Thank you.
It’s not enough; it’s not even quite what I mean, but it’s all I can manage right now.
You did such a good job.
I feel her phantom fingers running across my scalp, her soft lips peppering my face with kisses. I feel her here, and a few tears soak into my mattress.
My phone buzzes again, and I know this is probably it for the night.
I love you, so very much.
I love you, too.
It’s not the same; it couldn’t be. But it’s enough. For now.
Chapter 36
RJ
Handing off some of my work to Walker has been easier than I thought, and he’s better help than I’d assumed he’d be. He’s stepped up in ways that make him unfamiliar to me; no longer the insouciant artist, but a reluctant leader willing to pick up whatever slack there is left in our plan. He’s been checking on Jansen, checking on me, doing his part of the plan without any fuss, then diving into everything else we still have yet to do. Just his shopping list is intimidating.
He’s become the glue of our team.
And I’m glad to have him, especially with the unending pile of work that keeps filling my plate—I’m not making the dean’s list this semester. In fact, I’m so far from my usual work that one of my professors pulled me aside to make sure I’m okay.
I told her that things aren’t good with my family, but that I’m doing the best I can with the time I have when I’m not helping them. And it’s not even a lie. This is my family. Theremay not be a paper that claims we belong together, but we do.
The ads that keep cropping up for wedding rings tell me I’m not the only one in the house who wants a symbol of our connection. Not that I’ll say anything to Walker, but it’s nice to know I’m not the only one whose brain is going there.
We might not get our names on a piece of paper, but that doesn’t mean our commitment to Clara is any less. Everything we’re doing right now should be more than proof of our connection.
So, with the bare minimum of my schoolwork done and my professor’s sympathies gained, I’m neck deep in the dark web, digging up more information about whatever pedo convention is going to happen here at the end of the year.
Walker slips in after my umpteenth dead end, sprawling in Trips’ desk chair he moved here months ago. “How’s the hunt?” he asks.
“Mostly futile.”
“I used the system you set up to look for dirty cops, and there’s someone on every shift who would respond to a fire at the storage unit that could be compromised.”
I spin around, my screen not telling me anything new. “That’s not good.”
Walker sighs, then pulls out his phone. “Do you think we should call Jansen? Brainstorm a solution? He always has off-the-wall ideas. We might need that at this point.”
“Clara would have a solution,” I say, annoyed at myself the second I say it. We both know this is her strength. I didn’t need to point it out. “Call Jansen,” I say, wishing I could pull back my first reaction.
The speakerphone rings loudly in my room, Walker’s eyes weary. “I miss her,” he whispers.
“Same,” I reply as Jansen’s chipper voice greets us.
“So, why the call?” he asks after giving us an unnecessary update on the renovations he’s done on Black this week.
“We can’t destroy the evidence at the storage unit,” I say, getting to the point.
“Then we’ll move it,” Jansen says, as easy as that.
“But where?” Walker asks.
There’s a crash on the line, followed by Jansen chiding Fluffington for knocking over the ladder. And now I’m worried about him over there by himself. Emma’s splitting time between Black and her apartment, testing the waters to make sure she’s safe. But I refuse to hold onto the worry. I can’t. My worry plate is overflowing.
