Translation? He believes I’m about to crack. My heart beats a little faster when I replay the image of the shadow walking toward me. Maybe he’s not wrong. “Has she held the baby yet?”
Lincoln subtly shakes his head. “I keep wondering how jacked up the kid will become because his mother can’t get her shit together.”
The way his blue eyes darken into hurt causes a sharp pain in my chest. I reach out and claim one of the hands resting against his crossed arms. Lincoln weaves his with mine and we hold hands on the table, both of us staring at our combined fingers. God, his hands are warm—strong—and I swallow as I imagine him caressing my face.
“How’s Echo?” he asks.
“Good. She’s in Kansas or Iowa or someplace.” Not here with me, and that sucks. She no longer needs me now that she has... “She’s with Noah.”
“So she’s moved on,” he says almost as a whisper.
From me? Yes. But she hasn’t moved on the way Lincoln suggests. Sadness envelops me like a cloud. I’ve witnessed Echo grieve for her brother. Hell, I’m still grieving for Aires. He was like my older brother too. “She’s living. Not forgetting.”
Lincoln removes his hand to rub his face. I leave my hand on the table for a second, hoping he’ll wrap his back around mine. When he lowers it into his lap instead, I curl my arm into my own body—hating the rejection, missing his warmth. But I’m not mad at him. I can see I’ve lost him to memory. Echo has done this mental retreat several times herself.
We lapse into silence, I guess both of us processing the past couple of hours. The silence feels comfortable, like an old quilt, and I revel in it. But then my eyes dart to him. What if he’s not comfortable? What if the written connection in our letters is all we possess? What if we don’t ignite a real life spark?
What does it matter since he lied to me? We need to talk about it, but not now. Not when I’ve barely slept in almost two days and my mind’s a disoriented mess. He could explain basic addition and I’d drool like an idiot.
Sleep—I crave it, but can I have it? My thoughts shift back to the idea of someone pranking me. “Who would want to scare me?”
“You tell me.” He kneads his eyes, and for the first time I notice the dark circles beneath them. He’s tired and as I sip the warm drink, I realize my exhaustion is contagious.
“I have no idea.” And the unknown terrifies me.
Lincoln
It’s crazy how you brought up feeling alone. I feel alone a lot. Oddly enough, I feel the most alone when I’m in a room full of people. Everyone I know is changing. Echo’s distant. Grace wants new friends. Even Natalie is spreading her wings.
To be fair, I’m changing too. At times I feel like my skin is too tight on me. All the time, I fight the urge to cut my hair and buy new clothes. I mean, who exactly am I going to change into? I’m still me, but not.
~ Lila
Lila’s fingernail taps repeatedly against the table, like a machine gun firing off multiple rounds. “I’m too tired to deal with this now.” She slams her hand on the table, silencing any more discussion on her possible prankster.
She stands and I follow, wondering if the park ranger will allow me back into the camp. Otherwise, I’m screwed. “Can I come back in the morning?” Then I remember what time it is. “Late morning? Afternoon?”
Lila freezes the same way Meg does anytime she’s near the baby. Hell, Lila hates me.
“Will you stay? I told the police you would. You told the police you would. If you leave that would be like breaking the law or something, so you have to stay.”
I raise an eyebrow at her logic—or lack of logic—but there’s no way I’m blowing this opportunity. “I’ll stay.”
“Good. Because you have to.”
Lila leads me back into the living room and mumbles for me to stay put. Her footsteps are light down the hallway. The one-story house is the size of a mansion and decorated like one of Mom’s Better Homes and Gardens magazines. Nice and breakable shit—everywhere. After several abrupt sounds that indicate Lila must have accepted a wrestling match with an alligator, she reappears with blankets and a pillow.
“Do you mind sleeping on the couch?” she asks.
I’d sleep on nails in order to be near her. “No.”
She hands me the ingredients for a temporary bed.
“Thanks,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” Lila’s fingers draw toward the hem of her tank top, and I remind myself to breathe when I catch sight of the sun-kissed skin of her flat stomach. In seconds, she pulls at the hem and her belly button disappears.
“Well, good night,” she says while tucking her golden hair behind her ear.
“‘Night,” I respond. Should I hug her? Kiss her? Shake her hand? Get on my knees and start begging for forgiveness?
She shifts her footing but stays in place. “The bathroom is down the hall.”
“All right.”
“You can take a shower if you want.”
“Thanks,” I answer.
“You’re welcome.”
And we’ve already had this conversation. Lila sniffs as if her allergies bother her, and she lowers her head. I want to comfort her, but I have no clue how to tread on this territory. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to be alone,” she whispers. “Not even alone in a room. Isn’t that pathetic?”