Page 57 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

“Take whatever time you need.”

Her shoulders loosened. I wanted to ask more—about Malik’s hydrocephalus, his physicians, the warning signs she watched for—but curiosity didn’t entitle me to his medical history. When Frankie was ready to share more, she would.

Until then, I would keep learning about him through her.

The morning warmed by the time we left my house. Sunlight stretched across the driveway, and the first dry leaves scraped over the concrete in a light breeze.

I placed Frankie’s overnight bag in the trunk and opened the passenger door for her. She slid into the seat, and I closed the door behind her. The drive to her house took less than twenty minutes. Frankie controlled the music from the passenger seat, singing along to songs she claimed I was too serious to appreciate. When I joined her on the chorus of one, she turned toward me, eyes wide.

“You know this?”

“I love music, Frankie.”

“I thought you sat in silence reviewing brain scans.”

“Only on weekdays.”

She laughed and raised the volume.

The ease of having her beside felt comfortable like a calm Sunday morning was supposed to feel. Her hand rested on my thigh at red lights. Mine covered hers whenever traffic allowed. Nothing about it felt like the morning after an arrangement that had run its course.

It felt like the beginning I had declared it to be. When I pulled into her driveway, the house was quiet. Malik’s father hadn’t arrived yet. I retrieved Frankie’s bag from the trunk and followed her to the porch. She unlocked the front door but remained outside with me.

“I had a good time,” she said.

“So did I.”

“Dinner was perfect.”

“It was.”

“And everything after dinner…”

“The beginning.”

Her smile came slowly. “You’re sticking with that?”

“Yes.”

She set her bag inside the doorway, then turned and looped her arms around my neck. Her kiss was soft at first. It deepened when I drew her against me, my hands settling on her waist. The taste of her and the warm press of her body nearly sent us back through her doorway together. Her phone rang from inside her purse. Frankie eased her mouth from mine and rested her forehead against my chin.

“That’s probably Malik’s father.”

“Answer it.”

She stepped inside and retrieved her phone.

“Hey. Everything okay?”

I watched her expression while a man’s voice answered faintly through the speaker.

“Okay. Yes, four is still fine. Did he take his medicine this morning?” She listened. “Good. Tell him Mama’s home and waiting for him.”

Her entire face softened when she spoke about her son.

“I’ll see you soon.”

She ended the call and slipped the phone back into her purse.