But she’s no Juan.
“Go see him,” Archie says, reading my mind. “You know he’ll fit you in, and he’ll give you all the info you want.”
“I’ll think about it. At the very least, I could reach out to my agent.” I let go of my hair and stretch out my legs. “We should call Sybil so you can go.”
Archie checks his watch and nods. “I’ll cover the cost, ifthat’s your hesitation. I owe you for getting me into him when Piper dyed my hair purple.”
I snort and tug on a curl again. “Does it look that bad?”
Archie shakes his head. “It doesn’t look bad. Just doesn’t look like Frankie.”
Then, to change the subject, I nod toward the mobile. “Go ahead, ring Sybil. Let’s get it over with.”
He dials, pushes speaker, and we wait for it to ring.
“She may not answer. It’s three a.m. in Brisbane,” I say.
“She’ll answer. Robots don’t sleep.”
The words are barely out of Archie’s mouth, and we have to hold back our laughs when Sybil does, in fact, answer. Not with a hello. Just a crisp, “Archibald. Thank you for returning my message.”
“Hello, Sybil. Frankie’s here too.” Archie’s eyes dart to mine and he swings his arms in a robot motion.
I slap my hand over my mouth to stop my giggles. On Sybil’s end, what I think might be a stunned silence follows before she says, “Hello, Francesca.”
“Hello, Sybil.”
“Nice to hear your voice again.”
She surprises me so much that I lie and return the compliment. “Yours too.”
“I would have called you myself if I’d had your number,” she says. “Or if Archie had been willing to give it to us. Mr. McVey wasn’t our first choice.”
I curl my fingers around the corner of the duvet.
“We’re curious about what Dad wants,” Archie says before I can ask how they found Bran and why they thought it would be a good idea for him to find me.
Another pause follows, broken only by a beeping in the background. It’s not like Sybil to tiptoe around something.Efficientis herfactory setting.
“One moment, please,” she says finally.
There’s a muffled sound and a soft click that sounds like a door closing before I realize that the beeping I’d heard in the background had gone quiet before.
“Mr. Forsythe isn’t well,” Sybil says, her robot voice cracking like there’s been a glitch in her system.
Archie and I glance at each other, and I lean closer to the mobile on the bed between us to ask, “How not well?”
“Cancer,” she answers. “Of the stomach. His doctors are here now, administering chemotherapy.”
Archie drags a hand through his hair. I lean back against the headboard. No one wants to hear the wordcancer,but I’m not sure if it’s the wordthat hits me hard or the fact Malcolm is the one suffering from it.
“You’re with him?” Archie asks.
“Yes,” Sybil answers.
“I thought he was in L.A.”
“He is. We both are.”
