Contents ( 109)
- CONTENTS
- ONE
- Sylvie
- TWO
- Sylvie
- THREE
- Thomas
- FOUR
- Sylvie
- FIVE
- Thomas
- SIX
- Sylvie
- SEVEN
- Thomas
- EIGHT
- Sylvie
- NINE
- Thomas
- TEN
- Sylvie
- ELEVEN
- Thomas
- TWELVE
- Sylvie
- THIRTEEN
- Thomas
- FOURTEEN
- Sylvie
- FIFTEEN
- Thomas
- SIXTEEN
- Sylvie
- SEVENTEEN
- Thomas
- EIGHTEEN
- Sylvie
- NINETEEN
- Sylvie
- TWENTY
- Thomas
- TWENTY-ONE
- Sylvie
- TWENTY-TWO
- Thomas
- TWENTY-THREE
- Sylvie
- TWENTY-FOUR
- Thomas
- TWENTY-FIVE
- Sylvie
- TWENTY-SIX
- Thomas
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- Sylvie
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- Thomas
- TWENTY-NINE
- Sylvie
- THIRTY
- Thomas
- THIRTY-ONE
- Sylvie
- THIRTY-TWO
- Thomas
- THIRTY-THREE
- Sylvie
- THIRTY-FOUR
- Thomas
- THIRTY-FIVE
- Sylvie
- THIRTY-SIX
- Thomas
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- Sylvie
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- Sylvie
- THIRTY-NINE
- Thomas
- FORTY
- Sylvie
- FORTY-ONE
- Sylvie
- FORTY-TWO
- Thomas
- FORTY-THREE
- Sylvie
- FORTY-FOUR
- Sylvie
- FORTY-FIVE
- Thomas
- FORTY-SIX
- Sylvie
- FORTY-SEVEN
- Sylvie
- FORTY-EIGHT
- Sylvie
- FORTY-NINE
- Thomas
- FIFTY
- Sylvie
- FIFTY-ONE
- Thomas
- FIFTY-TWO
- Sylvie
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION
- connect online
- What’s next on your reading list?
THIRTY
Thomas
By the time we get back to the hotel, it’s almost 8:00 p.m. We’re both exhausted. “Room service?” I ask. Sylvie finds the menu. I settle Chris on the couch and immediately Moose climbs beside her. She gets up cautiously, like her bones might snap, and curls in the curve of the dog’s thick neck. He moves his head closer, so she’s encircled. “Thank you,” I say and, for the first time, run a hand along Cujo’s silky black head. He allows it, one brow cocked as if asking, What took you so long? I sit beside him, scratch behind each ear and his belly when he lifts one massive haunch for a rub.
When the food comes, Sylvie whisks off the silver domes to reveal breakfast for dinner—Belgian waffles, banana pancakes, orange juice, and a platter of fruit. “Breakfast?” I ask.
She grins. “When I was a kid and got into a fight with Mom, Dad would make me apologize.”
“Even if it wasn’t your fault?”
Her smile dips. “In our house it was always my fault. Anyway, on those nights Hana skipped supper so it was just the two of us. Dad always cooked breakfast—chocolate chip pancakes, blueberry waffles. Whatever I wanted. It was his way of saying he was sorry.” She smothers the waffles with maple syrup, takes a big forkful, and says between bites, “It made me feel better.”
Unconvinced, I take a bite. Sugar floods my mouth. It does taste good. We share both the waffles and the pancakes. I’m too full for the fruit plate but Sylvie dusts it. When she’s done, she reaches out, grazes my lower lip, and holds up a finger dotted with syrup.
“You saving this?”
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
She licks her finger and heat travels its natural course. I gulp down some cold orange juice. “I’ll take the couch if Moose will share it.”
“If we could sleep in my childhood double bed without a problem, we’ll be okay on a queen mattress,” Sylvie jokes.
I smile but there was definitely a problem in her childhood bedroom. That’s why I ended up on the window seat. “Are you just being nice to me because I cried like a big baby?”
Sylvie shrugs. “Maybe.”
By the time I come out of the bathroom in my T-shirt and boxers, Moose is snoring, Chris asleep beside him. Sylvie climbs under the down duvet. She wears only the white flannel top of her pj’s, and her long legs gleam in the lamplight. My body instantly responds and it takes serious effort to keep things under control. When I check the closet for an extra blanket, there isn’t one. Sylvie watches me. “I’ll stay on top of the covers.”
She puts a pillow in the center of the bed then folds back the duvet on my side. “My safety is ensured.”
“Thanks.” I turn off the lamp, climb in, silence settles, but I can tell Sylvie isn’t asleep. I ask, “What really happened last night in your parents’ bathroom?”