Tabs. Angie’s nickname. It doesn’t undo me. But it could, so easily.
“Yeah?” I say.
“I want to be there for you.”
That came out of nowhere.
“I mean, to talk. If you want to.”
I sigh. “You’ve got your own issues.”
He nods.
I expect him to argue.
He doesn’t.
The room is quiet again, but it’s not empty. It’s full of the things we’ve said and—even louder—what we’ve left unsaid. The fire crackles.
I sit across from him. I place my palm on the table. He places his over it. No squeeze. No claim. Just warm and steady weight.
The silence between us goes heavy. It’s not dangerous silence. Not yet.
But it’s full. It’s heavy.
And it holds.
Twenty-Six
Henry
I slide a hand over Zach’s head. He thumps his tail once and goes back to relaxing. Outside the windows, the world is all wet green and pale light. Inside my head, it’s drywall dust and sirens and a door I can’t seem to close.
I tell myself to work. Control the controllables.
My gaze falls on my phone.
Why wouldn’t Tabitha talk to me about the attack?
She needs to talk to someone. God, I should know.
Then I stifle a laugh. The irony. I put off talking to Aunt Melanie for so long after the shooting. When I finally let her in, truly let her help me, I realized I wanted to go after Tabitha.
Then the accident…
I pick up my phone and look at my recent calls.
Francine.
I hear her laugh from the last call. You and every man who ever bought a ticket, sugar.
She has nothing for me.
But maybe that’s who I should talk to. Someone who doesn’t know anything about me…other than my genetics. A mother who isn’t really my mother. Not in the way that matters.
But a woman who might just care enough to listen and offer some advice after what I imagine wasn’t an easy life.
“I’m going outside,” I tell Tabitha as I rise.
