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I don’t listen. I step forward and kiss her cheek, another gentle brush. The way you’d kiss a grandmother.
Lyla inhales sharply, like I shocked her. I pull away, avoiding eye contact like a coward. Then, I turn and retrace the path to the car, answering the call buzzing in my pocket. It’s Roman.
“What?”
“Penthouse just went up in flames.”
I won’t be sleeping on the plane after all.
“I’ll be at the airport in ten minutes,” I tell him before hanging up.
I allow myself one glance in the rearview mirror as I drive away.
They’re gone.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-FIVE
LYLA
The car behind me has to honk twice before I realize I’m sitting at a green light. I tap the gas too aggressively to compensate. My old Honda would have barely moved. The Volvo lurches forward like a pouncing cat spotting easy prey. My spine flattens against the seat, and the seat belt cuts in below my chin as I cross the intersection and pull into June’s driveway.
There’s a stone bunny perched on each side of the stairs and a glittery egg hanging on the front door.
Leo informed me three days ago that a bunny delivering eggs is silly and I shouldn’t hide them this year. It broke my heart a little bit, realizing he’s growing up so much faster than I would like. Knowing he’s already seen ugliness in the world and lost innocence makes it harder. So is seeing him wake up at five a.m. every Saturday, bursting to tell Nick about his week when he calls at ten.
We’re limping along, Leo and I. Going through the motions. The law firm I ended up getting a position with is even smaller than where I was working before. I hole up in my cubicle all day, filing forms and sending reminder emails. Pick up Leo from June’s or after-school club and go home to make dinner. Clean or do a load of laundry if the hamper is overflowing. Leo will play with his figurines or ask to play video games while I sip wine on the couch and watch TV. He goes to sleep, and I’ll usually follow not long after, only to wake up early and start the routine all over again.
Leo isn’t the only one who looks forward to Saturday mornings. I’ll usually hover in the kitchen, conveniently choosing to clean or bake something, just so I can catch the rasp of Nick’s deep baritone on the other end of the line.
It’s pathetic, eavesdropping on my son’s conversations because I’m too much of a coward to pick up the phone and call his father myself. Our exchange coordinating his calls with Leo was via text, short and to the point.
And I keep waiting for this ache to abate. For the wondering and the second-guessing to stop. For Leo to smile more than he frowns.
I’m not sure if we were missing something before and didn’t realize it or if those weeks with Nick easily bulldozed years of routines. Maybe both.
Both of June’s eyebrows climb her forehead when she opens the front door and sees me standing on her porch. “Everything okay?” she asks carefully.
I gave June the condensed version of Nick’s visit. No mention of the sex or the argument or the gun. Just that he showed up unexpectedly and spent the day with Leo. But I’m pretty sure she saw right through me.
Pretty sure I’m still transparent.
The worst part is, I’m not wallowing. I’m not trying to be miserable. I’m trying to be grateful for all the important things. For safety and health and having a home.
I still have to force a smile on my face. It doesn’t want to come naturally. “I’m fine!”
Rather than invite me in like I’m expecting, June steps out on the porch. “What are you doing, Lyla?”
“Uh, picking Leo up?”
She rolls her eyes. “I mean, with your life.”
I roll my bottom lip between my teeth. “Well, that’s a broad question.”
June laughs, then shakes her head. “Have you talked to Nick since he was here?”
“We’ve discussed his calls with Leo.”
“Saturday at ten, I know. Do you know how I know that, Lyla?”
