She shivers and drapes a blanket over herself, covering everything but her face. “I don’t know,” she mumbles. “I couldn’t really get into it.”
“Hmm. Not even when they found the cat with the murder weapon?” I tease, and she snorts softly.
“Yeah, okay. It was cheesy.”
I lightly tug on her purple hair, which is fading to a gold. Usually, she dyes her hair every week, but she hasn’t since we’ve been back.
It’s just as pretty, but it’s another indicator that she’s not feeling like herself.
“Do you want to stop this book? We could start another. Or take a break from the book club.”
That gets her to sit up and look at me incredulously. “What? No. Book club is great. It’s amazing, just like purr parties or kitten therapy. I don’t want to stop any of that.”
I cup her cheek, and she winces at my caress. “Then do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
She swallows. “I don’t know how to word it,” she admits.
“Try.”
Her eyes glaze over, and when she speaks again, it’s with heavy sadness.
“I…can’t.”
“If you don’t talk to me, I won’t be able to?—”
“And you don’t have to,Ivan.” It’s the first time she’s snapped at me, and it takes both of us by surprise. “You don’t have to make everything better all the time.”
“I make everything better?” I joke, and she huffs.
“Sometimes.” She positions herself back on my chest and buries her face in it, so I can’t see her eyes. Her scent begins to sour with acidic lemon.
I want to fix it.
When she’s in my arms and I don’t have answers, the helplessness makes my head spin.
“Can you read to me?” she murmurs, her voice muffled. “Can you reread chapter fifteen?”
“Yeah, sweetheart. I can do that.”
I keep my voice low and hushed, purposely emphasizing the ridiculous part where the revolver is found in the cat tree.
It isPurrder in the First Degree, after all.
But there’s no response from Maeve, just silence. No chuckles, no muffled laughter, nothing.
And that sour scent fills the room until she’s more acid than sugar.
Even when I purr for her, there’s no reaction.
I carry on to the next chapter, then the next, a sinking feeling in my chest.
I want to fix this. Therehasto be a way to fix this.
The sun is setting by the time she speaks.
“I think something bad is going to happen,” she says in a small, muffled voice.
I put the book down next to her head and gently tilt her face up. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears, and her cheeks are red.
