Page 216 of ClickBack

“But I felt watched. If I was late, or tired, or needed you to keep him longer, I felt like I was adding to the evidence.”

I think of the kitchen box. Of Jeremy’s schedule. Of all the questions I have asked since arriving, each one a reasonable thing to ask by itself.

“I didn’t know it felt that way.”

“I didn’t know how to tell you without sounding ungrateful.”

That word is mine. I have used it about myself, about my marriage, about what I thought I owed for being loved. Hearing it from her hurts in a place I cannot protect by explaining what I meant.

“You don’t owe me for raising you,” I tell her.

“I know.”

“I want you to be able to tell me when I’m doing it.”

“I told you about the box.”

I look at it. She follows my eyes.

“You did,” I say.

We sit there until she puts both pictures into the envelope.

“I can feel bad for what happened to you and still be angry with you.”

“Yes.”

“I don’t know when that will change.”

I want to tell her I’ll wait. I want to give her something tender enough to end on. She hasn’t asked for that.

“You don’t have to know tonight.”

She sets the envelope on a box marked Keep With Me, then hands me the remaining towels.

“Those go in the blue bag.”

I put them there. I don’t rearrange what is already inside.

At the door, she hugs me. I hold her until she loosens her arms first.

“Let me know you’re home,” she says.

“I will.”

She looks at me to make sure I mean it, then closes the door.

Outside, I sit in my car until I can see clearly. I had prepared to tell her the truth. I had not prepared to hear the questions she remembered asking.

The fuel light comes on before I reach the next intersection. I knew I needed gas before I went to her house. I knew a great many things today and kept driving past them.

I make it to the Wawa near Bridge and pull beside a pump. The needle is on E. I turn the engine off, reach for the door handle, and leave my hand there.

My wallet is in the bag on the passenger floor. I need to pick it up, get out, and pay. Three ordinary things.

I cannot do the first one.

I call Jarrett.