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upstairs only by the silence that rang through the yard,
announcing to her that it was past dinnertime.
Adalynn located a bottle of chilled white wine and poured
herself half a glass, then cut cheese off a thick block and set it
between two pieces of bread with a smear of margarine. She
added a few pickles on the side and called it healthy enough.
She’d cut an apple later, maybe have a salad in an hour when
the sandwich wore off.
She took her plate and wine and sat back down in front of
her laptop.
She didn’t want to think of it as keeping tabs or checking up
on or, heaven forbid, stalking. She wasn’t a stalker. God, that
was such an ugly word. She opened up her internet browser
and typed in Cassia’s name. First and last. She’d been doing it
so long that it had become a habit. She’d started it right after
leaving Vegas, two days after their night in the hotel room.
She wanted to think of it as protective and not weird. She
didn’t have bad intentions. She knew Cassia was working in
an industry that could be cruel and viciously cold, and she
wanted to make sure that she…that she…what? That she
hadn’t sunk any further into it? That she didn’t need help?
That she didn’t need saving?
It was obvious that Cassia didn’t want to be saved, at least
not by Adalynn. Even if she understood what Adalynn had
told her that night, why she hadn’t gone further even though
she desperately wanted to and taking a step back had felt like a
betrayal of her own body, Cassia still hadn’t called. She didn’t
need or want Adalynn in her life in any way. She’d made that
clear.
Adalynn felt like it was wrong, punching in those letters that
