Page 6 of Wreckage and Rain

"Wasn't hungry."

I drop onto the arm of the couch and rub her shoulder, that spot by her neck she likes.

"You good?"

"I'm just tired, Colt." She tips her head, not quite onto my hand. "Long day in my own head."

"Yeah?" I press my thumb in a little. "Big day tomorrow. Dad's circling the Tidewater thing, I think we actually land it this week." She makes a sound that could bemmor could be nothing, and I'm already running the morning in my head, the order I walk my father through the slides, and I give her shoulder one more squeeze. "You'll feel better after you sleep."

"Probably."

"Don't stay up too late." I kiss the top of her head and stand, and I'm thinking about the bridge slide before I've crossed the room.

She says something I don't quite catch. I almost ask her to say it again.

I don't.

I get ready for bed.

Summer comes in sometime later, after I’ve stopped checking the clock. She climbs beneath the covers with her back to me, and I drape an arm over her out of habit.

She doesn’t settle into me.

I notice. Some quiet part of me even understands what it means.

But it’s late. The deck is good. Tomorrow matters. She said she was tired.

I tell myself she’ll feel better in the morning.

I fall asleep easy.

Chapter 3: The Window

Summer

The bolognese has been down on a low flame for an hour, his favorite, and I drag the spoon through it and taste it off the back and it's perfect. The pasta and water are prepped for the second he texts that he's on his way. The garlic bread sits wrapped on the counter, ready for the oven. I set the table, two plates and two glasses, and light the candles.

I go to set up tomorrow's coffee pot and the coffee tin is empty. Two beans in the bottom rattle around.

The market is a few blocks from the house, 20 minutes round trip if I don't dawdle. He won't be home till seven. I have time. I'm reaching for my keys when my phone pings.

Colt

Hey babe, Calloway's redlining the whole term sheet again. Cheyenne and I are gonna grind through it tonight at the office. Don't wait up on dinner. I'll grab something here. Love you.

I read it twice. It isn't complicated; the first time, my eyes go straight to her name and skip everything around it, and I have to go back and read the rest like it's the part that matters.

Cheyenne and I are gonna grind through it.

The sauce is still on the stove. The candles are still burning.

I type a reply and delete it. Type another and delete that too.

Finally, I sendOkayand a thumbs-up, because anything more than a thumbs-up would start a conversation I am not willing to have while standing over a pot of his favorite dinner that apparently isn’t happening.

Send.

Read.