Page 28 of Don't Go
Pieces of the night were arriving in the wrong order—Half Past, Sabrina at the bar in an apron with a pen tucked behind her ear, Kit pouring, the glasses I drank, Sabrina on the phone with someone called Baby, and me—God help me—being a problem about it, then a car, her hand, humming…
Then nothing.
Cade is going to kill me.
A door opened down the hall, and Sabrina's voice came low, close to the floor. There was a murmur back and footsteps, light then heavier, coming this way.
Bonnie came around the corner first, the cat in her arms, and she climbed back into the armchair without a glance at me.
Then Sabrina.
Her hair was wet, twisted up, and clipped at the nape of her neck. She was wearing jeans and a white tee—no apron, no pen, bare feet. She came into the living room without looking at me, went directly to the kitchen counter, took down a coffee mug, and filled it from a pot that had been standing there the whole time.
She stayed at the counter with her back to me for one beat longer than the coffee required.
When she turned, she didn't smile. "Mr. Cross."
I cleared my throat. "Sabrina."
The memory hit me at the wrong angle.
Her palm was flat against my chest. My hand was on top of hers, holding it there, humming a tune I couldn't, even now, place.
Pretty Sabrina, I like you a lot.
I'd said that out loud to a woman who was currently looking at me like I'd broken something of hers and not paid for it yet.
She set the mug down. "Bonnie. Backpack, please."
Bonnie tucked the cat tighter. "I gave him your headache pills, Mom."
Sabrina didn't look at her daughter. "Backpack."
Bonnie's mouth opened. "I just?—"
"Backpack."
Bonnie went. The cat went with her. The bedroom door clicked.
Sabrina set her coffee down on the counter and crossed her arms. She still didn't look at me. "You need to leave, Mr. Cross. Now."
I was already on my feet. "I—yeah. Yes. I—" I patted my jacket. The phone wasn't there. I tried the other pocket. "My phone?—"
"Charging." She tipped her chin at the kitchen counter.
The phone was plugged in beside the toaster. She probably had charged it while she had been in the shower, while I'd been on her couch. I looked at the phone, then at her, then at the phone again.
"Thank you."
She didn't answer.
I crossed to the counter and picked up the phone. The screen was still dark—booting, not enough juice yet. I set it back on the counter.
She was an arm's length from me, facing the sink, hands flat on the counter on either side of the bowl Bonnie had left.
"Sabrina."
She didn't turn. "Mmm…"
