23
Frankie
Time moved quicklyfrom spring to summer. Collette asked after her mother less and less, especially when the calls stopped with her sudden departure.
Every time she wondered after Joey, the ice forming over my heart grew thicker toward my sister. While transparency was important regarding Collette—I always promised to be as age-appropriately honest with her—there was just no easy way to explain that her mother wasn’t coming back. I told her that Joey couldn’t come back right now and that she loved her very much. It was a cop-out of an answer, but I didn’t know what else I could say.
For now, until I had any clue what to do, I would stick to the plan. The plan was to keep Collette safe right now, with Harrison and me at George’s place. Harrison had a friend looking into family lawyers to figure out where to go next. Joey had, surprising absolutely nobody, completely dropped off the map. Her phone number was no longer in service, and she had sent no further information on her plans for Collette. I researched child abandonment laws just in case but found that at least six months would need to pass without a single word from Joey. That would be right around Halloween. Hopefully, we’d hear from her soon. If nothing else, to officially relinquish her rights. Then we could make a new plan.
For now, all I could focus on were the tasks at hand. Finish George’s Magnum Opus. Finish archiving his life’s work.
Ultimately, I was being selfish. I wasn’t ready to look for the stable family Collette needed. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to her. I understood that I could never be the best option for Collette. Somewhere out there was a complete, stable family with loving parents who knew how to give her the best home possible. That was a reality I couldn’t seem to process. Not yet. We still had months together where I would be her main person, not an aunt she saw from time to time if her new family allowed it. Even thinking about it caused a pain so sharp I physically pushed the thoughts away.
The four of us settled into a routine. George was at his most calm. When George was officially diagnosed with Lewy body dementia by his team of doctors, we slowly introduced a part-time occupational therapist, Otis the OT, who worked with him on moving his body and keeping his mind sharp.
Collette continued to thrive in the Sandia community, making friends and learning so much. Her school year ended, and Collette was enrolled at a summer camp a few days a week. There weren’t a lot of kids in the more mountainous area where we lived, especially this time of year, and we didn’t want her to get bored. She was getting fresh air and exercise and not being cooped up in the house, constantly pushing Harrison’s boundaries. Poor guy.
Harrison and I were … two separate planets rotating around the twin suns of George and Collette, careful to never collide, never talk about the night I threw myself at him all those weeks ago.
I worked on archiving and writing; he helped in his domestic capacity, and things were moving right along.
Most things.
There was still the issue of finishing this book.
George snoozed on the covered porch while Collette was at day camp.
I eventually found Harrison in the pool house, which was weird. He had earbuds in and a laundry basket of freshly cleaned smelling towels that he was folding. Or maybe attempting to fold by evidence of the single towel in his hand and the unfolded stack next to him.
A guitar was propped in the corner that I had yet to ever see him play. Occasionally, while I typed in the office, notes of the acoustic guitar would drift through the window but not loud enough to recognize. For all my teasing about the actor’s natural tendency to show off, Harrison was stubborn about not playing for anyone, claiming he wasn’t good enough.
“Hey,” I said. He continued to stare off into space. “Harrison.”
His head was turned, looking at a spot on the wall so he couldn’t see my approach. I got the impression he wasn’t actually looking at the wall, just lost in his own brain. This was a different form of handsome on him, still and quiet like this. Such a rarely-seen side of him. His eyes were unfocused, features soft. Strongly angled jaw, protruding Adam’s apple, thick lashes, kissable lips.
I was so glad I had put all thoughts of kissing him behind me. Never even crossed my mind. Except when I looked at him. Or thought about him. Or smelled him. Or when he would gently touch me as he brushed passed me in the hallway.
Honestly, once the dam of horny thoughts broke, I couldn’t put them back in. I just let myself indulge in them now. I didn’t even kid myself that I wasn’t attracted to him. It was okay to have a little brain fun from time to time. I wasn’t about to act on it.
We were playing with fire, dancing around each other like this. I wouldn’t be the person to get burned.
“Harrison,” I repeated. He jumped when I put my hand on his shoulder.
He took his headphones out. “You scared me.”
“We’ve been living together for over three months. At what point will you stop jumping when I walk into the room?” I asked, cocking a hip to lean against the chair across from him.
“When you stop being so scary.”
“Aren’t you funny? Why are you folding towels here?”
He shrugged. “I like it down here. It feels like a little getaway,” he said.
“A getaway from your getaway?” I asked.
His face darkened, and I regretted saying that. He’d been working so hard lately with George, with Collette. Helping me around the house. “What are you listening to?” I grabbed the earbud and brought it close enough to hear. “Is that a robot?”
He reached to grab the earbud back, but I leaned out of his way. “It’s my girlfriend, I call her AIV—artificial intelligence voice.”
