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Baby for Brother’s Best Friends

Page 90

by Lacey Day

“Who should her sister ask for?”

“If she calls,” he says, “any of our officers can speak with her.”

I write it down. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t tell you anything.”

“No,” I say. “You were very professional.”

His mouth twitches despite himself, but as I leave all I can think about is going to see Laurel with all of this. Let her know what I do. See if there’s anything we can peel from this mess.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Laurel

The spreadsheet blurs for the third time in ten minutes.

I stare at the screen, blink hard, and realize I've been reading the same line item without processing a single word.

Maggie's handwriting keeps pushing its way into my thoughts.

Work is supposed to make things better.

That’s the agreement I’ve had with my life for the past ten years. You work, you focus, you control the variables, and in return, things don’t fall apart.

Today, work feels like trying to organize a fire.

I sit at the dining table with my laptop open, a spreadsheet glowing back at me with polite indifference while my brain loops through Maggie’s handwriting like it’s a threat assessment.

Rain city.

Don’t follow the first trail.

He cries better than he tells the truth.

Tom’s face keeps inserting itself where numbers should be.

I delete an entire column by accident.

I close the laptop, open it again, then close it another time.

This isn't how I operate.

Lucy is asleep upstairs, finally, after another negotiation-heavy bedtime that involved Foxy being promoted to probationary blanket status.

The house is quiet. The kind of quiet that lets unwelcome thoughts echo.

I make tea I forget to drink, and it goes cold. I walk from the kitchen to the living room and back again like I’m waiting for instructions from a version of myself that knows what to do next.

She doesn't arrive.

Instead, there’s a knock at the door.

I freeze.

Another late night visitor. It’s becoming a theme in my life it seems.

For half a second, I consider not answering. Pretending I’m not here. That the lights are on for decorative purposes only.