no way I can tear myself away from him.
It’s not up to me.
We just have to be here,
smashed as closely together as we possibly can,
his breath on my neck,
in my ear.
The stubble on his face against my cheek, his
saltwater hair
under my hands.
Finally, we hear June unlocking the door to Bone Tower, probably heading through to the kitchen to start her insomniac baking. At the sound of her key in the lock, Tatum pulls away.
He’s on his way up to the top of Chalk Tower and I’m heading up the stairs in Parchment before June goes into the living room.
—
I lie onmy bed beneath my indigo sheets, but I can’t sleep. My mind is running.
What will it be like if Kingsley comes home to see the rug gone from the pool house and the buried bird bodies under the tree?
He will find
the wreckage of the hutch we tried to build.
His partner sleeping all day and making bread at night.
Tatum isolated from his old friends and working a job he hatesand
soothing his anger in the sea;
Brock trying to cheer everyone with steaks and bags of potato chips;
Meer searching for his dad’s inner life in the burned wreckage of Beechwood Island.
What will he say when he finds me,
lost and
embattled and
waiting?
Will he gather us all in his arms and restore order? Will he see how badly he was missed and promise not to leave again? Will he find us worthy of devotion and obligation, of healing and redemption?
Or will he think we’re disappointing and inadequate, especially in comparison with his own genius? Will he leave again, or rant, or scold?
I want answers to the questions Tatum will not answer.
I pull on sweatpants and sneakers. I grab my flashlight.
—
