I consider letting her call fade,
unanswered,
into the night.
But I am not that strong.
elise
The eager hum of his voice makes me feel like I’ve been shaken out of a deep sleep: anxious, alert,awake.
It’s late. Audrey and Janie went home hours ago, and it’s long past my mom’s bedtime. Long past the time I should be asleep. Tonight… I couldn’t even lie down. I’m jumpy, full of worries, and questions, and doubts. I keep thinking about my fortune. It’s just a silly luck-of-the-draw prediction that means nothing, except…
It means everything.
He says my name, softly, almost like he’s sleeptalking. Sitting cross-legged at the foot of my bed, Bambi’s head resting in my lap, I try to guess his mood based on his tone alone. But it’s been too long since our last conversation, when he was frustrated and tense, speaking sharply and imploringly. That’s the voice that’s tolled in my head over the last few days. Desperate and despairing. Hopeless.
Tonight he sounds… different.
“I’m happy you called,” he says, though happy isn’t how I’d describe his timbre.
I don’t know how to respond. I can’t even explainwhyI called—to feel close to him, I guess. I pet Bambi’s head, grasping for a calm that keeps slipping away.
“Elise,” he says. “Are you there?”
Cautious. Uncertain. Nervous.That’show he sounds.
“I’m here,” I whisper.
“Are you at home?”
“Where else would I be?”
“On your way to the park? To see me?”
“You’re at the park?”
“In our turret.”
I lift my hair away from my neck, my skin too warm. Bambi groans, protesting my movement. “Why?”
“Because I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t know where else to go.”
“I can’t sleep, either.”
I expect him to ask me to join him, and I’m glad when he doesn’t. I’m not sure I have the willpower to turn him down. “Thank you again for bringing Bambi home.”
“She was sitting in front of our cottage, wagging her tail. I was so glad to see her.”
A stretch of silence passes. I wonder if he’s been going to the beach the last few days. If he’s waited, looking for my dog and me. The image of him standing alone on the sand makes my breath shallow.
“How’s your baba?”
“Better. His last scan is tomorrow. Based on his recent progress, his doctors have high hopes.”
“That means…?”
“That our time in America is nearly done.”
