Free Dropping Gloves by Catherine Gayle Page B

your mom. I get it. Not too far away, though, okay? She— we —need to hover at least some.”
    “I know.” That was going to be one of my biggest decisions—how close was too close, and how far was too far. “It’ll be in Portland. I don’t know where. Sierra said she had some ideas that she thought I’d like.”
    “Fair enough.” He reached in the fruit basket for a banana and started peeling it before passing it to me and taking out another for himself. “I told Babs.”
    I swallowed hard, blinking back tears. I’d told both Mom and Dad that I didn’t want Jamie to know. Jamie had made it clear that he couldn’t be my friend anymore, and I had no intention of doing anything to hurt him worse than I already had. I wanted to give him a clean break. No contact. Nothing more than the knowledge that we both existed and were in the same city. I could give him that, couldn’t I? I owed him that much. “I didn’t want—”
    “I know you didn’t want him to know, but I thought he should, and I told him. You can be angry at me if you want. You can yell at me and curse me. Hit me, if you think it’ll help. But I told him, and I’m not sorry I did, so you’re just going to have to accept it.”
    It wasn’t me accepting it that I was worried about, though. It was Jamie.

 

     
     

    “ Not only is it a great location for you while you’re undergoing treatments, but it’s right in the heart of things for when you’re healthy again,” Sierra said, opening the door to the backyard and stepping aside so I could go out before her.
    It might as well have been a private garden out there, with various trees, bushes, and flowering plants lining the fence, making it seem like a sanctuary. A swinging bench hung under one of the bigger trees on one side looking toward the mountain view over the tops of the greenery, and a pond was situated off to the side, with rocks and plants arranged around it so it looked as if it had always been there even though it surely must have been installed after the house was built.
    My parents lived in a classic Tudor-style house in Grant Park on the east side of Portland. I’d asked Sierra to show me houses on the other side of the river, claiming it was because I wanted to be close to all my doctors downtown. She’d already taken me to more than half a dozen houses today, mainly in Beaverton and Lake Oswego, because they were close enough to downtown for what I needed but with enough distance to still feel as if I had some privacy. She’d caught on pretty quickly that privacy, a place where I could just be away from it all, was a big factor for me.
    This house, though, was just outside of downtown in the Northwest District. It hadn’t been on the original list we’d discussed; she’d suggested it after we’d been out looking for a while, once she had a better sense of my likes and dislikes. I hadn’t seen any more than the front entry and the path through the house to the backyard, yet. It didn’t matter. Unless the place was completely gutted and would need a ton of work, I was pretty sure I wanted this house to be mine because of nothing more than the peace and solitude I would have in this backyard.
    I strolled to the swing and took a seat, imagining being out here on a nice night at sunset. For the first time in days, a feeling of stillness settled over me, starting at my head and trickling all the way down to my toes.
    Sierra sat next to me and cocked up a brow. “You want to take a look at the inside?”
    “I should probably do that before making an offer, huh?”
    “Might be a good idea.”
    “Right.” I sighed and pushed myself up from the swing. “I guess we should do that, then.”
    We went back inside and she took me on the grand tour.
    “They recently renovated the kitchen and the master bath,” Sierra said as we moved from room to room. “All stainless appliances in the kitchen. Separate shower and a garden tub, which might come in handy when you