This? This was words on a screen. Nothing.

“You know nothing about my life,” I said. “Nothing about my loneliness. But I know all about yours.”

I moved my cursor over the DISCONNECT button.

“Thanks for reminding me why we don’t get personal with clients. Have a nice night.”

Click.

Morgan left the room.

Session ended. Total: 1:31:16.

—6—

Ellis was in the kitchen again the next morning. This time two coffee cups stood on the table. She eyed the farther one, then looked up at me.

I sat grudgingly. “Caffeine: my one weakness.”

“You also have a weakness for gummy bears.”

“Okay, two weaknesses. I’m still supervillain material.”

“And what about gel pens?”

I narrowed my eyes. “You know too much, Ellis Carraway. I’ll have to destroy you.”

She lowered her face, but I caught a slight smile. A brassy red lock strayed across her forehead and I clutched the mug, battling the urge to touch her hair.

It was so easy to forget the bad blood when she was right there, across the table, sitting in the morning light. It could’ve been a year ago. No time lost at all.

“So what are we working on today?” I said.

“Actually, Frankie’s going to—”

On cue Frankie walked into the kitchen, radiant in white chiffon. She rubbed my shoulder in friendly greeting and nodded at Elle.

“Ready, Miss Daisy?”

Ellis blushed.

“She’s kidding,” I said. “She likes putting people on edge.”

“I’m a professional provocateur,” Frankie said.

I raised an eyebrow. “Is that what they call stripping on the Internet now?”

“Sassing the woman who writes your paycheck. That’s bold.”

“Did you just say ‘sass’?”

Frankie flipped her sunglasses down, Deal With It style.

“Where are you guys going, anyway?” I said.

“To take over the world. But first, legal meetings.”

“Well, knock ’em dead.”

Elle rose to leave, then paused beside me and murmured, “Bye, dorkus malorkus.”

I tried to be cool. I really did. But she gave me that crooked, sweet girl-next-door grin that I could never resist, and I said, “Bye, nerdus maximus.”

“You look pretty.”

My stupid sappy heart mopped this up. “So do you.”

“Oh my god,” Frankie said. “Too cute. You two. I can’t.”

I sat there after they left, the coffee forgotten, feeling mixed-up and conflicted and inexplicably warm.

Then Jasmine, a petite, cherubic cam girl who did BDSM, came downstairs in just her panties and a pair of nipple clips and I returned to my room. Dane had finally answered my texts.

DANE: sorry busy night

DANE: did u do it?

MORGAN: yeah

MORGAN: we just talked

MORGAN: and he paid me

DANE: damn

DANE: ez $

MORGAN: the best kind

I sprawled on my bed in a drizzle of honey sun.

DANE: be careful

DANE: guy gives u $

DANE: wants to meet irl

MORGAN: he didn’t say anything about that

DANE: he will

I thought of Blue’s parting words. I may have paid you, but I gave you something, too. Don’t forget that.

Yeah, but I don’t owe you shit, buddy.

I asked about Boston but Dane had errands to run. I could pass the time with another surprise cam show, but it didn’t appeal. Nor did reading, sunbathing, taking photos, or getting off purely for my own gratification. I paced my room, nervy, agitated, feeling like Max.

Get out of the fucking house, loser.

Last time I’d seen the tree house, rain had been falling right through the roof. Today the woods were full of sunlight, clear beams glittering with dandelion seeds and pollen like jewel dust. The air was pungent with sweet summer rot. I climbed the split-log staircase winding up the old oak. The door had no lock. Few things did out here.

Inside was a single large room. Tree branches thrust up through the floor and exited through holes carved in the roof. Kitchenette, couch, loft with a bed at the top of a narrow staircase. Ellis had swept out the drifts of leaves and scrubbed the pine boards pale. Her neatness and precision were everywhere: dishes aligned razor-straight on the sink counter, blanket folded crisply on the couch.

“This is so you,” I said aloud.

All this bare wood needed color, life. I’d bring her something. Housewarming gift.

Wait, why am I gifting someone I want to leave me alone?

“Because,” I said, “I’m the queen of fucking denial.”

I walked to the window. On the table she’d stacked a pile of small logs, too tiny to give much heat. Besides, it was summer. Who needed fire? So Ellis: overprepared but impractical.

“All you do is hurt me,” I said, hefting a log and smacking it into my palm. “And I keep coming back for more. Why do you keep hurting me, Vada?”

I answered, “Because I hate the way I feel about you.”

“Why do you hate it?”

“Because it screws up the whole way I see myself. It makes me feel crazy.”

“Well, you are crazy. You’re standing in a tree house talking to yourself, psycho.”

Time to bounce.

I retraced my steps, searching for clues that someone had been there. When my phone buzzed I knocked a glass off the counter but caught it like an ace, lefty.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you?” Frankie sounded riled. The hair on my arms prickled. Frankie never got upset.

“Went for a walk. What’s wrong?”

“Get back to the house immediately. We have a situation. Ellis is freaking out.”

She hung up on me.

It wasn’t until I got home that I realized I’d left one thing different. I’d forgotten to replace that log atop the stack.

Frankie crossed her arms and said, “Who is Max Vandermeer, and why is he stalking you two?”

I glanced at Ellis beside me on the couch. Glasses off, eyes red. She sniffled into a tissue and my hand floated toward her, then fell.

“He’s not stalking us,” I said wearily. “There was an accident.”

If you tell a story enough times, it sounds like fiction. You don’t feel that visceral throb of resonance with the person who is you, who did the things you did. She’s just a character. Vada and Ellis on an icy winter road. Flaring headlights, bursting glass. Three white dragon tails of breath. Then only two. Later, a haggard man who holds you and cries, who wants to be close to you because you’re haunted, because you carry the ghost he loves. His hands touch you differently one night but you don’t tell anyone. You pretend everything’s fine. Even when your feet feel heavier every day, when the air smothers like a pall. When you feel something pulling you under but can’t escape, because it’s pulling from inside.

“I don’t understand,” Frankie said. “His kid was the drunk driver. Why is he harassing you guys about it?”

“It’s not harassment,” I said. “He wants closure, and he’s looking for it anywhere he can.”

Ellis gripped the couch cushion. “He said there are ‘strange findings’ in the black boxes. They don’t match our reports.”

“It doesn’t matter,” I said.

“They could reopen the case—”

“They won’t. Relax.”

She eyed me askance. “Why are you defending him, Vada?”

It was jarring to hear my real name in front of others. “I’m not. But I had to deal with him when you were gone. When you abandoned me. So I’m the authority here.”

Ellis averted her face.

“Is this going to be an ongoing problem?” Frankie said. “I can refer you to a good defense attorney.”

“It’s fine, really. I’ll handle him.”

“You understand why I dislike strange men yelling my colleague’s name on the street, right? Anonymity is a precious thing. It protects us.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Ellis took a shaky breath. “It’s all because of me. I’m a liability.”