Back home, Ade peeled off her clothes and climbed into bed. She stared at her phone, willing another of Sylvie’s messages to flash across the screen. She thought about the last couple of days and tried to decipher what she could have done differently to avoid Sylvie’s anger.
She sighed, tired of raking over the same scenes in her head, hoping to unearth a different outcome. She needed to work out what to do right now to make it better. What was Sylvie expecting? A grand apology? Ade gritted her teeth, resenting her inability to read the world and its norms. Would she ever find peace when the sands continued to shift beneath her?
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
The rotationof the washer threw another sock at the drum, its wrung out, distended shape ready for another trip around the steel cylinder. Sylvie sympathized with the sopping wet cotton. She’d traveled another rotation of optimism and panic since breakfast, doubting that anything she wanted would ever come to pass.
“Penny for your thoughts?” Colette asked, her arms full of napkins and tablecloths.
“They’re not worth that much.” Sylvie moved along to make space for her neighbor. “Have you abandoned your post at the café?”
“Just for a while. We’ve run short of linen, so here I am.” Colette cocked her head. “You don’t seem your usual self.”
“No.”
Colette raised her eyebrows. “If I was a betting woman I’d guess it’s trouble of the heart?”
Sylvie couldn’t deny her heart was troubled, but the pain and panic was so much more complex. “You’re not wrong.”
“Girlfriend?”
“That’s a strong word.”
“Is it?” Colette asked.
To Sylvie it was. Maybe not for others. “It’s not just her. I’m drifting along with a lack of purpose. I’m thirty-six years old, I’ve got two days to make another book deadline that I’m probably going to miss, I have a thigh-high stack of marking to do, and I’ve no food in for dinner. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Colette bumped against her. “I’m going to circle back to the girlfriend. How’s it going?”
“I’m in too deep. I’m doubting myself more than ever, but I can’t stop. Sorry, I’m waffling on.”
“It sounds pretty typical,” Colette said.
“Of what?”
“Falling in love, silly.” Colette laughed her innocent, casual laugh.
Sylvia juggled the grenade of truth that threw in her lap. “I’m not in love.” It sounded like a lie, even to her.
“You can’t stop thinking about someone, even though you’re a rational and responsible adult with duties and deadlines. You can’t even buy food. You look tired and ragged. They call it lovesick for a reason, you know.”
Sylvie scanned her untidy appearance. Of course she’d thrown on some old joggers and a T-shirt for a visit to the launderette. That didn’t make her a lovesick puppy.
“I’ve watched you guys, you know?”
Sylvie pursed her lips. “Now you sound creepy.”
“I see how you look at your not-girlfriend.” Colette stretched her legs across the linoleum. “You don’t see anyone else when she’s in the room. The city could be on fire, and your only concern would be making sure she was safe.”
Sylvie’s jaw dropped. Had her feelings been there for everyone to see, or did Colette have some kind of magical ability?
“I like her,” Colette said. “She sees you too.”
“She does?”
“She reads your lips, she mirrors your movements. It’s like you’re her whole world.”
“How do you know all this?”
