Page 25 of Before We Fell

A beat of silence ensued. Then two or four followed by a heavy sigh through the phone. “I wanted to thank you, for that app. Hearing Riley—”

“No need to thank me,” I said, even though my chest hurt. I’d been right. He wanted so badly to hear her voice. “I’ve been using the app for years.”

He cleared his throat and that tortured sound in his voice vanished, but he sounded different. His words were slower, more drawled than staccato, and his voice was deeper. “How’s Riley doing? In school?”

“Better.” I tapped my pen to my stack of papers. How could I be nervous around him when he couldn’t see me? It made no sense. “She’s talking some. And playing some.”

“And you’re doing her hair.”

He said it almost like it was an accusation, like I was guilty of something and once again I had a glimpse of how formidable he must have been as a defense attorney, staring down witnesses for the prosecution and making them falter in their testimony.

I felt guilty of something and I hadn’t done anything wrong.

“She asks,” I said, unable to hide the defensiveness in my tone.

Another stretch of silence followed, and something clinked through the phone. Like ice in the refrigerator. “Does she laugh?” He cleared his throat and there was another softer clinking sound.

“Pardon?”

“Does she laugh? At school? She has the sweetest laugh. Contagious.”

It occurred to me why he sounded different. He was drinking. Not fall down drunk. But he was more than a glass or two in. “Are you drinking?”

It wasn’t my place. Wasn’t my business either. It wasn’t even wrong, but he’d waited until he was drinking to call? Unease slithered down my spine and I sat up as if he was in the room, stacking the papers on the coffee table and grabbed my own drink.

“A bit. You didn’t answer my question.”

I didn’t need to think about it. Riley spoke so softly, my eyes suddenly pricked with tears at his description. I too wanted to hear this contagious laugh.

“No,” I said, and my voice was apologetic. “I haven’t heard her laugh yet.”

A heavy sigh fell through the phone. “She hasn’t laughed since that night. God, I fucking miss it.”

Damn him. His pain was undisguised in his voice and I imagined him, a highball of scotch in one hand, phone in the other. He’d be sitting on his couch, knees spread, hand holding the drink dangling between his open legs, elbow propped on a knee. His hair was too short to be disheveled, but his expression would say it all.

“I’m sorry, Noah.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he snipped, and his voice was garbled like he was throwing back his drink as he spoke to me. “She’s different around you. And I should thank you for helping her. She needs it, you’re right. But I also can’t help it pisses me off. How I’m constantly screwing up at this parenting shit and somehow, she takes to you when I’m trying so damn hard.”

Oh God. My hand holding my own glass of wine trembled and I set it down on the coffee table. There was nothing I could say to him to ease his pain. No magic pill I could give him. I was born to take care of others. It’d been my role since I was two, not that I would let him know that. And we were crossing a line. A professional one that I’d always held wide and easily between parents.

But he wasn’t a parent and I was unable to look away from someone who was hurting, even if he had a history of not being very kind to me.

“You’ll get there.” The fact he wanted to do better said enough. He loved his niece and wanted her happy. He at least wanted her laughter. But there wasn’t much I could do for him. “And I’m happy to talk with you about Riley any time.”

He laughed but it wasn’t easy. Tight and so cold it chilled me through the phone. “Of course. Thank you for your time, Miss Frazier.”

He hung up and I yanked the phone away from my ear, staring at his number flashing on the screen.

He hung up on me? See? He was a jerk. A pretty one, but a jerk nonetheless.

It’d make it easier to remain professional around him if I could remember how rude he could be when he didn’t like what I said.

I sipped my glass of wine and rewoundOutlanderback to where it was when he called.

Then I went back to grading papers and by the time I slipped into my sheets that night, wearing nothing more than a pair of cotton undies and a camisole top, I hadn’t thought of Noah again.

I was also, a really bad liar.

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