Page 37

“I threw a pillow.”

He waits.

“At the chair.”

“Which chair?”

“The yellow one.”

“Renny’s chair.”

I hate that he knows that.

“Yes.”

“And the pillow hit the vase?”

“Eventually.”

“Was the vase menacing you?”

“It was there.”

Don’s face stills. That is worse than jokes.

“I wanted something to break, okay?”

Don does not move.

“It was childish,” I add.

He shrugs. “Like I’m any judge of adult behavior.”

A laugh escapes me. Then it folds inward and becomes something else.

I grip the edge of the counter.

Don’s expression changes immediately. “Oh, honey.”

“Don’t.”

“All right.”

I breathe through my nose until the room steadies. The photographs blur, then sharpen again. Renny on boats, at bars, smiling from every impossible angle.

“I met Jessica for lunch,” I say.

“I’m sorry.”

“She thinks losing some of this might be good for me.”

Don’s eyebrows lift. “She’s such a ray of sunshine.”

“She didn’t say it cruelly.”

“Jessica rarely needs cruelty to get the job done.”

Don leans against the island, thin arms folded. “And what do you think?”