Impossible by Nancy Werlin

you came home. And I spent today reading it." She hesitated. "I didn't say they could read it yet. I need time to take it all in. And to reread. Some parts I only skimmed. It was too much, all at once." She didn't mention the torn-out pages or the craziness. She took a dish from Zach and dried it.
    "Yeah," said Zach. "Don't let them pressure you. Especially Soledad. She means well and all. And you know, they don't even have to read it ever , if you want to keep it private. Right?"
    "They love me," Lucy said. They had fallen into an easy rhythm over the dishes.
    "But you still get to make your own decisions. Miranda's diary and whatever it says, that's yours now, unless Miranda shows up and wants it back. Soledad and Leo can advise you, sure. And you know I think the world of them. But don't let—"
    Zach paused for so short a time that Lucy might have missed it. But she had a hand out for the next dish, and he fell out of rhythm for that one instant.
    But then he handed the dish to her, and continued. "Don't let what happened with Gray mess with this: You get to decide everything about your own life. You're in charge. Don't doubt for a minute that you can handle it."
    Lucy had not even thought about Gray that day; she had been so focused on Miranda. But as she stood at the kitchen counter with a dinner plate and a dishcloth in her hands, hearing Zach tell her not to doubt herself—
    She gripped the dish she was holding.
    Zach was waiting for her to say something. But she suddenly couldn't even wipe the dish, let alone speak.
    "Luce? Oh, Luce."
    Zach took the plate and towel from her nerveless fingers. Then he pulled her right into his arms, as if he'd done it a thousand times before.
    Which he had not.
    "It's all right. I didn't mean to make you cry. I'm sorry. But you can. Cry, I mean."
    "I'm okay." Lucy managed to choke it out.
    "Yes, you are." One of Zach's hands was rubbing her back. Even through her shirt, Lucy could feel that it was a little wet. His other arm was around her shoulders, holding her tighdy, warmly. Securely.
    And Lucy felt her bones and muscles lose their ability to hold her up. She closed her eyes. She put her arms around Zach's waist. She leaned into him and let him keep her upright while her shoulders shook. She didn't try to do anything about it. She let it all come out, and with the tears she acknowledged to herself that there was something else going on too. A fear that shimmered somewhere within her. An unease that now never left.
    Vaguely she hoped that Soledad would stay out of the kitchen. She didn't want her fussing.
    She just wanted to be held. Like this. By Zach, who she'd known forever. By Zach, who had just told her she was competent to take care of herself, but who was still there to hold her up anyway.
    Eventually she stopped crying. But Zach still held her. His collarbone was hard under Lucy's cheek. Lucy suspected her nose had leaked goop onto his Red Sox T-shirt. True, this particular shirt was a paint-smeared and sweaty mess already, but she liked it. Garciaparra. She could feel the letters under her hands.
    A vague memory stirred idly in her, but she couldn't quite grasp it. Not that it mattered.
    "Zach?" If she had so chosen, Lucy realized, she could have moved her hands from the name on the T-shirt and counted the vertebrae down Zach's back with her fingers.
    "Yeah?"
    "This shirt you're wearing." Lucy found she could now talk almost normally.
    "What about it?" Zach was still rubbing Lucy's back. He was resting his chin on the top of her head. She hadn't realized he was so tall, but clearly, he was. "The paint on it's dry, I promise. It might be a little stinky."
    "It? Or you?"
    "Hey!"
    "You brought it up."
    "You were supposed to disagree. Or say you didn't mind."
    "You wanted me to lie?"
    "Well, yeah. I don't mind if you hurt my feelings, but this shirt is sacred."
    "Really? That's why you use it for work?"
    "Sweat does the shirt honor," Zach said piously. "It lows respect for