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“Who’s Abi?”
“My friend back home,” I reply without thought.
“In LA?”
“No, South Boston, Virginia,” I correct, and am amazed I think of Virginia as my home.
“Oh? That’s where you’re from?” she asks Quinn, who nods in confirmation.
There’s so much she doesn’t know about me, about what I’ve done, and I wonder when she’ll finally open up and ask. But we remain quiet because now is not that time.
Cynthia clears her throat. “Well, feel free to use the phone in the den.”
I look at Quinn, chewing my lip.
What if the diner’s phone is tapped, and we lead the police straight to our whereabouts?
I know it’s stupid, seeing as we haven’t been masking our phone conversations in the past, but we’ve always called on the run and not from a direct location. Calling from here makes me nervous, and as paranoid as this makes me, I have to refuse.
“Um, thanks for the offer, but I’ll just use a pay phone.”
Polly scoffs as she joins us. “You do realize this is the twenty-first century, right? I don’t even think they exist anymore.”
Cynthia sees me squirm uncomfortably and gasps with understanding. “Of course,” she says before she flutters off down the hallway.
Polly cocks an eyebrow in confusion, so I decide to be honest, as there’s no point in lying to her. I also think we made progress today, so hopefully, by being honest, we will continue that progression.
“If I call from here, I’m afraid the police may track me.”
“Oh, well, that sucks,” she flippantly replies.
“Welcome to our world.”
Quinn wraps a hand around my waist, drawing me into his side.
Polly watches the exchange, and I don’t fail to notice her eyes lower, saddened by our actions. It makes me wonder if she has someone like Quinn in her life.
“Here, you can use this,” Cynthia says, handing me a black iPhone.
“Um,” I say, stumped, as cell phones are still traceable.
“It’s untraceable. It’s Chandler’s,” she clarifies as if that’s supposed to explain anything.
“I’ll return it as soon as I make the call.”
“No need. Keep it. Tell your friend to text you on that too if there’s any news.”
I don’t know what to say, as having an untraceable phone is invaluable. “Thank you. I really appreciate this.”
She smiles. Who would have thought we’d have a civil conversation about something illegal?
A cake the height of Quinn gets pushed into the room, and Polly gasps. “I said white, not off-white!” She dashes off, following the poor pastry chef in hot pursuit.
“I better go save Philippe.” Cynthia chuckles, and for a split second, she looks as if she wants to reach out and touch me, but she changes her mind at the last minute and gives me a small nod instead.
I let out the small breath I was holding when she races off, and Quinn kisses the top of my head. “Untraceable phone? That’s some high-tech Batman shit right there,” he whispers, and I chuckle, thinking the same thing.
We make our way outside, away from prying ears, as I dial. But the person who answers has tears stinging my eyes.
