“You can use club money.”
“No.”
“My money.”
“No.”
“Amelia.”
“No.” Her voice sharpens, then she reins it back like she is afraid of taking up too much room. That pisses me off on her behalf. “I need one errand that belongs to me. I need to know I can leave and come back.”
There it is.
The line that makes my ribs hurt.
Leave and come back.
Easy thing for some people.
Not for me.
People leave. That part I know. Women with bruised hearts. Mothers who send boys away because choosing right costs too much. Dogs who get old and go quiet in the grass while you hold their head and lie to them about being okay. Brothers who die. Fathers who were never yours to keep.
People leave.
Coming back is the part I never learned to trust.
I look at her hand around those keys.
Then at August.
The kid is watching us with too-big eyes over his spoon, because children may not know all the words, but they damn sure know when adults are arguing about fear.
I exhale through my nose.
“Fine.”
Amelia blinks. “Fine?”
“Yeah.”
“You’re not going to argue?”
“I just did it silently. Saved time.”
Her mouth curves. “Very mature.”
“Don’t spread rumors.”
She looks at me for another second, suspicious of easy permission because nothing in her life has taught her trust comes without a hook.
Then she nods. “I’ll be quick.”
“No.”
Her shoulders tense.
I hold up one hand. “Not no like that. No as in don’t rush because of me. Do what you need to do.”