Nick takes his at the set door.
‘Action,’ Ana calls.
And, unlike last night, Nick says nothing.
But, as I hear him open the door behind me, andfeelthe weight of his gaze on my back, I do set my cup down on the counter.
Then, chin to my shoulder, I tilt my head in his direction.
I still can’t see him, and for a second more, I wait, stilled by the energy that shoots, like thousands of arrows, through my skin. I pull a slow breath on the sensation, transported to how I felt in front of Iris’s mirror, and her window, when I saw those impossible things.
Vaguely, I’m aware of myself moving, turning to face Nick properly. Our eyes lock, the camera, lights and crew receding,and I think of Robbie, whose carved name I traced on that cold wooden post. I feel the engraving still, imprinted on my skin. I picture Robbie, his face on the cover,present pixelating with past, only not static, but alive: his smile filling Nick’s smile; his eyes in Nick’s eyes.
The vividness of the illusion dizzies me.
The memory of that face I saw beneath mine in Iris’s mirror, dizzies me.
The thought of that flare path, and those planes, the voices in the attic, and the laughter in the woods, does.
I have no idea where it’s all coming from.
And I can no longer subdue my fear.
It petrifies me, how uncontainable my own mind seems so suddenly to have become.
But, in a blink, Nick becomes Nick again, looking at me withhiseyes that are puffy, and tired, and the wrong colour, but snapping with a love that, just like the vibrations of sensation in my skin, feels too true to be a pretence.
I realise I don’t want it to be a pretence.
Iwantto believe that he isn’t acting, that hehasn’tstrayed, but loves me,me, as much as he says he still does.
I need, very much, to trust that he still can.
That revelation dizzies me, too.
Everything does: me, him, the doubt and silence straining the air between us, and my growing confusion over whether this love I see in him now is genuine, or Oscar-worthy.
He takes a step towards me.
I remain rooted to the spot.
It’s every one of my dreams, all over again.
He draws breath, and even though I know the words that are coming, I still bite my lip, waiting for them.
He smiles.
He knows what I’m doing.
For a beat more, he leaves me waiting.
For that beat, we remain us.
I still remain me.
Then, in a voice that is low, and husky, no hint of Montana, Nick lets the words go.
‘Hello, Clarence,’ he says.
