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“Hello, Wes.” Her voice was almost painfully formal. He could smell her discomfort and under that a lingering scent of sadness. Was that because of him? It had to be. Why else would she be a ghost of her usual happy, chatty self?
Comfort her, his lion demanded.
I can’t. She doesn’t want our comfort.
You lie! His lion roared so loudly, he winced.
“Wes?” Eleanor stopped at a red light and stared at him in the rear-view mirror. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, why?”
“Your eyes were yellow, and your pupils were slits.”
“I was talking to my lion,” Wes said.
“I know what it means,” she said. “But I’ve never seen you talk to your lion before.”
“He doesn’t talk much,” Wes said.
“Shocking.”
His hope that Eleanor had returned to her usual self died when she lapsed back into silence and stepped on the gas.
Fuck it. He had to say something. He couldn’t be with Eleanor in the way she and his lion wanted, but he couldn’t stand the idea that she didn’t think they were friends.
“Eleanor, I -”
Her phone rang. She had it clipped to the dashboard, and Wes could see the “unknown caller” on the screen. She glanced at him again. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing that can’t wait. Answer your call,” he said.
“I don’t take calls when I have clients in the car,” she said.
He winced inwardly at the client comment but kept his face stoic. “I don’t mind.”
She shrugged and hit a button on her steering wheel. “Hello?”
“Yes, I’m looking for Eleanor Whitman.”
Wes stiffened. He knew a cop’s voice when he heard one.
“This is Eleanor Whitman.” Eleanor turned left. A strip mall was coming up on their right, and Wes unbuckled his seat belt and leaned forward.
“Ms. Whitman, my name is Detective Howards. I’m with the 57th precinct in Emerton.”
Wes tapped Eleanor on the shoulder and pointed to the strip mall. Pitching his voice low, he said, “Pull over, Eleanor.”
Frowning, Eleanor did as he asked as the detective said, “Is your father Solomon Whitman?”
Eleanor parked in front of a falafel place. “Yes. Why?”
“I’m afraid I have some bad news regarding your father. He was in a serious car accident eight days ago.”
Eleanor’s hands gripped the steering wheel. “Eight days ago? What hospital is he in?”
“I’m sorry, Ms. Whitman, but your father didn’t survive the accident.”
“He didn’t… what? What did you say?” Eleanor stared blankly at Wes, her look of confusion heartbreaking.
