Chapter 8: The Quiet Between

The kids were asleep. The guests had gone. The lanterns still swayed on the porch, flickering in the breeze like they didn’t know the party was over. Joel stayed behind to help clean up. He hadn’t said as much, just kept picking up plates, folding chairs, and tossing beer bottles into the recycling bin like it gave him something to do with his hands. Esme was inside rinsing out serving bowls, sleeves pushed up, hair tied back. She’d changed into an oversized T-shirt and leggings, comfortable in a way that made her seem more herself than she had all afternoon. Joel hovered near the doorway, not quite coming in, not quite staying out. “You don’t have to keep cleaning,” she said over her shoulder. “I don’t mind.” Silence settled between them again — not cold, just cautious. Esme set the bowl in the drying rack and turned off the faucet. “You always do that?” He looked up. “Do what?” “Hang back. Watch everyone else.” Joel rubbed the back of his neck. “Old habit.” She grabbed a towel, dried her hands, then leaned against the counter. “You used to be a leader, right? In the field?” Joel shrugged. “Did what needed doing.” “I don’t buy that.” He glanced at her, eyebrows raised. “You’ve got presence. People feel it when you walk into a room. That’s not nothing.” Joel exhaled, slow. “Maybe. Back then, it made sense.” “And now?” “Now I’m just… trying not to be the reason someone falls apart.” Her eyes softened. He shook his head. “You said earlier you don’t trust easy. I don’t trust myself.” There it was. Out in the open, finally. Esme stepped forward. “Joel. If you were gonna break something in me — you’d have done it by now.” He swallowed hard. “Doesn’t mean I won’t.” “It also doesn’t mean you will.” They stood there, close enough to hear each other breathe. No interruptions this time. No distractions. Esme looked up at him, eyes steady. “I’m not asking you to promise me the world.” Joel’s voice was barely above a whisper. “What are you asking?” “A beginning. Or at least a step in that direction.” Joel hesitated. Then nodded once. “I can do that.” Joel turned to the sink. “You want help with the rest of that?” Esme smiled. “You dry, I’ll wash?” “Deal.” Later, when the house had gone quiet and the soft hum of crickets filled the spaces between silence, Esme sat cross-legged on the bed, tugging a hoodie over her T-shirt. Her hair was damp from a quick shower, her skin still warm from the day’s sun. She was just reaching for her book when her phone buzzed. Maxime. She answered quickly. “Hey.” “Esme,” Maxime’s voice came tight, a little breathless. “Tim’s been calling me and texting me. What the fuck?! I thought he had finally stopped…So I can only expect he has been stalking you again. How long has this been going on? Why didn’t you tell us?!”