Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
Emma texted the following night, saying she might be coming back a day early, only to text again, unsure.
When I asked why, she said she had to go to the office that afternoon and considered staying at her apartment because of the late hour.
The drive from her apartment to Harthwait wasn’t terrible, but Emma always went to bed early, and the thought of late-night driving didn’t appeal to her.
EMMA: doubt will make it until morning
I sat on the couch in the living room, moving images around on my mood board.
Four color-coded sticky notes ran along the arm of the couch.
One for base colors, one to write item aesthetics, a third for the story they wanted to tell in their home, and the last for miscellaneous.
I took a screenshot of what I had so far and sent it to a client.
Should I text her back? Would she care? Or was she just letting me know?
I frowned.
LANDRY: That’s fine, don’t want you to drive too late. I’ll be here either way
I stared at my text. The glow from my tablet burned, so I turned it face down as I thought about my next words. Days had passed since Mom showed up. Still, not a word from Emma about Penny and Vince.
Quickly, I tapped out another message. I hit send before I lost my nerve. I probably should have waited to talk to her about it in person.
LANDRY: Did you know about Penny and Dad?
Bubbles appeared. Stopped. Appeared again.
EMMA: Walked in on her leaving, actually. Will tell you later?
I gave her message a little heart, then set my phone on the armrest of the couch.
Penny and Vince separating didn’t need to impact my ability to talk to him. I shouldn’t have felt guilt for not reaching out to him. When had he taken anything else into consideration when he’d deigned a moment worthy of speaking to me? He’d made his bed, and part of that bed was my mother.
Again, the platform. The train station I stood in. Would I step on the car, when given the chance? Or watch it roll by?
I pinched the bridge of my nose with a wince. Did I really want to do this right now? I’d already texted him once with no response. He probably wouldn’t answer. But leaving a message was easier than hearing his voice. And it was only a matter of time before my mom’s patience expired.
If there was anyone that could handle my mother, it would be Dad. And only because she was desperate to gain his good graces again, even though I highly doubted they’d existed in the first place. If they had, he wouldn’t have cheated.
I corralled my nerve and dialed. As it rang, I pinched my eyes shut and whispered, “Please go to voice mail, please go to voice mail.”
“Vince Frederick. Leave a message, I’ll get back to you.”
A beep.
I inhaled. “Hey, Dad. It’s Landry.” Using Mom as the reason for calling wouldn’t work, so I tried another angle, which wasn’t a complete lie. “I need a good estate lawyer. I figured you might be able to help. Call me back.”
I hung up. Short, sweet, to the point. Dad might not have worked in estate planning, but he likely had someone at his firm that did. And if I wanted to handle this correctly, especially with Mom snooping and scrounging, I would need someone with experience to help.
Still, it was disheartening to know you were someone else’s pawn and not their treasure.
I turned back to my tablet, cheek in my palm, a blanket tangled around my legs. Shuffled through Pantone palettes and sketches I’d made for layout ideas. A serene idle screen dissolved in and out on the TV while one of my playlists hummed.
Montell Fish came on. My entire body loosened at the familiar first chords. No matter where I was, I always stopped to listen to this. Always made a moment of space for it.
I let the tablet cover fall shut and dropped my head back, my eyes drifting closed. I hummed along with the music. Whimsical. So, so sad and hopeful for a possible love. Of something that could have been.
Like Hadrian.
How he liked to listen to the birds sing.
How his mouth felt on mine.
How my words shanked the moment in two.
I sunk into the couch. Maybe, just maybe, it would swallow me whole.
It wasn’t until my breathing slowed that I realized the song had played for almost fifteen minutes—the final notes bled easy enough into the first, so instead of a gradual fade, it looped in an endless croon when left on repeat. But I’d put everything on shuffle.
Invisible fingers traced the length of my forearm.
“Long face, dearest,” Hadrian said over my shoulder.
My eyes popped open with a jerk. “Been a long day,” I admitted.
The floorboards creaked. He rounded the recliner before stopping to stand at the edge of the rug. His burnished shoes toed the fringe. All human this time, just like in the library.
I searched his face. Found nothing but a placid smile and slitted eyes, still stuck in yellow from before.
There were so many things I wanted to say; I felt the familiar scratch of shame in the back of my throat, that I knew what happened to his father in detail. A pregnant moment settled between us.
“You are tired,” he said, matter-of-fact.
Not anymore. Now I felt very, very alive, and the room was extremely small.
“A little,” I whispered.
“I wanted to apologize for the things that were said on my part,” he murmured. He knotted his hands behind his back. “And for what I didn’t say.”
I sat my tablet on the end table. The reflection of his back in the window behind him enamored me: the way his fingers fiddled together, uneasy.
The breadth of his shoulders. The baby-fine hairs at the nape of his trimmed hair, something I took wonder in.
It was amazing how people from different eras were still connected by the simple things—hair trims and schedules and smiles.
Slowly, I stood, and found myself clasping my hands together, sweatshirt crooked on my shoulders. This was it.
“Hadrian …” My mouth pressed to a line.
“I should have told you everything,” he whispered. “You shared things with me through the night. Not all, but some. And I did not return the sentiment—and I wanted to.”
I nodded. “I know. I was unnecessarily mean because of things I’m dealing with.
That have nothing to do with you. And I’m sorry.
” I stomped that wriggle of doubt, the voice that said he only wanted to get my help.
I needed to trust someone—to take a chance, trust that they meant well, especially when I felt in my gut that Hadrian was a good person.
Because when I looked at him, I saw something burned. I saw a child that grew up and did the only thing he knew to do in order to stop a bad man.
One side of his mouth twitched, stuck in a grimace. It revealed the line of sharp upper molars—as if he’d tried to shift into his beastly form, but couldn’t.
“You left today. For a while,” he said. He ran a hand over the back of his neck. The other found its way into his pocket.
“I went to see if Meredith could help me.” I couldn’t meet his eyes, but still, his voice reeled me in.
He nodded. “Remind me who she is?”
I told him about Aunt Cadence’s donation habits. About my mother showing up, assuming he’d heard our first exchange in great detail when she’d appeared the first time.
His brow furrowed to cover the spark in his eye. “And was she? Help, I mean?”
My lips parted. Then pressed shut.
What good was it to keep something from him? I’d just gotten upset with him for doing that to me. And here I was, debating on doing the same, just because I didn’t want to lose the possibility of him being here a while longer.
I reached for the letter I’d tucked in my laptop case. Offered it to him.
“She left me this. Meredith found it in a rooster.”
His brow crinkled. Eyes danced to me, the letter, and back.
“You can read it,” I whispered. “Please.”
A careful nod. He stepped closer. The room shrunk twice in size. He sank down beside me on the couch, elbows on his knees, expression tight with thought. I picked at a hangnail while he read.
When he was finished, he folded it back up, but didn’t speak.
“She did not mention the toy train,” he said, gruff. He handed it back to me. Already, a cold sweat started at the back of my neck. “What came of it.”
I sat forward. Our elbows nearly touched. So much body heat in one space.
“I haven’t seen it while going through things. I’m sorry,” I whispered.
“It may still be somewhere. We can look,” he said. Cleared his throat. “If you wish, that is.”
“Of course I do.” I put the letter back in the case and scooted against the couch arm. “It’s what we agreed on. Do you think the train could be something that—”
“Yes, but—Landry. Please.”
“You said you wanted to break this. If the train or something else is keeping you here—if it’s really a remains thing—then we need to find it,” I said, more forceful.
I tried to erect the shield, piece by piece, as I went on.
Pushing him away. Pushing the feelings back.
“We can go look right now—” I started to stand.
He grabbed my wrist. “Landry, enough.”
I tugged. “I’m serious. If it’s something she found, then we can look. Right now.”
His eyes turned pleading. He stood, not once breaking my gaze. “No. Right now I just want to talk to you.”
He didn’t. He was stalling. He had to be. Pushing back the inevitable. Reeling me in from a cliff.
“About what?” I said, breathy. He hadn’t let go of my wrist, his palm hot and electric on my bare skin.
“You had a heated conversation, if I remember correctly.” His eyebrows rose. “That man you spoke with. Who you refused the listing to.”
“Ivan.” My heart ratcheted.
His personal space was suddenly my personal space. It made my body hum. He tilted his head, throat tight, just like he did when he was the creature, but this time it was thoughtful. “The things you said to him. What happened between the two of you.”
I searched his expression. His pulse fluttered in his temple. The way his hair fell in soft, slight curls in places. The strong swoop of his jaw.