“Is there a plan for this afternoon?” Elliot asked, cutting into the giant cheese-smothered burrito on his plate.
The original plan had been to figure out what you needed to do to reclaim a body from the morgue. Since that was no longer happening, I no longer had any clue what to do with our time. “Not anymore,” I told him.
“Back to the house? Or not?” His voice was hesitant, and I couldn’t really blame him for that, given how shitty yesterday evening had been.
“We probably should,” I replied, forcing myself to take another bite of fajita despite the pit that had started forming in my stomach at Elliot’s question. I stared down at the cast iron skillet they’d put on the table, full of peppers, onions, shrimp, and strips of chicken. It was good—I’d just suddenly lost my appetite.
Elliot saw exactly what was happening. “Not if it means you’re not going to eat,” he replied. “Helen is going to keep feeding the animals, and we are going out there tomorrow—there’s nothing that can’t wait another day.”
I let out a long breath, annoyed at myself both for being so transparent and also because I apparently couldn’t just be an adult about this.
Elliot reached out and put a hand over one of mine. “Baby, it took me more than ayearto go back into Dad’s office. Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s been aweek.”
Technically, it had been sixteen years—at least since I’d last been there. But it had been only a week since her death, even if it felt like a lot longer. I looked up into those hazel eyes, warm and understanding. I nodded, not trusting myself to be able to speak without breaking down in the middle of a Mexican restaurant.
Elliot squeezed my fingers, and I tried to think of something to say that would somehow convey my gratitude, but also not result in tears—and then my phone buzzed loudly, and I jumped a little in my chair.
The zipcode was from Augusta County.
“This is Seth Mays,” I answered it.
“Sethy!”
“OhmygodNoah.” It all came out in one breath.
Elliot sat upright, alert.
“Are you okay?” I asked my twin, struggling to keep my voice even as tears slid down my cheeks. “Are they letting you out?”
“I’m okay,” he said, although his voice shook a little. “And no—not yet. But they are letting me see people. And call. Obviously. My lawyer did it, I think. Will you come?”
“God, yes, of course!”
“Now?”
“Yes. On my way.”
“Thank you,” Noah whispered.
“See you in a few minutes,” I promised, and then he hung up.
Elliot had already pulled my keys out and set them on the table. “Go,” he told me. “I’ll walk back to the hotel, okay?”
“Are you?—”
“I’m sure,” he replied, a half-smile flickering its way across his lips. “I’ll pay, get your leftovers, and then go wait for you. Call me if you need anything.Anything,” he repeated, with emphasis. “Okay?”
I nodded. “Thank you,” I told him. “I love you.”
The half-smile made a quick re-appearance. “I love you,” he replied.
I went.
I’d assumedthat they’d put us in some sort of weird visitation area where I’d see Noah through Plexiglass, talk on a phone, that sort of thing. But they brought me to what looked like an interrogation room—not one I’d been in before, since I’d spentmy one night behind bars in the holding cells at the Sheriff’s Office, not at the actual jail.
They’d searched me, taking pretty much everything off me—a pen shoved in one pocket, my keys, my phone, my wallet—and gave me a receipt that documented all of it. I hated giving it all up, especially the phone, but I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to see Noah. And I was willing to do alotif it meant I could see Noah.
After a few minutes sitting alone in an uncomfortably cold air conditioned room with painful plastic chairs, they brought Noah to me—under guard—and they even let him hug me without protest.
