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Baxter twitches but doesn’t wake.

No reply yet. Nothing to make it scroll into memory.

At my age, in my house, in the basement room I have turned into a bedroom, I’m waiting for a twenty-eight-year-old cam performer to answer an emoji.

There are, I imagine, more dignified expressions of grief.

Clint looks toward the side of his screen. Toward me, in the only way he can.

My chest tightens.

The public room continues to push at him, hungry and impatient, but he doesn’t pick up the toy. He shifts, smiles faintly, and says something to them that I don’t quite hear because I’m watching the private chat.

Three dots appear, then vanish.

They appear again.

HotnReddy: Careful, Bentley. That’s almost sweet.

I laugh. It isn’t even loud enough to wake the dogs, but it surprises me with how quickly it comes.

I haven’t laughed all day.

Bentley84: I’m a man of hidden depths.

Clint’s mouth curves. Not a show smile, but a real one.

For me.

For Bentley84.

HotnReddy: A guy with hidden depths? I could make that dirty, but I gotta save it for the big chat.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

Bentley84: In my defense, I hadn’t thought of the dirty part yet.

HotnReddy: Sure.

The public chat continues to scroll beside him.

show hole

whos he typing to?

plug time

cmon reddy

makin me horny!!1

Clint glances toward it, then back toward the private window.

Something in my chest warms at the choice.

It shouldn’t. I know that.

The knowledge has become part of the ritual now. Open the laptop. Tell myself I will only stay a minute. Tell myself I’m just here to know something of the person pressing against the edges of Renny’s estate.