Page 255 of A Taste of Vanilla

“Before you yell,” I say, “I’m not dead.”

There’s a breath on the other end, though I’m not sure it’s relief. “That’s a low bar.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Where are you?” She sounds frantic.

I look through the windshield at the farm stand. “Virginia.”

Silence.

Then, dangerously soft, “I’m sorry. Did you say Virginia?”

I nod and realize she can’t see it, so I say, “Yes.” It comes out small and weak.

“Virginia like the state?”

“No, Marley. Virginia as in the concept.”

“Halston,” she snaps.

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“I really, really know.”

Her breath shakes. “Are you safe?”

“I’m pulled over.” It’s not exactly ayes.

“Where?”

“I don’t know. A farm stand, I think. There’s peaches.”

“You drove two hours away in a thunderstorm with flash flood warnings?”

I gnaw on my lip. “When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“It is bad,” she grits out.

“I know.”

“No. Bad is forgetting to text back. Bad is leaving wet towels in the washer. This is deranged.”

“That’s fair,” I reply quietly.

“I’m going to kill you.”

“Also fair.”

There’s a pause. “After you’re safe, I’m going to kill you.”

My eyes burn.

Despite it all, Marley is still mine. Angry, but mine. My home.

The line crackles.