“Then let’s try this again,” I say. “Get over here and say hello for real.”
She hurries across the studio. When her arms circle my neck, I lift her by the waist. “Don’t leave me again,” she says, nuzzling me.
I’d like to bottle up those words and keep them close. It’s something Sadie never asked of me. And when I’d spend too many hours in the office, Kendra used my time away from home as a weapon. Halston actually missed me, and the evidence is right in front of me. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“It scares me how hard it was to be away from you.”
I rub her back. It doesn’t scare as much as worry me. Halston’s mood has been relatively good since we met three weeks ago, but the day before I left was the anniversary of her mom’s death. It was important to her that she end her meds that day so she could feel everything. And something about not wanting to hit the ten-year mark. I held her as she cried and reminisced. I listened. What I didn’t do was tell her it might not be the best time to stop. She’s mentioned enough times how Rich and her dad try to control her treatment.
“Did you try writing?” I ask. “Doesn’t that help?”
“I started to. It was the first time I’ve written since we met, but then . . .”
“What?”
She hesitates. “It’s stupid.”
“Of course it’s not.” I scoop an arm under her knees and carry her to the studio’s small sofa. I sit her across my lap. “If it’s something I did, you can tell me.”
“No, it’s not that.”
I set my jaw. There’s only one other explanation. She admitted recently that Rich’s still sniffing around, trying to change her mind about their break-up. I don’t need that. One of the worst things about my affair with Sadie was being kept in the dark about her marriage. I could never be exactly sure where we stood, because I only ever heard her side. I might need to step in with Rich before things get more complicated. “Is it Rich? Did he bother you while I was gone?”
“No. I mean, yes, he did, but I don’t care about him. It’s . . .”
I bend my head to try and get her to look at me. “What?”
She plays with a button on my chest and I temporarily forget that I’ve wanted to get out of this stiff shirt since the moment I put it on. “That photo you posted yesterday . . .”
I think back to the photo. We’d shot it a few days earlier. She’d dropped a glass in the kitchen in the middle of the night while getting water. I found her on her hands and knees cleaning it up. “You’ll cut yourself,” I’d said, pulling her up by her bicep. “Leave it. I’ll get it in the morning.”
I’d turned out the light, and the glare of a nearly full moon silhouetted her, her red slip the only color in the dark. She’d started to apologize, but I’d cut her off to get my camera. I’d slid down the strap of her negligee, positioned her sleep-disheveled hair over her shoulders, and shot her in the dark. Since we were apart yesterday, I’d posted it without her permission, but her face was shadowed. She hadn’t told me not to as she’d watched me edit it.
“What about it?” I ask.
“Did you see the comments?”
“I don’t think so. What’d they say?”
“Someone called the caption weird.”
I’m a toy.
Come, wind me up,
Play with me.
Her voice cracks. “They said it wassick. Do people think that?”
“Person, not people, and no, they don’t think that. How many other comments were there?”
“I don’t know.” She shrugs. “There were four more.”
“And?”
“They were good.”
“So it’s one person, and clearly, this kind of stuff isn’t for her.”
