Beckett
Two days later, I’m back at the Callahan house. Hudson opens the front door before I can knock. He’s been checking in regularly.
“Donna’s sleeping,” he says, stepping onto the porch with me.
I nod. “Good. Thanks for this.”
He studies me for a beat. “You’re not here just as backup.”
“No.”
A corner of his mouth lifts. “Didn’t think so.” He lowers his voice. “She’s stabilizing. It’ll be a few weeks before we know whether thismedication adjustment holds. Mania that escalated that fast doesn’t unwind overnight.”
I glance toward the upstairs window. I don’t see Madison, but I feel her somewhere inside the house like a live wire.
Hudson follows my line of sight.
“You know the littlest Callahan?” he asks.
“Which one?”
“The one who stares at you like she’s assessing your weaknesses.”
A laugh escapes me. “Rowan?”
“That’s the one.” He adjusts his glasses. “I think she bites.”
“She does.”
Hudson smirks. “Good. Someone should.” He claps my shoulder once. “Madison is lucky she has you.”
When he leaves, and I step inside, the house feels quieter than it did a couple of nights ago.
Arthur greets me in the hallway. “She’s resting. Your friend… he’s very good.”
“He is.”
Arthur’s shoulders sag. “Thank you for coming.”
I nod once. “Where’s Madison?”
“In the kitchen. Maybe you’ll convince her to sleep.”
He looks every inch the worried father when he steps away.
Madison is standing at the sink, her hands braced on the counter. She’s staring out the window, a million miles away.
I lean against the doorway rather than walking up behind her. “Hi, neighbor.”
“Hi, Doc,” she whispers.
“How is she?”
“Better.” She takes a deep breath. “For now.”
She dries her hands on a towel. I don’t think they’re wet. I just think she needs something to do with them.
When she finally turns, I see the distance. There’s exhaustion and worry there, in her posture and in the way she crosses her arms. I see how she’s trying to get as far away as she can.
