“Okay. Okay, honey. I’m sorry,” she said, voice cracking like she might cry from fear or relief or both.
“Don’t be. I’m on my way.”
Bryn hung up. She stared at the black screen for a dread-filled heartbeat. She was about to walk back to that table and blow up her life by telling Vivian that she was about to duck out to play chauffeur in the middle of her workday.
She took a deep breath, turned toward Vivian and Iris, the latter of whom was looking at her in open worry, and explained the situation in a rush.
Nearly panting when she was finished, she expected Vivian to say that if she left, she wasn’t welcome back. To call her childish or unprofessional. To tell her that her priorities were all wrong and she’d never make it in this business. Her unmoving face was already screaming as much.
Vivian set her cup down on the saucer with a delicateclink. She looked at Bryn and said, “Go.”
Bryn furrowed her brow. “What?”
“Go,” Vivian repeated calmly. “Get your friend.”
Bryn stared at her, mouth agape. “But… the book. The schedule. You said?—”
“The book will be here when you get back,” Vivian said, picking up a napkin and dabbing the corner of her mouth. “We can work late tonight if we need to. Or tomorrow.” She waved a hand dismissively. “Just go.”
Bryn felt like the floor was tilting. Like she was trapped on the hellish teacup ride.
“Well, go,” Iris insisted. “Don’t leave that poor sweet lady waiting.”
“Thank you,” Bryn breathed, the relief hitting her so hard her knees almost buckled. “Thank you. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
Bryn sprinted to the guesthouse for her keys, her heart pounding with a strange, soaring gratitude. Vivian was still sitting at the table when Bryn darted for the side gate.
She understood Vivian less than ever but as she scrambled into her van and peeled out of the driveway, Bryn knew one thing for sure. She was going to record the hell out of this book when she got back.
ChapterTwelve
Vivian was not waitingfor Bryn to return. She was absolutely not sitting at the kitchen counter—well after Iris had left for the weekend—watching for Bryn to traipse across the yard to the guesthouse like she owned the damn place.
Her only awareness of Bryn was purely professional. She hadn’t been worried since Bryn texted at mid-morning saying she was taking her friend to the hospital. Her only concern was with scheduling. They were so close to finishingMagpies, they could have probably recorded a few extra hours today and completed the whole damn thing.
What twenty-nine-year-old was friends with an octogenarian, anyway? It was probably a put-on persona. A Pollyanna ploy. Vivian’s empty stomach soured. The fear in Bryn’s watery eyes, the distress in her body—it had been suffocating.
Vivian got up and started for the Chardonnay in the fridge. She poured herself another glass to drown her discomfort.
The motion sensor light in the back yanked her attention from the news article she’d been staring at on her phone. If she hadn’t accidentally consumed half a bottle of wine, she might have accepted Bryn’s return silently and gone to bed. But when she stood, she went for the sliding glass door rather than the stairs.
“Hey,” Vivian called to the hunched figure trudging across the backyard.
Bryn startled. “Shit, sorry,” she called back before meeting Vivian on the back patio. “I hope I didn’t scare you.” She smiled, tired and dim. “Did you think I was the Hamburglar?”
Vivian rested her hands on her hips. “Have you been in the hospital this whole time?” She hadn’t intended the question to sound like an accusation.
Nodding, Bryn tucked her hair behind her ear. “It didn’t take that long to get her blood pressure down and stable, but the ER was so slammed it took us hours to get discharged. And then I stayed with her until she got settled at home. She was so exhausted.” She said it as if she were simply recounting her day. Not complaining. Not looking for a pat on the back.
Vivian wanted to ask where this Gloria person’s family was. Whether there wasn’t anyone else who could take over, but the answer was obvious.
“Have you eaten?” Vivian heard herself ask, a revoltingly pleasant ghost possessing her mouth.
Bryn’s eyes brightened a fraction. “No, but Iris has me hooked up with granola and?—”
“I asked if you had eaten, not whether you found the guesthouse stocked to your satisfaction.”
Bryn chuckled despite Vivian’s arid delivery.
