenga puzzle to take apart and reassemble, but she’d managed to find the child’s sock that had clogged the intake.