Legacy by Stephanie Fournet

funny—and it would have been—if she still thought of herself that way.
    Corinne tried to keep smiling, but the muscles in her face just wouldn’t hold. They just slipped into something like a wince. Wes watched the whole thing, and his eyes went from playful to cautious until she turned away.
    “What?” Wes asked, softly. He stopped walking, so Corinne had to stop, too. She thought about ignoring his question and continuing on, but she didn’t think she had the strength to play it off. Maybe being honest would take the least out of her.
    “I’m not that person anymore,” she said, looking back up at him, ready to see the truth confirmed on his face. Instead, she saw confusion.
    “What do you mean?” he asked, frowning.
    Corinne frowned back.
    “I’m not the person Michael fell in love with. I’m not ‘badass’ anymore,” she said, gesturing back in the direction of the house. “I can’t even move furniture without having a breakdown, and I’m certainly not a painter. I can’t picture wanting to paint.”
    There it was, the admission that she had lost everything when she lost Michael, even herself. The only thing that kept her from crying over it again was Wes’s bewildered expression. Maybe she’d gone too deep for a personal trainer and short-circuited him.
    “Trust me, Corinne, you’re still badass,” he said, finally, looking at her without a trace of duplicity. “And you’ll paint again...When you’re ready. You’ve just taken a hit.”
    She watched him for a long moment. If he pitied her, he did a good job of hiding it, and, either way, Corinne was grateful.
    They crossed Howard Street, and Corinne felt weary of being the focus of so much attention.
    “What about you? Won’t having me as a roommate interfere with your rock-star lifestyle?” she teased.
    “Um...I’ll manage.” A hint of wariness hardened Wes’s eyes, and Corinne remembered too late that Michael had once told her Wes’s rule about girls. He never brought them home. Hook-ups always happened at the girl’s place, not his, so he could leave when he wanted to.
    “That’s because he’s a pig,” Corinne had told Michael.
    Whether or not Wes thought that Corinne knew this rule, it hardly seemed fair to judge him about it now. Or even bring it up. Who was she to look down her nose at the way anyone else led his life? Glass houses and all that. There was a reason she had become a total basket case. Maybe Wes had his own reasons for his actions.
    And maybe—just like her—he wished like hell things were different.
    When they reached Souvenir Gate, they turned left and headed back down on St. Patrick. A couple in running attire sat on the steps of a house to Corinne’s left. It was clear that they’d just finished a run. Both dripped with sweat, and the young woman rested her heels on the lowest step while she stretched her hamstrings by reaching for her toes. The man, who looked a little older, grabbed the tail of her long braid and gave it a playful tug, making the woman laugh.
    Corinne watched them hungrily. Happiness was such a fragile creature. The couple in front of her might have years ahead to make each other happy. Corinne hoped that they did. But the life that stretched out before her seemed very long indeed to watch other people be happy.
    At that moment, the young woman must have felt Corinne’s eyes on her because she looked up and waved. Corinne waved back, a little abashed at being caught staring, and turned away again.
    Buck had settled down considerably as they made their way back, but when they rounded Juliette and turned back onto St. Joseph, he started pulling again, eager now to be home.
    “I think someone’s ready for his dinner,” Corinne said.
    “Yeah, and Buck’s hungry, too,” Wes deadpanned.
    Corinne laughed.
    “You’re funny,” she offered.
    “Yeah, I am,” Wes said, mounting the steps to the front porch and eyeing her like she was the last person on earth to figure this out.
    And