Page 90 of Quiver

“What is?”

“This movie, or I guess it’s just a script now, but it’s going to make the most glorious film.”

“Oh.” Fletcher turned back toward the dancing flames.

“Hey.” Kylie felt a rush of excitement. “Why don’t we run lines like we used to?”

Fletcher shook her head. “I’m pretty tired.”

“One scene. Don’t you remember how we always—”

“That was a long time ago.” She cut her off. “I’m not up for replaying the good old days tonight.”

Kylie’s chest tightened, but she kept her voice calm. “I get it. We had a big day with a lot of people around. It went well though.”

“Very smooth,” Fletcher agreed without much affect. They’d cleaned up in companionable silence and then shared a nice enough dinner of Ava’s meatloaf while the conversation revolved around the students and a few upcoming chores. Fletcher’s utilitarian tone hadn’t seemed out of place then, but here, close and comfortable, it felt discordant.

“Did I do something wrong?”

“No.”

She waited for some assurance that never came. “If it bothered you for me to—”

Fletcher’s phone rang, rattling on the old wooden coffee table. She reached forward a little too quickly for Kylie not to suspect she welcomed the interruption, but the look on her face when she saw the screen softened the blow.

“It’s my mother,” Fletcher warned before accepting the call. “Hello?”

Kylie could hear the voice on the other end, but couldn’t quite make out the words, so she made her own inferences from Fletcher’s body language and her side of the conversation.

“Yes … Fine … I did, but I’m okay … No, I didn’t think to call you … Because I’m fine … No, it didn’t occur to me that you might hear it from someone else.” Her mother’s volume went up a level, and Fletcher sat more upright on the couch. “It was a fluke accident. There’s no permanent damage … A few stitches … No, of course I’m not stopping … Papa fell off horses multiple times when I was growing up. No, please don’t send Ryder over here … I’m not incapacitated, and I’m not alone.”

That, at least, earned her a pause, but it didn’t last nearly long enough, as clearly the next question had been the one she didn’t want to answer. Fletcher pinched the bridge of her nose. “Kylie’s here … You know who I mean … Yes, Kye Manchester.”

The explosion was loud enough for Kylie to hear, but also in French, so the increase in volume wasn’t exactly helpful on the eavesdropping front.

Fletcher responded in a much lower tone, but also in French. The words poured out of her like a lazy river on a sleepy summer afternoon, and Kylie had the urge to submerse herself in them. She’d always loved the way Fletcher could easily slip into another language. The elegance of it carried such a contrast to her rough exterior, and Kylie loved being one of the few people who knew the woman behind the persona, or at least she always had. She might’ve even felt that way now if not for the realization that Fletcher had lapsed into her mother’s native tongue only because Kylie’s presence was too upsetting for those emotions to be conveyed in English.

The words came faster and rougher as even Fletcher’s voice raised slightly, but just when Kylie thought, perhaps, she should leave the room, Fletcher hung up the phone and tossed it onto the ottoman. Then she sagged back onto the couch and closed her eyes. The two of them sat completely still for several minutes in a silence that no longer felt anything close to casual or comfortable.

The strain building between them for the last few hours held nothing on the waves of tension radiating off Fletcher now, and finally Kylie couldn’t stomach the secondhand stress any longer. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” The word sounded hollow.

She tried for levity. “I take it your mom was happy to hear we’re both doing well.”

Fletcher snorted.

“I couldn’t hear what she said, but I got the sense she’s still banging the same drum about your life choices.”

“You know what?” Fletcher groaned slightly as she rose, but her hand didn’t go to her side anymore, which suggested the discomfort came from a different wound. “I’m tired. I need to turn in early.”

Kylie bit her lip to stem her natural impulse to call bullshit. Fletcher did have every reason to be worn out before her mother had called, but adding a tense encounter in two languages would be enough to do anyone in. Still, Kylie didn’t want her to pull away again, so she said, “Why don’t I come up with you? I can help you—”

“No,” Fletcher said quickly but without much force. “I’m okay. I’m moving well, and I didn’t even work up a sweat today. In fact, I’m past the point where I need a live-in nurse.”

Kylie’s shoulders tightened. “You’ve hardly been a difficult patient. I honestly expected to have to fight you on everything.”

“Nothing’s been as hard as I feared, either, so that’s a good sign we can start getting back to normal.”