Chapter 8: The Kiss

"What does that mean?" I said. "Stayed in the canyon."

Joanna turned from the mirror and looked at me directly.

"It means it would have been easier on everyone," she said, still gentle. "You had a lovely time. You could have stayed there."

"You mean I should have gotten lost."

"I mean you should have been happy where you were."

She picked up her purse from the edge of the sink and walked past me.

I let her.

My hand was shaking, so I held it against my leg until it stopped.

When I came back through the lobby Carrie was waiting by the door.

She looked at my face and didn't ask.

She drove me back to Rachel's with the windows down, and neither of us said anything.

At seven that night Rachel got called in for an emergency shift.

She stood in her kitchen in her coat with her keys in her hand.

She looked from me to Carrie, who was washing dishes.

"I'll be gone till morning," Rachel said. "There's lasagna. Don't burn down the house."

"We won't."

"Carrie, if he starts staring at the wall, hit him."

"I'll hit him with the spatula."

"Good."

Rachel left.

The door clicked.

The kitchen went quiet, except for the water.

Carrie dried her hands on a dish towel.

"I haven't eaten since lunch," she said. "You?"

"I haven't eaten since I heard what she said."

"So never." She took the foil off the lasagna. "Sit."

We ate at the counter on stools, shoulder to shoulder.

The table was covered in my soaked sheet music, laid out to dry.

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