Page 45 of Her Wicker Guardian

Rachel laughs hard enough that she nearly loses her coffee. “Blair is trying very hard not to do that.”

“She asks many questions.”

“She’s a lawyer. It’s a medical condition.” I look at her until Rachel adds, “Not actually.”

“I thought not.”

Her laughter fades, but the warmth of it remains in her face. “We can’t keep you here forever. I just need a little time to figure out how to let the rest of the world meet you without making things worse.”

“For me?”

She looks down at her coffee. The pause is smaller this time. “Yes, and for me, too.”

I understand enough now to hear the difference. She is not afraid of me. She’s afraid of what other people might do once they know I’m here.

Before I can ask more, her phone buzzes in her pocket. Her whole body does not change the way it did Saturday night, but her fingers tighten around the coffee cup before she takes the phone out and turns the screen face-down against her thigh. I know that movement now, too.

“The person from the phone before?”

Rachel looks at me. “Yes. My ex-husband.”

I know husband because Shannon has Tom. Ex takes longer. Rachel explains that ex means they were married before and aren’t now. She looks down at the coffee while she says it.

“He sends many messages.”

“He’s persistent.” She sees that I don’t understand and adds, “He keeps doing something after I want him to stop.”

That part I understand. “Not stop when a person says so.”

Whatever almost-smile she had disappears. “Right.”

I look at the phone against her leg. I’ve watched it change her twice now, once in the bathroom and once here. The phone does nothing except make a sound. Her body is reacting to the man behind it.

“Did he hurt you?”

Rachel becomes very still. For a moment I wonder if I should take the question back, but I wait.

“Yes,” she says finally. “Sometimes.”

My hands close around the water bottle. Rachel notices.

“He isn’t here now.”

I know that, but my body does not seem interested in the difference.

“Mostly he didn’t have to hurt my body,” she says. “He could make a room feel dangerous without touching me.”

I think about the phone on the bathroom counter and the way her fingers curled against the edge. I understood then that something had changed. Now I understand more of why.

I set the water bottle down before I damage it. For a while neither of us speaks.

Eventually, the question I have been keeping since Saturday comes back. “Privacy,” I say, quieter this time.

Rachel closes her eyes.

I have learned enough about her to recognize that as a bad sign.

“No.”