“The message on your door.”
He leans away from me, mouth tightening. “I told you. I was visiting my sister.”
He did say that. I play with the hem of my shirt, trying to pinpoint the source of my unease. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight,” I hear myself say. “I feel like I’m coming down with something.”
I’m surprised to realize I really mean it. About wanting to turn in early, at least.
“No ice cream?” His face falls, and guilt sweeps through me.
But it’s not enough to make me change my mind. “Not tonight.” I get up, a bit unsteadily. “And you’re right about the messages. It’s probably a prank.”
I turn around to go, when he says, “No goodnight kiss?”
My stomach flops in a strange way. Excitement? Not sure what it is, but I shake my head. “Good night, Adam.”
As I trudge home and climb the stairs to my bedroom, I realize what’s bothering me.
He keeps calling me Tati, and it feels… overly familiar. Did I tell him to call me that? Frankly I can’t remember.
But even as my rational mind tells me it’s not a big deal, I still don’t like it.
Next morning the Hansen household is in a state of emergency—and not because of any new mysterious message.
“She won’t stop crying,” Matt tells me at the door, looking exhausted and disheveled, his black T-shirt clingi
ng distractingly to his muscular chest and shoulders, his dark hair falling in his eyes. “Oh shit.”
Sure enough, a wail reaches my ears, and then Cole sobbing. “He’s crying, too?”
“Sure is.” He hurries up the stairs, then stops at the top, bent over.
“Matt.” He looks awfully pale. I’m torn between touching him, grabbing him because he looks like he’s about to fall over, and stepping away from him.
Good sense prevails, and I keep my hands to myself. I’m not letting my guard down around him ever again.
He shakes his head like a dog and straightens, continuing toward the source of the noise.
“Is she sick?” He has stopped at the door and I frown as I enter the room, heading to Mary’s bed. “Hey, girl, what’s wrong?”
She wails something unintelligible and throws herself into my arms. I make out the words “dream” and “Mommy” and my heart clenches in my chest.
“She’s not sick. I checked.” He frowns. “She didn’t want me holding her.”
“Shh.” I pet the girl’s silky hair, then beckon for Cole to join us, and he climbs off his bed and comes to cuddle. “Everything’s fine. It was just a bad dream.”
Matt is still standing at the door, that familiar pain in his eyes, a hurt like a bleeding wound.
I have to look away, not trusting myself.
With a last long look at us cuddling on Mary’s bed, he turns around and leaves. I hear his steps heading to his bedroom.
I won’t go after him.
Not again.
He’s been cold with me, and I know I pushed him when I said I knew about his wife’s death. I said it too soon. Made it sound perhaps as if I’d been going around behind his back, asking questions.
Which I had, but I thought… I thought it was to help him, since he wouldn’t open up himself, wouldn’t talk to me.