Peyton looks at me once, then back at Susan. “Not entirely.”
Mom’s mouth curves.
I close my eyes.
Of course she likes that.
“Good,” Susan says. “Then don’t start lying now just because you met his mother.”
Peyton’s breath catches.
I feel the room shift.
Less safe.
More dangerous.
Because my mother has just handed Peyton permission to be honest.
And I am no longer sure I want the protection a lie would give me.
Peyton
Susan McAllister should scare me less after surviving heart surgery.
She does not.
She dozes under a thin hospital blanket, pale and small against the pillows, and still somehow manages to make the entire room orbit around her. Nurses check her vitals like they expect commentary. Bill sits beside her like a man guarding a gate. Ryan stands near the window with his arms crossed, jaw tight, pretending he is not watching the monitor count every beat of her heart.
I sit in the chair Susan assigned me and try to remember how to be something other than a reporter.
“Still here?” Susan asks when her eyes open again.
“Still here.”
“You can go, honey. I know you have work.”
Article due, editor waiting, deadline with teeth.
All the pieces are here, which makes them dangerous.
“It’s quiet here,” I say.
Susan laughs softly and winces. “Quiet never lasts in my house.”
“I noticed.”
“The twins like you.”
“They liked the pancakes.”
“Same thing at ten.”
Ryan’s mouth moves by the window.
I see it.
He sees me catch it.