Thinking of his silver hair tonight, I nod. “He’s a sweet kid.”
“He’s not a kid. He’s twenty-one.”
“No shit.” Crossing my arms, I step out of the way again. She’s moving fast, gathering her things, but I can’t tell if she’s angry. “In that case, you should be even more aware he has feelings for you.”
“He’s not going to hurt me.”
“If I thought that, I wouldn’t be so calm about it.”
Blue eyes cut up to mine before she continues stuffing her few belongings into her small suitcase. I can’t help remembering the day we left the theater so long ago. We had half as much as we do now. Still, we travel light.
“You don’t have to leave tonight, you know. We’ve paid through tomorrow morning.”
“It’s okay. It’s easier to catch up with everyone at night.” The last of her belongings are in the case, and she zips it up. “They hang around the same places.”
We’re out the door, walking slowly down the hall. Mark has our bags in the lobby, waiting for a Lyft to the airport. Roland meets us with sleeping Jillian on his arm.
“Goodbye for now, shortcake,” he says, stepping forward to kiss her cheek. “Make good choices. Don’t do drugs.”
“You, too.” She holds her face up like she always does. Her eyes glide over my sleeping infant then up to me. “We can take the elevator together.”
“Of course.” We follow Roland, and my stomach feels like a lead weight is dragging it down to my feet.
For almost seven years, we’ve been inseparable. We left New Orleans together, and as she’s gone through all of these changes, as she’s confronted and slain her demons, I’ve been with her, taking care of her, making sure she’s safe. Even as she’s pulled away from me, we’ve still only been steps apart.
Now a strange fear clutches at my chest.
“I’m not abandoning you.” I need to have those words on the record. “I have to take care of… a matter back in the city. Roland has to get back to work. Mark—”
“Mark is going wherever you go. He’s in love with you.”
We’re in the elevator, and Roland pretends to be occupied with Jilly, but I know he’s listening to every word we say.
“I love him,” I say softly.
She nods. “Then it’s going to work out. You’ll get married. You already have a baby. You’ll get your happily ever after.”
If only it were that simple.
The doors open, and we emerge from the elevator. Mark is at the front desk, and when he sees us all together, when he sees Molly’s suitcase, he turns to the attendant again.
“Looks like we’re all checking out tonight.” The man nods and types on his computer screen.
Molly keeps walking, and I follow her to the revolving door.
“Wait,” I say, reaching out to catch her arm. She stops, and looks up at me. “I’ll call you. I’m only going to New Orleans. It’s not the end of the world.”
“I never said it was.” She almost laughs, and I feel silly.
It’s strange to feel like I’m the only one who remembers when she used to wake up in the night crying, fearful and clinging to me in our tiny theater room. I remember being barely awake, exhausted and making up stories about her dancer mother or our escape plan to Paris, her little dog.
“I’ll check on Pierre for you.”
Her head tilts to the side. “I told Evie she could keep him. She fell in love with him when we were there last.”
Oh.
“Well, take care of yourself.” I release her arm and pat it, unsure if I get a hug.