I froze.
Rachel was on her feet instantly, phone in hand.
I checked the camera.
It was Lauren.
She was standing on my porch in a gray hoodie, hugging herself in the cold. Her car was parked behind Rachel’s. She must have driven three hours from Pittsburgh the moment we hung up.
She didn’t try the keypad.
She just knocked, and waited.
I opened the door.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. She looked so young standing there. Like she was eight years old again, standing in the doorway of my bedroom, waiting to see if things were okay.
“I didn’t know if I should come,” she said. “I didn’t know if you’d want me here.”
I stepped onto the porch and put my arms around her.
She broke down completely.
“I’m sorry,” she said into my shoulder, over and over. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”
