Page 103 of Falling Too Late

“Answer me.”

She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees. “You were. . .my rock. You were always there no matter what. You took all my panic attacks and sleepless nights in stride. You never complained. Never made me feel like I wasn’t worth something.” Her voice softened. “You were my everything, Alex.”

I took that in.

I was her everything.

She had never said those words growing up. I knew I wasimportant to her. Knew I was her comfort, but it was different to hear now.

You were.Past tense.

Meaning I wasn’t her everything now.

“What do you want to talk about?” I took a seat on the chair across from her, needing to move my thoughts along. There were a thousand things I wanted to talk about, but I wanted her to lead the conversation.

She set the coffee down on the table between us before she rubbed her face. I waited for her to continue. She brought her hand to her mouth and started to chew on the edge of her thumb. I wanted to pull it away. I remembered how she would chew her thumb raw, and holding her hand was the only way to make her stop.

“Wren.” I shifted my eyes from hers to her hand. Realization struck and she folded them in front of her.

“I realized last night that I dropped a bomb on you.” She sighed the words.

My brow crinkled and I waited for her to continue.

“Alex, your mom. . .”

“Is dead. I know. I found out shortly after I got out.” I spoke the words, feeling nothing. Mom was dead and there was nothing I could do about it. Wren hadn’t known I knew, but that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about right now.

“How did you find out?”

“How I found out doesn’t matter right now, Wren.” I knew she was going to be pissed when she learned I hired a PI to look into her whereabouts. That was a fight for another day.

She wrapped her arms around her middle and stared at the floor. I softened. Talking about Mom had to be hard for her. I hadn’t gone through watching my mother die. Wren had.

“Hungry?”she asked suddenly, standing.

“Starving.”

For you.

“Come on.”

Wren pointed. “Living room is obviously there. Library is through there; bathroom is under the stairs.” I followed her, passing the staircase. “Kitchen is back here.”

Her kitchen was in the back corner of the house. Skylights basked the room in natural light, and it was wall-to-wall windows. Looking out the back window, I could see the glimmer of a lake.

“Nice place,” I commented. I already knew these things; I just wanted to soothe her nerves.

“Thank you.” She opened the fridge, pulling out a carton of eggs and taking them to the stove. She started to fuss about, looking for a pan.

“Sit.” She motioned to the kitchen table.

I did as I was told, slightly amused watching her. I leaned back and took a long drink of my coffee.

“Wren, stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“Stop fussing. Frankly, you’re agitating me.”

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