“Where are you going?”
“Hospital. My aunt fell.”
“I’ll drive you.”
“I don’t need you to.”
He picked up his keys anyway. “I’ll drive you.”
Aunt Eliza was in bed, pale and diminished, which softened something in me for about three seconds until she opened her mouth.
“Oh, you came. I’m surprised you could make time.”
Vicky and I had a name for that. The Eliza absorption. You let her words hit you and pass through without lodging. I’d gotten good at it.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“How do you think I’m feeling? I broke my hip.” She looked past me to Christopher. “And who is this?”
“Christopher Vale. My husband.”
“I know who he is. I have a television.” She studied Christopher the way she studied everything of value, assessing its worth. “You married well. I’ll give you that.”
Elspeth was there. So was Owen, who looked me up and down the second I walked in.
“You look good, Miley. Marriage agrees with you,” he said, with a smile I wanted to remove with a spatula.
Christopher was behind me. Owen extended his hand, and Christopher took it. Something happened in the grip I couldn’t fully see—something that made Owen’s smile falter and his hand come back a little faster than it went out.
Elspeth turned to Christopher with wide eyes and a slight lean, deploying the calculated charm she used on every man she’d ever wanted something from.
“It’s so wonderful to finally meet Miley’s husband. I hope you’re taking good care of her.”
“I try my best,” Christopher said. “Although she’s more than capable of taking care of herself.”
Elspeth’s smile went stiff.
While Christopher talked to Eliza, Owen leaned toward me, dropping his voice.
“I’m happy for you, Miley. You deserve someone good.” His hand found my arm. “But this doesn’t mean you get to turn your back on your family entirely.”
I stepped back. Before I could say a word, Christopher was there. He probably didn’t hear what Owen said but he saw the touch. His hand went to the small of my back and he looked at Owen with an expression that was perfectly pleasant and completely lethal.
“We should get going. Miley’s had a long day.”
In the car, I was quiet. Eliza's voice was still in my ears. I turned to the window, but instead of the city I caught my own reflection—small, tired, wearing the careful face I used to wear in her house, braced for whatever came next. Ten years old again, standing in Eliza's kitchen, being told that gratitude was the least she expected.
Christopher didn’t drive home. He took streets I didn’t recognize and parked outside a small ice cream shop with a hand-painted sign and colorful chairs on the sidewalk.
“What are we doing here?” I asked, confused.
“You need ice cream.”
“I’m fine. I don't need it.”
“Who says you can't have ice cream if you're fine?”
“Well, that's true.”
