Page 60 of Heartless

Reagan walks over and sets down the plate of fried potatoes and another plate of grilled chicken doused in marinara and slices of mozzarella cheese. “Doesn’t matter.” Sitting down heavily, she sighs and drops her chin into her hands to gaze apologetically in my direction. “Sorry. I didn’t think you’d be mad,” she admits. Her voice is soft and I watch Sophie stab a piece of chicken for herself, then grab a handful of potato chunks with her bare hand.

“Solid choice,” I tell her in a whisper when she squeezes sour cream out of its container onto the potatoes. The smile she gives me is the first I’ve seen from her, and I have to admit that she seems like a cute kid. “I just wish you would’ve told me. Instead of me driving over here for nothing.” Though I can still salvage my night if I leave now, I suppose.

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I wrestle it free as Reagan slides a piece of chicken onto my plate. I mumble my thanks and swipe my thumb across my phone, seeing the message from Cass and frown.

Since you’re busy, I’m heading up to Akron for a bit. I’ll be back by the time you are. See you soon.

Suddenly, my main reason for leaving has driven away. Not that I’ll let that stop me. I text him back quickly, updating him but telling him he doesn’t need to rush or cancel his plans. I’ll be here for a few minutes to eat dinner, anyway. Then I can wait at home for him to get back.

“You know, my babysitter never let me text at the table.” Reagan chuckles, her mouth full of chicken.

“Your babysitter is retired and was never very good at following her own rules.” I scan Cass’s return message, silently agreeing with his question of why the hell Reagan hadn’t told me I could stay home.

Don’t know. She’s weird sometimes.

She’s fucking obsessed with you.

I don’t know how to answer that, so I drop my phone onto the table, face down, and move to cut up my chicken. “I’m not going to stay since you’re here,” I inform Reagan, not letting myself phrase it as a question. “Honestly, there are a million places I’d rather be than babysitting.”

Glancing at Sophie, I add, “No offense. You seem cool, and I would’ve killed to have a kid like you with manners back when this was my job.” It’s only partially a lie; I’d absolutely rather have this than a feral, screaming monster who wouldn’t listen to a word I’d say.

Like Reagan.

“Stay for a bit. For one movie. Come on, please?” It’s hard to ignore Reagan’s wide, begging eyes and she thumps her elbows onto the table to clench her fingers together in a pleading gesture. “Just one, then I’ll finish out the night.”

“Why?” Absently I take another bite, noting that Reagan’s food all tastes a little too salty to me. Clearly I should’ve taught her how to cook when we were younger, and it’s a failing that I’m sure will go on my résumé.

“Because I don’t feel great and I miss you? I haven’t seen you in a few days. And I feel guilty. That’s why I made dinner. Plus I rented a movie you like, and I got chocolate-covered raisins. Which are gross, by the way, but I made the sacrifice.” She spits out the words in a ramble as I chew and keeps going when I push to my feet to get a glass of water.

“Why do you feel guilty? We’ve gone a week without seeing each other before.” Coming back to the table, I perch on the edge of the wood, my hand held out for the sour cream Sophie hands over without a word. “Thanks, Soph.”

“I feel guilty aboutManic Manor. I freaked out in the slaughterhouse and ran. So I feel responsible for that guy chasing you around with a knife. I should’ve stayed.” Her voice is heavy with conviction, but I just watch her as I eat.

“Not your fault,” I mutter finally. But nowI’mthe one feeling guilty. I should’ve made more of an effort to make sure she was okay, and to let her know I was fine. Instead of having her worry and giving her half-assed explanations over text for the whole night, then ignoring her completely. “One movie. And it’s a short movie. Hour and a half max,” I bargain, killing off three potato chunks in one go.

“Deal.” Her grin is quick and has the potential to be contagious, but I’m more interested in the relief in her eyes. Is it really such a big deal, I wonder, for me to stay and watch a movie with her? I go through possibilities in my head as to why, and consider that she might be a little freaked out about the neighborhood and being here alone.

Though why take this job if she didn’t love the location?

Or maybe Reagan really is just feeling lonely this year. To my knowledge, it’s the first Halloween she’s had without a boyfriend in years, and with her parents out of town, she’s alone in a big, empty house. Only, she doesn’t love it like I do.

That thought drives my guilt deeper and I settle back in my chair, glaring at my chicken and wondering how fast I can convince them to eat and if I can somehow increase the playback speed of whatever movie she wants to watch to get myself out of here even a few minutes faster. Not that I’ll tell her I’d rather be in my bed, with my cats and a horror movie, than here in this house that smells of musty sugar cookies.

We’re halfway through one of my least favorite Scooby Doo movies and I’m practicing my dissociating skills when Reagan finally says something from the other end of the sofa. Though the words are fuzzy in my brain, so I blink a few times and reluctantly drag myself back to Earth.

“Hmm?” I ask, turning to glance at her. Between us, Sophie is curled up under a giraffe-patterned blanket, with a stuffed giraffe in her arms, and leaning on my shoulder. She hasn’t saida word since the movie started, though as far as I know, she’s still awake and interested in whatever’s happening on screen.

“I was asking about your plans tonight.” Reagan gives me that apologetic, sheepish smile again. “Were they with that guy? The one fromManic Manor?”

“I didn’t realize you remembered him.” Absently, I pick at a loose string on the arm of the threadbare couch. “Yeah. That was the first time we’d seen each other in a while, and we’ve been sort of reconnecting. It’s nice.” The words are as honest as I’m willing to be with her.

“Was he the one who took you home after what happened in the slaughterhouse?” She isn’t looking at me anymore, and her eyes are fixed on the screen, though her distracted expression makes me wonder if she’s actually paying attention.

“Yeah. He was outside. He’d just gone through and I ran into him.” The partial lie comes easily to my lips, and I turn to look at the TV as well, my hand inching toward my phone. My last message to Cass had gone unanswered, and I definitely don’t want to be the stereotypical, needy girlfriend.

Hopefully he’s having a better night in Akron than I am here.

“He seemed weird.” It takes her a moment to say the words. “I don’t know…he just seemed really off when he was talking to you. You looked sort of nervous of him, too. Hey, wasn’t he there when Lacey was killed?”

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