Page 75 of The Layover

I never even thought to ask what Joystick was doing there. “Yeah, I don’t think they know him. He was… I don’t have any idea.” And honestly, it was the least of my concerns right now, what some former child-start wash out was doing first with Isabella and then with Diego.

“Come on guys, bedtime.” Daria ushered the girls toward their room.

I sank onto the couch, and tried not to play the entire day on repeat, to a steady beat of guilt.

I failed. The gnawing inside just kept chanting your fault, your fault, your fault. What if Eloise hadn’t been okay? What if—

“Are you all right?” Daria’s question drilled through my thoughts.

“Totally fine.” I couldn’t even summon the strength to fake a smile.

Daria sat next to me. “Are you sure?”

“Totally,” I repeated. “I mean, except for… What if this is my fault?” All of my doubts and guilt poured out in a long string of rambling brain vomit, and when I reached the end of the thoughts, I looped back to the beginning.

The hand on my leg startled me, and I looked up to see Daria watching me with concern on her face. “You can’t do that,” she said. “You can’t lose yourself in those kinds of doubts.”

Easier said than done. “I can’t not.”

“If you don’t pull away, this will devour you.” Daria’s voice was kind. Concerned. “I’ve played the what if game so many times with the girls’ safety, and you can’t. This wasn’t your fault. Curtis did this.”

I didn’t deserve her worry. “Because of me.”

“Because he’s a Grade A asshole.”

“But—”

“No buts.” Daria talked over me. “I promise you, as hard as it is to believe right now, you need to not fall into that hole. It won’t help anyone. Not you, and not Eloise.”

The name made my insides clench again, and tears pricked my eyelids. “I guess.”

“You’ll get there.” Daria squeezed my knee. “Try to get some sleep?”

I nodded. But sleep wasn’t my friend that night. When I did manage to doze off, it was to a cascade of nightmare scenarios in dream form, and every single time it was my fault.

I gave up around four in the morning, and forced myself to wait until after six before calling Raul.

“Ciao.” He sounded more exhausted than I felt when he answered the phone.

“Did I wake you?”

His laugh was sharp and bitter. “No.”

“I wanted”—needed—“to check and make sure Eloise was all right.”

This time his sigh was soft. “She seems fine. She slept in our bed, but as far as I can tell, she thought she was playing at your friend’s work all day.”

My friend. The words nauseated me. “How about the two of you?”

“We’ll be having nightmares for a while,” Raul said.

Yeah. I knew what that was like. “I’m sorry.” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my voice from cracking. “I didn’t know he would—”

“It’s not your fault.” Raul’s assurance came quickly.

That didn’t make me believe it any more than I already did. “You should both take the day. I have everything under control at the church, and I can keep them on track. Take the time with your family.”

There was a pause, and for a moment I thought Raul might argue. He just said, “Thank you.”

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