Life is filled with a series of tethers. Imaginary threads that connect us to people from the moment we’re cut from our mother’s cord. I’d spent the first twenty-five years of my life trying to cut those threads and fly high, out of reach. It wasn’t until eleven months ago that I woke up one morning and realized those tethers weren’t chains that were keeping me down. They were lifelines, and my threads were so frayed, there were virtually no lines left to my life. Last night—or maybe it was actually today, I wasn’t even sure anymore since one day had blurred into the next—the strongest thread that had ever existed in my life was cut away.

Brody handled all of the plans. Tonight we would have a small service at my grandmother’s church. Tomorrow we would drive to the cemetery and lay her to rest. And then . . . I didn’t know what came after that. I only knew I didn’t want to lose Brody again.

I dressed in a simple black dress. It was a summer dress and the air outside had the chill of late fall, but a sweater was going to have to make do since I didn’t have money for shopping. Brody knocked on my door right on time. I had told him I would meet him downstairs, explained that parking was difficult to find. But the reality was, I hadn’t wanted him to see where I was living.

“You didn’t have to come up.”

I hadn’t put my heels on yet, so he was almost a foot taller than me. I saw him look over my head and scan my apartment. I knew what he was doing, and I certainly couldn’t blame him.

I opened the door wide and stepped aside. “No drugs. I’m clean.”

“I wasn’t . . . ”

I arched my eyebrow as if to say yes you were, and he confessed with a grin. “All right, maybe I was.”

He came inside.

“Let me give you a tour.” I twirled a circle with my arms extended. You could tour my entire studio apartment, except the bathroom, in one pivot. “Tour over. So how do you like it?”

“I like it. It’s . . . warm.”

“It’s not really. You better keep your jacket on.”

“It’s yours, right?”

“You’re really taking this find one good thing to heart, aren’t you?” I teased.

“I am.”

“Just give me one minute, I’m searching for my black heels.” My apartment was small, but the ceilings were high. Typical for Manhattan. There was little surface space left, so they built up.

One wall in the living room had built-in storage that started at about seven feet. I hopped up on the small ratty love seat that served as my living room furniture and stood on the back, balancing as I opened different compartments.

“What are you doing? You’re going to fall.” Brody walked over and reached up to my waist, steadying me as I searched through the storage cupboards. He moved with me, making sure I didn’t fall as I walked the length of the couch top, inspecting and closing different doors. When I reached the last one, I found the shoes shoved into the top corner and had to stand on my tippy toes to reach them.

“Got ’em,” I waved the shoes in the air like I’d just won a prize.

Brody lowered me back to the ground as if he were lifting a carton of empty milk. When he took his hands away, I longed for them. God, I miss his touch.

Turning to face him, it was easy to slip back into a comfortable place. I wrapped my hand around his bicep and squeezed. “Thanks for the lift. Big muscles. Have you been working out?”

He chuckled. “Get your shoes on, wiseass.”

That one unexpected moment, something so completely insignificant as Brody helping me reach my shoes and then joking around, made me feel more like my old self than I had in years.

“Bring an overnight bag. I want you to stay at the hotel again tonight, and tomorrow night, too.”

“I’m fine here, Brody. I appreciate it, though.”

“Can you just do it for me?”

The man had no idea what I would be willing to do for him. I nodded and threw the clothes I’d picked out for the service in an overnight bag.

On the way out, I heard voices coming from my neighbor’s apartment. Lena and Abby’s apartment. “Can you just give me a minute?”

I listened before knocking. Brody stood behind me.

The familiar sound of rusted locks clanked and then Abby opened the door. Her face lit up, and she ran to hug my legs, catching me by surprise. “Can we go to the park again?”

I smiled at the little ball of energy. “Not today. I’m going somewhere with my friend. This is Brody.”

She looked at Brody, found zero that interested her, and returned her attention to me. “When you’re done?”

“I’m actually going to be busy for a few days.” I looked into her apartment. “Is your mom here?”

“No. Grandma brought me to get more clothes.”

With that, Sophie appeared. “Didn’t I tell you not to open the door?” she scolded

“It was only Willow.”

Sophie put her hands on her hips. “And how did you know it was Willow? Did you ask who it was, Abby?”

Abby looked at me, then back to her grandmother. “No.” She sulked. “I forgot again.”

Her grandmother tried to hide a smile. “We’ll work on it.” She turned her attention to me. “Hi, Willow. Don’t you look pretty.”

“Thank you. I heard voices and wanted to see if everything was okay.”

Her eyes pointed to her granddaughter. “Everything is good. Abby is probably going to stay with me for a while.” I read between the lines. She was probably going to stay with her because she had no idea where the hell her daughter had disappeared to. The situation brought me back twenty years. Thankfully, Abby had Sophie like I’d had Marlene.

“Well, aren’t you lucky, Abby? I used to spend a lot of time with my grandmother, too. Her house was one of my favorite places in the world to go when I was your age.”

Sophie smiled. “We’re going to have a great time, aren’t we, Abby?”

Abby and I were lucky. I shuddered to think of what life was like for the girls who didn’t have a Sophie or a Marlene. “We have to get going. But you have my number. If there is anything I can do to help—”

Abby interrupted, jumping up and down. “Like take me to the park.”

I chuckled. “Yes. Like take Abby to the park. Just give me a call. I work nights, so I have time during the days.”

Sophie thanked us for stopping by and then Brody and I headed to the car. “What was that all about?”

“Abby’s mom was sober for a few months. She went off the wagon a few days ago. I found her partying with a dealer while Abby was home, so I took her to the park to get her out of there. When things got worse, I called her grandmother and brought her there.”

Brody nodded. “I don’t think this is a great place for you to be.”

A group of thug-looking teenagers were circling his fancy car when we walked up. I looked at Brody. “I can’t imagine what would make you say that.”

He walked right up to the scary-looking teens. “What’s up, guys?”

“Shit, man. You’re Brody fucking Easton.”

“I am.” He extended his hand, and their demeanors went from street thug to sports-idolizing little boys immediately.

“You guys watching my car for me?”

“Those are some nice-looking rims you got there. We didn’t know this sweet piece belonged to you.”

Brody opened my car door and waited until I got in. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he talked to the man-boys for another minute before shaking hands again and getting in.

“Making friends?”

“Making you friends. Told them to keep an eye on you.”

“I’m capable of taking care of myself.”

“You don’t belong in this neighborhood.”

“No. You don’t belong in this neighborhood. I fit in perfectly fine. I think you’re forgetting who I am.”

He started the car and put it into gear. “You’re right,” he mumbled under his breath, “I need to remember that.”

I expected perhaps a nurse or two to show up to the church. I was not prepared for hundreds of people who attended Marlene’s service. Not a single person was there because of me. The large church was packed with friends and teammates of Brody’s. I don’t know why I was surprised; everyone loved the man. He introduced me to a few people, and the first chance I got, I excused myself to go sit in a pew. Right before the service was about to start, Brody walked to the front row to join me. His hand was meshed with his girlfriend's, and there was another woman with them.

Luckily, the priest began to speak, forcing any uncomfortable introductions to wait. The service was simple, and I thought I had gotten through it without falling apart. Until the priest asked if anyone would like to get up and say a few words, and Brody stood.

He talked about how his mother had died when he was seven, and his dad had never remarried. The one grandmother he had lived a country away, and he had no real experience with girls. That got a good chuckle from the audience. Then he told a story I had never heard.

“After my mom’s burial, everyone came back to our house. I don’t remember too much, but I remember people were sitting around talking and laughing. I didn’t get how they could be smiling when my mother had just been buried. So I went outside to stew a bit, and my neighbor, Marlene, found me out front on the stoop. She sat down next to me and tried to get me to talk, but I wasn’t much in the mood. After a while, she told me to follow her, and we went back to her house next door.

“She took me into the kitchen and started asking me to grab things for her. Vanilla, milk, flour. She’d point to the cabinet where they were, and I’d get them out. Eventually, we started to talk while she made cookies. When we were done, I remember sitting down at her kitchen table with a big glass of milk and a tower of oatmeal-raisin cookies in front of me. She explained that there were going to be days in life that would be very hard, and the best way to get through them was to find one good thing to focus on. My mom had just died, and it was pretty impossible to find good in anything, but Marlene was so nice to me, I didn’t want to disappoint her. So, before I left to go back to my house, I thanked her and told her that the one good thing for me was her making me cookies that day.

“I’ve never told anyone this, and Marlene and I never discussed it, but for the next twenty odd years, I’d often discover a batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies left where I could find them. In fifth grade, when I flipped over my bicycle handlebars trying to do a wheelie and broke my arm, warm oatmeal raisin cookies kept me company that night. In eighth grade, when I threw an interception that lost the playoff game against our biggest rival, there was a Tupperware full of cookies on my doorstep. Senior year, when I didn’t get into my first pick of colleges, cookies. Five years ago, when my dad retired to Arizona and we packed the last of his things in the moving truck, cookies in the front seat of my unlocked car after I hugged my dad goodbye.

“This morning, on my way here, I stopped off at the bakery around the corner from where I grew up. It was Marlene’s favorite bakery. I bought a bag full of oatmeal-raisin cookies. For more than twenty years, she kept up making me those cookies, and every time it would bring me a smile. But this morning, as I ate one, it just wasn’t the same. You know why? Because it was never the cookies. It was the lady who took the time to recognize I might not have anything to smile about, and made sure to give me a reason. She was my reason.

“Marlene is survived by her daughter, Amanda, and her granddaughter, Willow. She may not have been my blood, but she was there through all my sweat and tears—so she’s my family, too. I know Marlene wouldn’t want any of us to cry today. She’d want us all to find that one good thing and hang on to it until things get better. But to truly honor the life of Marlene Garner, the next time you see someone having a bad day, make them a batch of oatmeal-raisin cookies in her honor. It could mean more than you’ll ever know.”

I was overwhelmed with emotions when Brody was done. When he returned to his seat between Delilah and me, he saw me crying and leaned down to whisper, “Find that one good thing that this brings, Willow. It’s what she’d want you to do.”

My breaths stuttered as I looked up at him. I kept quiet, but all I could think was, This brought me back to you.