“I have to try,” I said.
He nodded once.
I hit call.
The ring tone was shrill in the small room, bouncing off the cracked tile and the peeling paint. I heard it echo in my own skull, all the way down.
The first ring. The second.
I glanced at Seneca. He watched me, unblinking.
The third ring.
I braced for voicemail, for the sound of her voice in a canned, perfect loop.
Then the ringing stopped.
The line clicked. There was a breath, and then, “Jenna?”
I swallowed hard.
“Catherine. I—”
Chapter seventeen
Catherine
The night was so quiet it sounded rigged. I sat in the driver’s seat, my father next to me, heading to the airport, headlights pointed at the darkness. Hands locked on the wheel, I could feel the pulse in every tendon. The phone lay on the dashboard, dark and heavy.
I’d told myself I wouldn’t answer. I’d told myself, just this once, to be the kind of person who let the universe chase its own tail. But the way I kept checking the rearview, watching for headlights that weren’t there, made a liar out of me before the first ring.
When it did ring, the screen flashed a number with no name attached, just the blunt, digital certainty of someone who knew how to leave traces but hoped you’d answer anyway.
I let it ring twice more, then picked up. “Hello?” It was supposed to sound brisk and in control. It came out as a dare.
There was a breath on the other end, thick with old cigarettes and, God help me, longing. “Catherine. I—”
“Jenna.”
The line went silent. Then, so softly I had to strain, “I’m sorry.”
I waited. She’d always been the one to fill silences. I wanted her to have to sweat for it.
“I’m sorry for everything,” she said. “I was jealous. I was stupid. I wanted to hurt you, and I did.” Each sentence sounded like it was coming out through glass. “I never thought I’d lose you and him in the same week.”
I pressed the heel of my hand to my eyebrow, felt the tension arc from jaw to temple. “You’re not calling to apologize. You’re calling to negotiate.”
A snort. “You always did know how to see past the opening statement.” There was a shuffle, like she was pacing or maybe just trying not to throw up. “Catherine, I need to see you. I need us to talk. All three of us.”
My mouth went dry. “Is that some kind of joke?”
“No.” The word was thin, but solid. “I’m with Seneca, in the safe house. I think you’re the only person who can fix this. You’re the only one I ever trusted to be honest, even when it hurt.”
She was laying it on thick, but it was working. I’d seen Jenna cry exactly twice. Both times, she’d gone on the offensive within hours. She hated being vulnerable. If she was pulling this card, something in her had broken. I hated how that made me want to go to her.
“You want a conference call? That it?” I tried for sarcasm, but it came out shaky.
A sigh, then, “Not a call. I want you here with us. I want to try… I want to try something else. Something none of us has ever had before. I want to try being a real family. Even if it’s fucked up. Even if it’s not what you wanted.”
