Page 13 of Quiet Obsession
“That’s not an option. What about the obituary?”
I scratch my jaw, my week-old stubble masking the scar that runs from chin to ear, courtesy of my father’s wedding ring. It was the only thing he kept after he buried Mom when I was five.
“Jeremiah Creed. Fifty-eight. Finally died.”
Hyde cracks a smile. “Maybediedsuddenlywould work better?” His phone pings and his smile widens. “It’s Millie. Looks like she’s enjoying Dash’s company.”
“What did she say?”
“She sent a knife emoji.”
I laugh, but the sound dies in my throat when I realize how foreign it sounds. No one’s laughed in this house for seventeen years.
“How’s she doing?” I ask, dragging my mind back to the present. “Any improvement?”
“She’s talking more.”
“To you?”
I’ve never heard her voice, but I obsess over what she sounds like and what color her eyes are more than I fucking should.
“Mostly. She saidhito Noah ten seconds in, though, so that’s good. Even Dash got a few words.”
That is good... but it doesn’tfeelgood. I’ve never heard her speak. Not in person or over the phone, even though I sat in Hyde’s room while he talked to her every day after she was released from the hospital and he came back to school. She didn’t trust anyone else with her voice and Hyde took that seriously. He kept the in-call volume low, like even letting me overhear would be a violation.
They talked for hours sometimes. He’d pace the room, hand in his hair, eyes flicking to mine whenever the guilt threatened to pick him apart. I kept him steady, grounded him with my presence so he could be her anchor without falling apart.
But the second she hung up, he’d lose it a little. And it was my turn to be there for him. My turn to push water into his hand and force him to sit, breathe, and tell me how she was.
Is she okay?
Is she making progress?
To this day, she is... and she isn’t.
Hyde downs the rest of his water and checks his wristwatch. “Go grab a shower, Creed. You’re not getting in my car smelling like that.” His gaze flicks to the hall. “You want me to clean out his things?”
Cold sweat mists the back of my neck. I didn’t even think about getting rid of Jeremiah’s shit.
“Not today.”
“I can bag the obvious while you shower.”
“No, leave it for now.”
He drops the subject when I stand, but before I head into my bedroom, someone knocks on the door and we both move to open it, Hyde hovering like an overprotective mother.
Miriam stands on the porch in a flowery raincoat, holding a glass dish wrapped in foil. The smell hits me before she speaks. Onions, ketchup, and something burned.
“Hello, sweetie,” she trills, her eyes softening. “How are you holding up? Are you doing okay?”
“Fine, Miriam.”
She tilts her head, doing thatohwith her lips like she’s looking at a wounded puppy. “I know it’s not much, but I thought I’d spare you the trouble of cooking this week.”
“We appreciate it, Miriam.” Hyde takes the meatloaf before I have to. “Thank you.”
“Yeah, thanks,” I echo. “I’ll make sure to return the dish.”
