Two weeks passed and the Ryans were somewhat comfortably situated. Miley was still sour on the country life, but Jordan and Riley were quickly sucking away her attention, as most seven year old twin boys do. She had made acquaintances with all her neighbors, and even managed to find her way around the small town. All the faces were the same, all the faces were impossible to evade, all the faces haunted her with their amazing optimism. But none of the faces were as vividly imprinted as Lily's. It seemed as though the blonde mystery was just a figment of her imagination. Did she even exist? Not once had she seen her, and it was hard to miss people in such a tiny environment.

Everyday she'd pass the house, just to make sure it was really there, and she'd look nosily into the windows to be met with the opaque blackness of turned out lights. No, maybe there never was a Lily Truscott. Maybe she'd moved. From all she'd heard from the neighbors, this girl was someone no one cared about. She remembered an elderly man named Bobby Grey recalling his impressions of her.

"She's a young 'un little Misses. That Ms. Truscott mus be somethin' of twenny three. Ya'd ne'er tell the way she sulks about 'er 'ouse and 'er face is all drear' and such. Don't think I've e'er seen a little girl so sad as 'er. She's a Go'damn beauty she is. But 'er sadness got 'er all screwed up in the heart and the face. Now don't ya go messing with that little Lil'ian, Mrs. Ryan, she's got all that anger all bursting through and anyone who'll talk to 'er will get the hot end of it."

After that warning, and her cold first encounter, Miley was determined to break this girl.

---*---

Lily looked out the window. It was eight o'clock. Tiredness was filtering into her eyes, and she took a satisfying swig of her coffee. She sat at her dining table, which she'd placed by the window many months ago. Something about watching other people gave her comfort. It forced her to remember that she was alone by choice, not by option. She didn't want their company. All the company she needed sat in her pleasant memories, her tree, and her bottles of various medications. It was a friendship from which she could just take, instead of giving and giving and giving like she always did with him.

Her eyes were met with the same face she'd become accustom to staring at. It was Miley Ryan. She'd come to gaze at the house every day since their last meeting. Unbeknown to her, she was looking right into Lily's eyes, past the tinted windows. It was odd to see such infatuation in another. She often reflected on her own past infatuation, but it always led to memories, and that always led to unwanted bouts of increased depression.

Looking at Miley gave her a sense of security. As though her eyes were embracing her, her gaze was encompassing her in warmth. It was a same feeling she got when she was with him, and she didn't like that another could have such effect. So, she readied herself for bed and stared at her ceiling until sleep took her.

She heard the door open, familiar steps on the wooden floor. They were tentative steps, trying to be hidden, trying to be discreet, and trying not to be loud footsteps in a sleepy house at two in the morning. These were Oliver's steps. There was a click of the shower turning on, and the sound of the running water reverberated about the house. Exactly twenty minutes later, it was clicked off, and he continued his quiet attempt at sneaking about the house.

He entered the room and she felt the soft squish of his weight on the bed. He smelled fresh of soap but still he stunk of the odor he tried to wash away. It was the distinct odor of guilt. She closed her eyes, to look asleep, and she waited for his movement. There was none. He wouldn't touch her, wouldn't even acknowledge her presence. And she lay in the bed, sobbing quiet tears, and knowing he would be gone when she awoke.

Again the memories flooded her, and she looked to the empty side of the bed, and she buried her face in her pillow feeling the warm tears crawling down her cheeks.

---*---

"Deal with your kids Jacob." Jake shot a bored glare over to his wife, and then another to his tangled boys.

"What do you want me to do Miley?!" He yelled back over.

"I don't give a fu- crap. I'm going out."

"Miley!" "Miley?" He whined.

She walked out and slammed the door behind her.

She hadn't spent much time here, but she knew of a quiet little nook within the forest. It opened into a small lake. She pulled her jacket around her, and braved the mild winds in the ten minute walk to the outlet. And as she approached the closing she saw a small figure sitting on the banks, her wavy blonde hair tied in a loose ponytail. She had a big jacket, swallowing her features, and she looked hooked on the view of the horizon.

Lily felt footsteps on the ground. She felt familiar eyes scanning her over. And she waited for the thick western accent to come floating out through the air, forming obligated conversation. And as she waited, she was met with her exact prediction.

"Lily is that you?"

"Yes." She replied, not even looking up at the brunette.

"I didn't know you ever came outta yer house. Whatcha doin up here?"

"I usually come out here to be alone." Lily's voice was tired and harsh, due to the insulted feel that came from pointing out her obvious anti-socialism.

"Oh, I'm sorry Lily. Would you prefer me to leave?" Yes. Lily thought, but decided that it was a ridiculous request. After all, she lived here too.

"It's your neighborhood as much as mine Mrs. Ryan, you can do whatever you want."

"Okay."

Miley stayed in her spot, looking over at the small girl. She looked feeble and sad and depressed and annoyed. She couldn't have made her so sour in the few seconds she'd been there. Could she?

Rather than wonder, her infamous curiosity and outspokenness caused her to invest in some interest. She came over to where the girl was sitting. Her knees were tucked into her chest, her arms securely around them. And for the first time, this girl looked normal. She looked approachable, with emotion, not the blank wall of hidden feelings she always came off as. Yes, she must find out who is Ms. Lillian Truscott.

"Would you mind some company?"

"Up to you Mrs. Ryan."

"Okay."

She settled herself gingerly beside the girl, careful not to make any contact with her. She wanted conversation, but would the blonde participate?

She threw caution to the wind.

"Lily, could I ask you something?"

"I suppose." Somehow, Lily knew this discussion would be inquisitive.

The brunette smelled of warm cookies and strawberries. In her eyes was the manifestation of love and kindness and compassion for the troubled. Yet, attempting to be subtle, was the underlying depression of unfulfilled dreams and wishful thinking. Lily supposed no one else could see the darkness behind the dazzle of green that was Miley's eyes. She supposed no one else could see the fakeness of happiness she put on. She supposed no one else really cared.

"Lily, why don't you ever come out to the diners, or the stores, or hang out with the neighbors?"

"I cook at home. And I venture out when I need grocery. And none of the neighbors have ever expressed desire to meet me or associate with me, so I figure they'd rather me keep to myself."

This saddened Miley.

"So they never came to welcome you?" The neighbors seemed awful nice to just ignore her.

Lily sighed with a tone of annoyance and exhaustion, as though she'd expected this speech.

"I was in a bit of a distressed state upon first moving here. I was in no way able to deal with companionship, and after extending simple greeting they decided me sociopathic and never came to me again." She felt embarrassed after her confession, feeling as though she had given too much information.

"I don't mind lonesomeness." She added, to suppress any future sympathy or pity.

"Aww, well do you have any pets?"

"No."

"Any love interests?"

"No." At this, her eyes flashed and faltered and sadness flooded into them. Clearly this subject was beyond uncomfortable, and Miley ventured away from anything dealing with friends, family, or home life.

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized there was really nothing else to talk about. She was going to have to take this friendship kindergartner speed. So she started with a simple question.

"Hey Lil, what's your favorite color?"

The conversation was simple and surface valued, being answered with single words on Lily's part. It seemed her patience was thin and her tolerance was getting low. But somewhere, beneath her emotionless tones, there was a sense of happiness that some interest was being taken in her. It was the first time in two years that anyone had ever cared about something as miniscule as her favorite color.

"Lily, will you come to dinner with me tomorrow night? It's sort of like a get together, but it'll only be my family and the Palumbo's … and you?"

Lily could lie. She was good at lying. But the situation offered little chance of being believed. How could she say she was busy when she'd already detailed that she had nothing going for her? So instead she gave in.

"Okay. Thank you."

"Alright then, six pm tomorrow. Bring a hankerin for steak ya hear!"

And then Miley put a hand on her shoulder and left. And Lily sat and thought about how she'd just broken one of her many vows after he had left. She had gotten a friend. No, this was not how things were supposed to play out.