Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
When I step under the softly pelting water, I close my eyes and sigh.
Again, I empty my mind, like I did outside.
Except all I can think about is Henry in here with me. He already showered while I was outside, emptying my mind.
I soap myself up, rinse, turn off the tap, and stare at myself in the fogged mirror until a face emerges. It’s the image of a woman who’s been kissed breathless.
When I come back out, Henry’s at the stove, frying eggs. He glances over. “Breakfast for dinner?”
“Sounds great.”
We eat at the table this time instead of the counter.
The eggs are perfect, and the toast is sourdough with peach jam. I take a bite.
“Oh my God,” I say. “This might be the best thing I’ve ever put into my mouth.”
“Should I be insulted?” he says, his eyes sparkling.
My cheeks warm. “Of course not. But my God… What is this?”
“It’s my mom’s spiced peach jam, made from our Western Slope peaches.”
“Oh, yeah. Angie, or it might have been Sage, told me about that. I didn’t get a chance to taste it while I was there.”
“It’s great,” he agrees. “Though I wouldn’t say it’s the best thing I’ve ever had in my mouth.”
My cheeks warm further.
After we finish, he returns to his laptop.
I pull out my tablet and the stack of instrument diagrams I insisted on bringing. For a while we don’t talk. I tie invisible knots in my head.
“Tabs?” he says after a stretch.
Tabs. Angie’s nickname. It doesn’t undo me. But it could, so easily.
“Yeah?” I say.
“I want to be there for you.”
That came out of nowhere.
“I mean, to talk. If you want to.”
I sigh. “You’ve got your own issues.”
He nods.
I expect him to argue.
He doesn’t.
The room is quiet again, but it’s not empty. It’s full of the things we’ve said and—even louder—what we’ve left unsaid. The fire crackles.
I sit across from him. I place my palm on the table. He places his over it. No squeeze. No claim. Just warm and steady weight.
The silence between us goes heavy. It’s not dangerous silence. Not yet.
But it’s full. It’s heavy.
And it holds.
Twenty-Six
Henry
I slide a hand over Zach’s head. He thumps his tail once and goes back to relaxing. Outside the windows, the world is all wet green and pale light. Inside my head, it’s drywall dust and sirens and a door I can’t seem to close.
I tell myself to work. Control the controllables.
My gaze falls on my phone.
Why wouldn’t Tabitha talk to me about the attack?
She needs to talk to someone. God, I should know.
Then I stifle a laugh. The irony. I put off talking to Aunt Melanie for so long after the shooting. When I finally let her in, truly let her help me, I realized I wanted to go after Tabitha.
Then the accident…
I pick up my phone and look at my recent calls.
Francine.
I hear her laugh from the last call. You and every man who ever bought a ticket, sugar.
She has nothing for me.
But maybe that’s who I should talk to. Someone who doesn’t know anything about me…other than my genetics. A mother who isn’t really my mother. Not in the way that matters.
But a woman who might just care enough to listen and offer some advice after what I imagine wasn’t an easy life.
“I’m going outside,” I tell Tabitha as I rise.
She smiles weakly.
I go through the back way, Zach at my heels. The rain has stopped, and the sun is coming out just in time for it to go down in an hour or two.
I call.
Two rings. Three. Four.
“Palm Springs is hot this time of year,” she says instead of hello.
Her words are slightly slurred. Has she been drinking? Her voice is the same. Raspy.
My mouth is suddenly dry. “Hey. It’s me. Henry.”
“I know that, sugar. I miss the days before caller ID.” A lazy exhale. “You sound less concussed.”
I fight the urge to hang up. “Yeah.”
“I’m surprised to hear from you so soon,” she says. “What’s going on in Colorado?”
“Work. Family.” I clamp my fingers around the porch rail until my knuckles pale. “You?”
“Oh, you know. Aqua aerobics with three women who think disco never died. Bridge on Tuesdays. We argue about whether SPF has a smell.” She cackles lightly. “That sort of glittering retired life.”
It’s a bit. The kind designed to keep strangers an arm’s length away. I’m not a stranger and also I am.
“Have you—” I start but then stall. What? Have you ever thought about me for more than five minutes? “Have you ever been to Colorado?”
“Once,” she says quickly. “Didn’t stick.” A clink of glass against a counter. “The dry air made my skin feel all tight.”
“But you worked in Vegas. It’s as deserty as Colorado. Is deserty even a word?”
Damn, what the hell am I saying?
“Sure, it’s a word.” She laughs. “Makes sense. I never said I made any sense, though. And you’re right. Vegas is just as dry. But Vegas paid the bills. Next question.”