Three texts from my editor. Two from Yara. One from Marcus. One from an unknown number that I almost delete on reflex.
I open the unknown one first.
Richard Hennessy Sr. settled this morning. Son's on a flight to Geneva. Tremblay's talking. Your story runs at noon Toronto time. Come home, Simone. We've got a seat saved for you on the two o'clock PM team call.
My editor. From a burner because the office line was compromised last week.
I read it twice.
Then the one from Marcus.
Paper wants you back Tuesday. I'll send a car. Talk before you say anything to G.
I sit up.
All that soft good feeling slides sideways.
Tuesday.
Today is Saturday.
He comesin at eight forty five with the cold still on him.
I'm downstairs at the counter in his shirt and a pair of leggings I retrieved from my room. Second cup of coffee. My phone face down because I don't know what to do with my face yet.
He sees me. Stops in the doorway.
Something in my expression registers. His shoulders drop half an inch, which on this man is a full reaction.
"What."
"Story runs at noon."
"Okay."
"Paper wants me back Tuesday."
Silence.
He crosses to the coffee pot. Pours himself one. Takes his time.
"Okay."
"Gray."
"What."
"That's it. Okay."
"What do you want me to say."
"I want you to say something that isn'tokay."
He turns. Leans against the counter opposite me. Mug in both hands.
"I want you to stay."
"I know."
