Page 191 of Haunt Me

Isaiah: Thank you for letting me stay in your guest room. For saving my life, really.

Faith: You’re welcome. I couldn’t very well leave the freezing statue of a pop star die outside my door, could I? And I do mean statue. You know, as in naked.

Isaiah: I swear, if you tell anyone, Fee, I…

Faith: Not to mention your security person stumbling after you like a madman.

Isaiah: Yeah, sorry, he does that when I go off without telling him.

Isaiah: Haven’t done that in ages. I have been good for months.

Faith: And who turned you off the straight and narrow last night?

Isaiah: Your sister.

Faith: Ew.

Faith: What are you doing now? Wanna go have breakfast next door?

Isaiah: Why don’t you just shoot me instead?

Isaiah: Yeah, I wanna come. Of course I do.

Isaiah: Right now I’m looking through Eden’s old phone, the one she gave us on her birthday.

Faith: And?

Isaiah: You and Manuela have both read all the messages in it, right?

Faith: Yeah. Twice.

Isaiah: I can’t even get through the first time.

Faith: We said no crying, Zay.

Isaiah: Oh, yeah, forgot to tell you. I’m breaking my promise right now. Big time.

thirty-seven

Faith and I drop in next door to have brunch with Walter and Eden as if nothing’s happened.

Walter doesn’t ask me why I came from his other daughter’s house, or why my eyes are red and swollen. Eden does not meet my gaze, but I notice that she is trembling; she drops her plate twice. I gently take it from her and fill it with pancakes with warm maple syrup, a dusting of powdered sugar, and fresh berries—her favorite breakfast.

I place it in front of her like a waiter. She doesn’t look up. I watch as she pretends to eat while eating nothing at all. I can’t call her out on it, though, as I am doing the same. We just sip black coffee and avoid each other. So, all in all, things are pretty much as usual.

Thankfully, Manuela, Justin and Noah arrive in a few minutes, and the kitchen explodes with chattering and baby gibberish. The little family always brings chaos in its wake, and I have never been more thankful for it. The tension breaks, and I end up trying to juggle an eager toddler and an even eager-er dog, both of whom seem to want to climb into my lap at the same time. Eden bursts out laughing as she bends over to help detangle me from the chaos.

Our eyes meet. Her cheeks grow hot. The blood drains from my head.

But hey, it’s progress. We looked at each other.

Everyone kind of settles down to eat again, and I even manage to swallow a few bites as I sit there, firmly lodged between Noah and Pooh. Finally, there is blessed silence, broken by nothing but the sounds of coffee being poured and loud chewing. But suddenly it’s the silence gives me a lump in my throat, because this is not a tense silence—it is the silence of home. It’s the silence that speaks of safety and love.

‘The silence screamed of home,’my brain says.

It’s starting to get super annoying, these lyrics appearing out of nowhere. Inspiration has never been this violent.

Just let me have breakfast with a toddler and a dog like a normal person, please? Pretty please?I beg it, but it won’t listen.

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