Page 73 of Never Alone
The visit-room door opened again. Nicholas came through behind the monitor. He saw us. He was pleasant again—the way he had been on the way in.
"I'll see you both in two weeks, Lieutenant."
I nodded. I didn't trust my voice.
He nodded back. Turned. Walked across the lobby and out the front door without stopping at the receptionist.
I waited until the door closed behind him. Until the lobby was just the radiator and the receptionist's keyboard.
Then I stood and ruffled Noah's hair.
"Ready to go home, bud?"
He nodded.
I held his hand all the way out to the truck.
Noah was quiet on the drive. He didn't ask for music. He didn't open his book. He just looked out the window.
By the time I parked outside the apartment, the light was almost gone. We went up.
Tessa was at the kitchen counter, a towel over her shoulder. The smell of something warm and sweet was in the air. A small plate of pastries sat on the prep board, dusted with sugar.
Noah dropped his bag and went straight to her, wrapping his arms around her middle and holding on.
She put her hand on the back of his head. "Hi, baby. How was your day?"
He pulled back and started telling her about Sean's shop. The radiator. The supply list. The tile spacers and the trowel. Seancoming around the counter. Sean letting him help round up the order from the back. He didn't say anything about the visit. He didn't say anything about his father.
She let him talk. She nodded at the right places. She kept her hand on his back the whole time.
When he ran out of steam about of the shop, he said, "I'm going to the bathroom."
He padded down the hall.
The apartment got quiet.
She turned to me. The brightness she'd held for Noah was gone.
"How was it?"
I leaned against the counter. Looked at her.
"Noah was fine. He was—he was good."
"Cole."
"He knows about the house, Tessa. He told me he'd driven past it. He's been looking into me."
She exhaled. Looked at the counter, not at me. Her thumb went to the edge of the prep board.
"That's what he's like."
The way she said it told me everything. The flat, tired knowing. The not-surprise. The if-it-isn't-this-it's-something-else.
And underneath it, the guilt. She wasn't looking at me because she didn't want me to see it.
"Tessa."
