Page 66 of The Quiet Tenant

At home, I tell Eric and Yuwanda I’m going to bed. It’s the holidays, I say. I always get so exhausted around the holidays. More like holidaze, am I right?

Under the comforter, I take out my phone. Still nothing. I slam it down against the mattress. Sigh. Then, I pick the phone back up and read his most recent message. “OK. Don’t move. I’ll come to you. Cece’s asleep and I don’t want her to wake up. First Thanksgiving without Mom, you know?”

It wasn’t even a good one. No “:),” noGood night,noGood morning,noI’ll be thinking about you today.NoI hope your shift went well,I hope you have sweet dreams,I hope you’re doing OK.

I scroll through our text exchange, all the way up to our very first messages, to “Hey! It’s Emily. Thanks again for all your help today.” To our conversations about red-tailed hawks and nightmares about closed doors and dark hallways.

It was real. I have it all here, all of our history. He likes me. He made room for me even when his life was in turmoil.

I could text him. I don’t need to wait for him to contact me. I know that. I’ve tried, but every attempt at composing the perfect message has ended with me hitting the delete key.How are you d—delete.Just wanted to make sure everything’s—delete.Don’t mean to bother you, but I just hope t—delete, delete, delete.

I bring my hand to the silver necklace, close my fist around the pendant, hold still until the metal reaches the temperature of my skin.

I saw it. I lived it. He gave me all these things and no one forced him to do it. He did it because he wanted to.

He did it because he likes me.

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FRIDAY AT THEHairy Spider. I make myself go. For the team, I tell myself. As if they care.

Still no sign of him.

If he wanted to do it on purpose—if he wanted to make me crazy, this is how he would do it.

Just one drink tonight. I knew Eric would want to stay out, and I knew I wouldn’t be in the mood, so I drove myself.

On the way back to the Civic, a hallucination.

And yet, I swear I see it. His white truck, parked at the back of a side street, glimmering ever so faintly through the Hairy Spider’s bushes.

I look around, glance at the entrance of the bar.

He’s not here.

Another check. No dice.

I start the Honda, adjust my mirrors, go to pull out of my spot, and—

It’s gone.

His truck is gone.

My shoulders tense up. I look through my windows. Turn in my seat, head on a swivel. Peer at the bushes. Nothing.

What the…?

Like he was waiting for something, saw it, and left. I laugh to myself, at myself, because the concept is so ridiculous, and yet that’s what it looks like.

Like he was waiting to see me, and drove away as soon as he did.

CHAPTER 44

The woman in the house

You get used to this furnace inside your chest, sucking up all the oxygen. It consumes you. It will engulf you—you, him, his kid—if you don’t get it under control. You will make mistakes. If there is one thing he has taught you, it’s that people make mistakes when they let the furnace take over.

Rule number six of staying alive outside the shed: You cannot burn yourself to the ground.

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