She rolled her eyes. “When was the last time you were in cahoots with anyone?”
“I am certain this was the first.” And certain it would be the last.
“Well,” she said, “you’re not off the hook. I want to read the pages. I’ve been thinking about it all evening.”
“You’ve got your daughter home and you’ve been thinking about my book.”
“That’s right.”
That was more than a little flattering.
“It’s freezing in here!” Was it his imagination or was she looking at his chest kind of weirdly? “How are you not freezing?”
He folded his arms across his chest. “I’ll pay for the AC I’m using.”
“You’re using AC?”
“Well, I guess it isn’t running now that it’s dark and the temperature has dropped, but generally, yes.”
“You don’t have to pay. It was just an observation. I’m going to need a blanket.”
She plopped down on one of the sofas and pulled one of the quilts off the back.
“Look, Blair, the thing about letting you read the pages was a ruse.” Maybe if he said it enough times, it would sink in.
“Look, Jack, I don’t care. You said I could read chapters one and two, and I’m going to read chapters one and two.”
“You’re in my eternal debt, remember? I’ll collect on that now. You can go.”
He was pretty sure he was starting to panic. Jack didn’t really do panic. Not that he never worried, but full-out panic wasn’t in his repertoire. Still, he knew the words and phrases associated with panic. Shakiness, shortness of breath, clammy skin. Those words and phrases were happening to him now.
“Jack,” Blair said, unrolling herself from her blanket burrito. “It’s going to be OK.” She started toward him, and he took a step back. Seeming to rethink her approach, she turned a slow circle around the room. He saw the moment she spied the pages, resting on the desk he rarely used since he now apparently wrote outside in the California sunshine while communing with his murder of crows.
He had actually printed out the pages after he said he was going to. Had read them over, imagining her reading them. But it had only been a thought experiment.
She took a step toward the pages, then another, eyeing him the whole way as if he were a spooked horse she was trying to tame.
He had the sudden, absurd thought that maybe hewasa spooked horse.
And worse, maybe she had already tamed him.
Because he was pretty sure he was going to let her read those pages, even though his body was still in mutiny over the fact, still succumbing to those panic words.
She kept slinking toward the desk. She kept staring at him.
“You do what you want,” he finally said. “I’m going to bed.”
He did go to bed. He got under the covers he generally didn’t use because he never needed them, turned over to face the wall, and closed his eyes.
He thought he would die waiting for her to finish.
What actually happened, though, was that he fell asleep waiting for her to finish.
Which he only realized when he woke up, coming to when the mattress dipped next to him. All he could think was that all that sublimated panic had made him crash. He had no idea how much time had passed. Or what was happening in general. Maybe hewasn’tawake.
“Hi.”
He heard her voice behind him. He almost fancied he could feel her breath on his back.
