Page 186 - My FlipBook

L IS A J. L A W R E N C E

He waited for her to say more, snow the size of corn-
flakes clinging to his wayward strands of hair. He thought for
a minute, then said, “You two should sleep over at my house
tonight.”
“Uh…” She was eight years old again, standing in the
schoolyard.
“Tomorrow’s Saturday. It’s not a school night.” Still eight
years old.

“I’ll ask”—Greta actually started to say Elgin—“Ash.”
Nate gave a nod and backed off the porch, leaving prints
in the gauzy layer on the steps. “I’ll call later.” Before shutting
the front door, Greta watched him lope over to Rebus and
climb inside.
She had stayed up late, cradling her phone, fingers poised
over the keypad. A battle waged. Her first impulse was to text ADVANCE READING COPY

Roger back as quickly as possible. Rapid-fire questions: Where
are you? Why did you leave? What are you doing? When are you
coming back? Also, confessions to share, one autocorrect word
at a time: We couldn’t find jobs. Had to move upstairs with the
landlord. Ash got expelled. Currently both dropouts.
She stopped herself each time, sometimes getting a word
or two down before deleting them. She couldn’t win this
one. If she texted again and he didn’t answer, she’d be mad
as hell. If he texted back and said he was hanging out with

Patty in some dive, mad as hell. If he apologized for living
like a frat boy instead of a middle-aged father, mad as hell.
Though silence would be the worst. She couldn’t risk it, that
wound. She knew—and knew Roger knew—the Green text

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