Page 76 of ClickBack

She picks at the blanket binding. “I waited. Then I started wondering whether I was supposed to wait. Whether you’d come home and find me still in your bed and think I’d misunderstood what we were doing.”

“I wanted you there.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I’m telling you now.”

She finally looks at me. “I needed it then, Jarrett.”

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. The fire is hot against my shins. I want to sit beside her, but she put me here for a reason.

“You’re right. I got caught up in what was happening and left you to figure it out. I’m sorry.”

“I’m glad you went to help him.” She wipes beneath one eye with the heel of her hand, annoyed with the tear. “I hate that I even have to say that.”

“You don’t.”

“I don’t want to become somebody who sits around afraid to ask a reasonable question.”

“Then ask me.”

“I will. But I shouldn’t have to pull every ordinary thing out of you.”

“No. You shouldn’t.”

She watches me for a moment, then reaches for the glass. I let her have the silence. I have answered plenty of difficult questions with somebody holding a microphone in my face. This is harder. There is no end to the interview, no person whose opinion I can decide doesn’t matter.

“Do you want me to go?” I ask.

“If I did, I wouldn’t have let you come.”

“All right.”

“I can be mad and want you here.”

I sit back. “I’m learning.”

The corner of her mouth moves, but she keeps the rest of the smile. After a while, she asks whether I ate anything while we were out. I tell her no.

“There’s cheese in the refrigerator. Crackers in the cabinet beside it.” She glances at the empty space on the chaise. “Bring another blanket.”

I find what she asked for and cut the cheese badly with the first knife I see. When I come back, she has moved over. I sit beside her and spread the blanket across us. She takes a piece of cheese, looks at its thickness, and eats it without comment.

“Go ahead,” I tell her.

“You’ve had a difficult night.”

“You’re being generous.”

“Exceptionally.”

I take a sip from the glass she offers, then wish I hadn’t. She catches my face.

“You don’t like that wine?”

“Not even a little.”

“Then stop drinking it.”