“I’m so sorry.I know.I should have called or texted or—I’m so, so sorry.”
“Can you please—” He drew a breath.He tried to blink the tears away, but they were there, like little sparks in his eyes.“I know things come up.I know you get distracted.I know you have a lot going on.But you knew tonight was important to me.”His voice broke as he added, “You knew I’d be scared.”
“I didn’t think—” But I stopped, because that was all, that was it: Ihadn’tthought.“Bobby, I love you.”
Bobby nodded.“I know.But sometimes, it’d be nice to feel like I’m important to you too.”
I was only vaguely aware of the room now.The space around me was barely an outline, my brain shutting down with panic, emergency functions only.But somehow, I said, “Bobby, youareimportant to me.You’re the most important person in my life.”
I didn’t realize I was crying until he moved, nodding his head, everything blurred by the tears.
“Okay,” he said.
“You are.I messed up.I’m sorry.”
“Okay,” he said, and for the first time, he sounded more like my Bobby—the stiffness that was hurt and anger yielding to a hint of gentleness in the word.“I shouldn’t have said that.I’m sorry.I didn’t mean to say that.”
That was worse, though.That he hadn’t meant to say it, and that it had still come out.I shook my head, but I couldn’t say anything.
“Can we talk about this tomorrow?”Bobby waited a moment and continued, “I— We’re both upset, and I’ve got to get back to work.”It sounded like a decision when he said, “Let’s talk about this tomorrow.”
And what could I do except nod?
Tears spilled down my cheeks, and I heard his breathing change, and the old floorboards creaked as he shifted his weight.But then he sighed, and he turned away.He went through the Jack-and-Jill bathroom that connected to the room that was, technically,hisbedroom.And he shut the door.A moment later came the thud of a drawer being shut hard.He didn’t come back.And after a while, his footsteps moved away through the house, and then he was gone.
Chapter 22
I cried for a long time.
Most of it was about Bobby.The fact that I’d hurt him so badly.And the fear and confusion because I didn’t understand why he’d gotten so upset.I mean, yes, I got it: I should have shown up for dinner.But Bobby had always been so patient with me.He’d always been so understanding.I knew it wasn’t fair to expect Bobby to put up with my bad behavior, and I knew it wasn’t fair to want Bobby to be, I don’t know, perfectly immune to his own doubts and fears.Bobby wasn’t a saint, and patience and understanding had their limits.But I had spent a lot of my life feeling like I wasn’t good at relationships, feeling like I’dneverbe good at them.And this awful fight with Bobby brought all that confusion and fear roaring back.
And it hurt, too, because Bobby had been right, at least partially.No, I hadn’t actuallydoneanything with Julian.And I wouldn’t.Ever.But the bottom line was that I’d stopped and talked to Julian because—well, because it felt good.Because Julian liked me.He said flattering things to me.He said exactly what I wanted to hear, as a matter of fact.And in the wake of that devastating encounter with Margaux—not to mention Thatcher’s treachery—it had been a balm for my wounded ego.I might not haveintentionallyforgotten about dinner with Bobby, but I’d certainly been too focused on myself.
Which was, I was mature enough to admit, pretty lousy on my part.
Eventually, though, you have to stop crying.(Even if you’re alone in a Class V haunted mansion).And Iwasalone.I’d lived in Hemlock House long enough to know the familiar sounds: groans and moans and clanks and creaks.And I knew what it sounded like when it was empty.
In the past when Bobby and I had gotten into one of these fights—iffightswas even the right word—or before we’d gotten together, when we’d been trying to find our way to each other, one of my friends had been there for me.Not tonight.And in a weird way, it felt like I hadn’t seen my friends in ages.It wasn’t true factually; I’d seen them all the night before.But in that moment, they felt far away.
I could have called them, I suppose.And told them what?How badly I’d messed up with Bobby?No, thank you.
Anyway, this was the way life was going.If Bobby didn’t break up with me, eventually it would be just the two of us.Fox and Indira had their own lives.Keme and Millie would find an apartment.I wanted to start crying all over again at the thought of everyone moving on.But I didn’t.Because that was part of life; everyone moved on eventually.
Lying in bed all night feeling sorry for myself did sound appealing, but somehow, I got up and went downstairs.I wasn’t hungry, but Bobby had gone to the effort to bring home takeout, and I didn’t want it to go bad sitting out on the counter overnight.
When I reached the kitchen, delicious smells met me: ginger and garlic and lemon.Bobby had laid out the carryout containers, rather than leaving them stacked.He’d even opened a couple of them so that the steam could escape.It was the kind of thing Bobby would think of, and it made my eyes sting all over again.
I packed up the food in Tupperware containers and stored it in the fridge.I put the empty takeout containers in the trash.I was vaguely aware that I hadn’t eaten since—God, I wasn’t sure.Did coffee count?I gave the counters a quick inspection, because Indira liked to keep the kitchen clean, and moved toward the door.
And that’s when I saw the folder.It was standard manila, and on the front, a sticky note had my name written at the top.
I picked it up.
Dash, We found this, and I thought you’d want to take a look.Acosta.
Had Bobby brought this home?Or had the sheriff dropped it off?It didn’t matter, I supposed.I opened the folder and found myself staring at a photocopy of a handwritten letter.
Dear Dashiell—
