Chapter 4: Best Friend

I took the coffee because I didn't want to throw it at her.

"Walk with me," Calla said.

"I'm not going anywhere with you."

"The market's open, and I'm out of apples."

She smiled the way she always did, a little crooked, as if the two of us shared a secret.

For twelve years we had.

I went with her because I wanted to see what she would say with her whole face in the light.

The pack market ran every Tuesday on the river green.

There were forty stalls of honey and wool socks and jars of pickled beets, and half the pack was there with baskets.

Heads turned as we came down the path together.

Everyone knew by now.

Calla slipped her arm through mine.

"I don't want this to be ugly," she said, loud enough for the honey stall to hear.

"You're hurting, and I understand it, and I want you to know there's a place for you."

"A place."

"Jarrett will need you near him, Willa."

She patted my hand.

"I wouldn't mind if you came to the house sometimes."

"Sometimes."

"To keep him company."

I stopped walking.

A woman at the wool stall pretended to count change.

"Say it again," I said.

"I only mean," Calla said, with her blue eyes very wide, "that I'm not selfish."

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