Page 276 of The Lies We Play

I do it anyway.

At the door, Creed says, “Hal.”

I turn.

His expression is composed again. Almost. The cut at the corner of his mouth makes the composure look more fragile than he probably wants it to.

“Tomorrow,” he says.

I nod once because anything more might undo me.

As I walk to the elevator, all I can think about is what he said.

Tomorrow.

As if it is something I have.

As if my life has been quietly rebuilt beneath me by people I didn't know I still belonged to, and now, somehow, I am expected to walk.

The elevator doors open.

I step inside.

Tomorrow is foreign.

I’m going to learn it.

Chapter Thirty-Six

Livia

Now . . .

Bella is awake.

She has been awake since noon, which is unusual for her on a Saturday. Saturdays are usually slower. On Saturdays, my hand can sometimes pretend to be a hand without negotiation. Today, she came on at one and has not gone off.

The teaspoon in my coffee cup keeps catching the side.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

The small sound has become the soundtrack of my undoing. I have stopped trying to silence it because I am thirty-two years old, and apparently, today is the day my body has decided to testify against me in silverware.

Sofia called this morning to ask whether I was all right.

She has been pushing about the Saint Claire project, which is Sofia’s way of saying I know you are hiding something, Livia, and I am allowing you one final opportunity to disappoint me honestly. Thankfully, someone called about the project, and I am a little off the hook. Not fully. Sofia doesn't do fully off the hook. She does probationary mercy with excellent eyeliner.

I told her I was fine.

I told her I had a deadline.

I told her I would see her Monday during our regular meeting.

Two of those three were lies.