Page 212

Paul

My phone buzzes while I’m standing at the patio door, watching morning hit the pool like nothing dramatic has ever happened here.

Jessica, of course. I consider letting it go, but then I imagine the voicemail.

“Hi, sis.”

“Happy birthday yesterday, asshole.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“You ghosted everyone.”

“Not everyone.”

“You didn’t answer Mom. Or me. You haven’t answered your business manager in over a week, who is now emailing me like I have anything to do with any of this crap. What is going on with you?”

My eyes close. A low breath is my response.

“And Reggie, Paul. Are you responding to his messages?”

“I haven’t gotten any messages.”

“Such a damn liar sometimes.”

I press my forehead to the glass. It’s already warm. “How are the boys?”

“You know that deflection doesn’t work on me.”

“How are they?”

Jessica sighs, which means it works somewhat. “They miss you. Baxter’s barely eating.”

Picturing it makes my heart hurt a little. Baxter, with his dramatic little eyebrows and advanced emotional manipulation skills, refusing breakfast because I’m in Mexico having a naked midlife crisis.

“Barret?”

“Barret would eat through grief, joy, earthquake, and federal indictment.”

A laugh slips out of me, then fades.

Jessica softens. “Are you really going to stay locked up in that house alone for three more weeks?”

I look over to the kitchen. Last night’s dishes are in the sink. The house is quiet, but not empty.

“I don’t know yet.”

“That’s not an answer.” A pause. Then, quieter, “You are okay, right?”

The old answers rise automatically. Yep. Fine. Peachy. I’m good. I swallow them all.

“I don’t know that either.”

Jessica is silent long enough for me to feel how much I have just given away, and how much I’m still holding back.

“Paul…”

I know what’s coming. She wants me home. She wants me to contain whatever it is that’s going on with me. Keep my head on straight or at least appear to do so.