"Yes, Sawyer." Madison grins. "Don't play dumb."
"I'm not." I shake my head, stirring more vigorously than necessary. "Because there's nothing going on."
But my face is warm. I know it is. And Madison definitely notices.
"Yeah, maybe for now," Madison says with that knowing tone.
I turn back to the sauce, my mind drifting to earlier today at the bank. That moment when I couldn't breathe.
It had been a quiet afternoon when Nora glanced up from her paperwork.
"You know," she'd said quietly, "Sawyer's a really good man."
I'd looked up, probably too quickly, because she'd smiled knowingly.
"His wife Lila and I were really good friends," she'd continued, lowering her voice. "He lost her a few years back. Drinking and driving. Hit a pine tree. They said she died instantly."
My heart had clenched. Nora's clipped tone had made it somehow worse.
"That's awful," I'd whispered. Nora had just nodded before returning to her paperwork. Like we'd been discussing the weather.
Now, stirring the sauce in my kitchen, I can't stop thinking about it. About Sawyer losing someone he loved. About what that kindof grief does to a person.
"You're being awfully quiet over there," Madison observes.
"Nora told me something about Sawyer today. About his wife."
Madison's eyebrows raise. "He's married?"
"Was married. She died a few years ago." I lower my voice even though it's just us. "Drunk driving accident."
"Oh God, that's awful."
"Yeah." I stir the sauce absently. "Can you imagine trying to move on from something like that?"
Even as I say it, I know Madison's thinking the same thing I am. I'm trying to move on too. Different kind of loss, but loss all the same.
“You’re really thinking about this guy, aren’t you?” Madison studies my face.
“I’m not thinking about anything,” I protest, but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound. “I just feel bad for him. Losing someone you love like that.”
My phone buzzes against the counter. I freeze. Another unknown number. Missed call.
Madison's expression shifts. "Ali, how many calls have you gotten?"
"A few." I try to sound casual. "It's probably nothing."
"Telemarketer?" Madison asks, watching my face.
"Probably." But my hands are shaking when I set the phone back down.
Madison knows me too well. She understands what "probably nothing" really means. The kitchen falls quiet except for the bubbling sauce.
"You know what?" Madison hops off her stool. "You've worked all day. I should be cooking. Go read your book and I'll finish up."
“Thanks,” I say.
I hand her the spoon and escape to the living room, where my paperback sits on the couch's armrest.
