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Pearl lifts a brow as she butters some toast, surprised, then glances down her front. “Thanks . . . I think.” She smiles a little, not a lot, sinking her teeth into her toast, then she seems to drift away with the fairies, lost in thought. I look at Beau. She nods. We definitely need to keep an eye on her.
Leon excuses himself and slips out. With that bag. I watch him go with a narrowed eye. “Anyone seen my husband?”
“He’s—” Pearl coughs, patting at her chest. “Sorry.”
“He’s?”
“The gym maybe?”
“Maybe,” I muse, looking back at the door when Leon disappears. Beau’s hand on mine pulls me back. She shakes her head, like . . . leave it. I nod, reluctant, and she indicates to Pearl with a flick of her eyes in that direction. I fiddle with my coffee cup, turning it in circles. “Are you okay?” I ask.
Pearl nods around a bite, half smiling. It’s a lame attempt to convince us.
“Tea?” Esther asks, holding up the pot, her face hopeful.
“No, thank you,” Pearl says. “I’m just going to see what time Anya’s starting today.”
“Call her,” I say, pointing to her new cell.
“I need . . . a shower.” She dashes off, and I eye Beau who’s watching her go.
“Excuse me,” Esther says, hauling a basket of laundry off the counter. “Deliveries to make.” She disappears, and the moment she has, Otto appears on the other side of the room. I frown. “You just missed her.”
“Where’s she gone?”
“Making deliveries,” Beau singsongs, going to the fridge and collecting her green juice ingredients. I smile. She’s so compliant and reasonable these days. “I want to know all the details,” she says.
“About what?” Otto places his laptop on the counter.
“Stop.” I lean in. “We know,” I whisper.
“Of course you fucking know,” he grunts.
“So why haven’t you asked her yet?”
“I’m waiting for the right moment.”
I put my hand on my heart. “So, what’s the plan?”
“The plan?”
“How will you ask her?”
“I’ll ask her.”
Beau laughs and then yelps. “Shit!” She pulls her finger in protectively, her face screwing up.
“Be fucking careful.” Otto takes her finger and looks, and Beau pouts. “Maybe leave the slicing and dicing to your husband,” he suggests.
“Are you going to pass out?” I ask.
“No, it’s nothing.” She goes to the cupboard and pulls out the first aid box and a Band-Aid.
“Good.” I return my attention to Otto. “The plan.”
“I told you, I’ll ask her.”
“But how are you going to ask her?”
