Page 109 of A Heart So Haunted
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.
