Not as deep as Matt’s, though.
And there goes again my resolution to stop
thinking about Matt.
Jeezus, Octavia. Get a grip.
“So what about Adam?” Gigi asks, making herself way too comfortable in my bed, grabbing my pillow and pulling it toward her. “You been investigating him, or what?”
“Or what,” Merc says flatly. “I don’t go about playing at being one of those detectives you and Mom like to watch on TV.”
“Homeland?” Gigi sighs and folds her arms behind her head. “Rupert Friend is dreamy.”
Merc sighs and tilts his head back, all but rolling his eyes. “No, Gigi. That’s not even a detective show. Sometimes…”
“Merc, what about Adam?” I press. I shouldn’t care about gossip or whatever it is Merc heard. But I can’t deny I’m curious.
“Tongues wagging about town?” Gigi drawls.
“No, it’s not that. I didn’t hear anything.” Merc looks uneasy. “I’ve heard much more about Matt Hansen than Adam. Like… nobody seems to have noticed Adam moving here, or knows anything about him.”
“Discreet,” Gigi says approvingly.
My turn to roll my eyes. “Do you mind?”
“Not at all. Adam is hot. I’d go out for ice cream with him anytime.”
“And what about Quinn?” Merc shakes his head. “Wait, forget I ever asked. Anyway, the thing with Adam…” He blinks, shakes his head again. “Actually, you know what? Forget about that, too. I probably made a big deal out of nothing. G’night, gals.”
“Wait!” I jump out of bed as he turns to go. “You can’t leave it like this. It’s unfair.”
I think he’ll laugh and ignore me, but he stops and chews on his lower lip.
“Listen, I may be wrong, but you said Adam lives in old Mr. Collins’s house down the street? Or did I imagine that?”
“No, that’s right.”
Merc nods. “Then why is Mr. Collins still living there with all his cats?”
I ring Mr. Collins’s doorbell the next day on my way to the bus stop, but nobody answers the door. When I try to peek through the windows, I find the curtains drawn.
There has to be an explanation. I’m pretty sure this is the house Adam showed me. But maybe I misunderstood. I must have.
Or maybe he’s renting a room. God knows that house is small, but who knows? Maybe there’s an attic. Or he’s renting the house and Mr. Collins only came by to collect the rent.
In any case, it’s none of my business, and no matter what Merc thinks, there’s nothing sinister going on here.
It makes absolutely no sense why I’m still thinking about it. Merc’s unease has probably seeped into me. Unease by osmosis, courtesy of my brother.
Hey, stranger things have happened.
Meanwhile, work is calling me, and all thoughts of Adam and the strange happenings on my street fly out of my head when I find out the kids are sick.
Matt has dark shadows under his eyes, and vomit over his white T-shirt. He manages to look both in control and way in over his head, like some powerful God with a hangover.
He insists that he should stay home to look after his kids, and it’s sweet, but I’ve got this.
I gently but firmly shove him toward the bathroom to shower and change—without peeking, honest—and afterward push him out the door with a promise to call if there’s any need.