Page 130 of The Pansy Paradox
When Mortimer returns with groceries, he finds me in the kitchen, still in self-imposed exile. I’ve managed to brew the tea, but that’s all I’ve accomplished.
“Pansy-Girl, what are you doing?”
I glance from my contemplation of the empty space. If I close my eyes, the afterimage of the Screamer remains. “Sitting,” I say to him.
The grocery sacks crash to the kitchen table. He is at my side, kneeling by my chair.
“Pansy-Girl, Pansy-Girl. Don’t do this to yourself. Rose lived a good life.” He glances around the kitchen as if he can still feel my mother’s presence. “She was content here in King’s End, even if you aren’t.”
“I like King’s End.”
“You need to get away from it, if only for a while.” He tilts my chin toward his face, and I get Mort at his most sincere, blue eyes unbearably kind, a lock of blond hair dipping to his forehead.
“I promise you, once this mess in King’s End is cleared up, we’ll do an early birthday bash. All three of us will escape. I’m thinking tropical, somewhere with endless beaches. We’ll find you someone, someone not from King’s End, and certainly not someone with an umbrella stuck so far up his?—”
“Stop.” I pull back. Mortimer runs as hot as Henry, but his heat feels more aggressive. “I am perfectly capable of finding my own someone.”
“Recent evidence would suggest otherwise.”
“Or maybe I’m not all that interested in finding my own someone.”
“Liar. There hasn’t been anyone serious since Daniel, has there?”
“At the Academy, Charlie Pulchenko?—”
“Like I said. Someone serious.”
I give my head a little shake, because Mort is right. No one serious. Not that I need someone serious, but all my friends have drifted away. I patrol. I visit the farmers market. I chat with Matilda, with Guy and Milo, with Adele. I call that my life, and on the surface, it isn’t a bad one. But I wonder. How obvious is my loneliness? I suspect it’s something I wear. That it’s something everyone can see, except, of course, me.
“I have a thought,” Mort says.
“Just the one? I’m proud.”
“You will be when you hear it. Let me make dinner and play host tonight.” He sweeps a hand at the discarded groceries on the kitchen table. “I’ll even clean up. And you—” He pushes a finger gently against my collarbone. “Can go upstairs. I’ll bring you a tray.”
“I really can’t let you?—”
“Yes, you can. Do you really want to play hostess? Sort out the sleeping arrangements?”
No, I do not.
“I’ll tell them you needed to be alone, and this is assuming Darnelle is even awake for dinner.”
That worry pings me again. Yes, Henry was hit hard, but his incapacitation has gone on far too long. I swallow the urge to rush to the office and do things like check his temperature, his pulse, the whites of his eyes, anything that might indicate the toxins haven’t left his system. Normally, the Enclave would’ve airlifted him back to Seattle, and I wonder at the inaction. But Gwyneth is a doctor. She would know best, or at least better than I do. I sigh, and it’s such a sad sound that Mort’s expression grows tender.
“I’m guessing you’d rather mourn for Rose than make small talk with Gwyneth.”
Something thick and salty gathers in the back of my throat and flirts with the corners of my eyes. Mort pulls me close, his broad chest capturing my sorrow.
“It’s the coward’s way out,” I murmur against his shirt, the material soft against my lips.
He pulls back and cups my cheeks. With his thumbs, he chases away the tears. “Then be a coward. For once in your life, Pansy-Girl.”
It doesn’t take more prodding than that. I don’t want a reprise of today’s lunch, and I really don’t want to think about tonight’s sleeping arrangements. I race up the stairs, not even pausing to eavesdrop at the office door.
Once in my room, instinct has me locking the door behind me. Something feels different. The barest trace of tea tree oil and eucalyptus lingers in the air. My gaze travels the space. The comforter is neater than I left it this morning, and the pillow shams are wrinkle-free, lined up like down-filled soldiers ready for inspection.
And on my nightstand, tucked unobtrusively next to the lamp, is a burner phone.
