Catalina Amador
It took me a moment to realize that the car had stopped because we arrived at the hotel. My mind had been completely engrossed as I read the letters out loud. Silence filled the car, seeming to highlight the stillness that had come over me when I read the last one.
Then, slowly, Michael unbuckled his seatbelt and leaned across, brushing his fingertips against my left cheek where hot tears had trickled down my face.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I am so sorry, Jordan.”
A faint smile touched my lips as I lowered the diary into my lap. “Why? It wasn’t your fault.”
“If I had been there…maybe I could have prevented this…”
I shook my head, wiping my eyes. “We could sit here all day talking about what we would have done if we had been there. The past is the past. There’s nothing we can do about it now.”
“That doesn’t make it hurt any less.” His voice held such regret that I wondered if the letters had upset him more than me. I closed the diary and touched his hand, finally looking into his concerned face.
“Michael…it’s okay. All I wanted on this trip was to find the answers for myself. I’ve done that. It’s not pretty, but it’s what I needed.”
He wrapped his fingers around mine, strong and warm, and nodded. “Okay.”
After giving my hand one last squeeze, he opened the car door to get out. I unbuckled the seat and climbed out, gathering the picture frame, diary, and papers I’d gotten from the psychiatric hospital.
I needed something else to think about, and soon. There was so much information to absorb. Upon glancing at my watch, I realized I only had a short while before my…meeting with Terrell. That did the trick alright. The mere thought of which made my pulse double and my palms start to dampen. Damn him.
We went back to our room, which was considerably chilly due to our absence, and Michael sat on the bed while I stared intently at my suitcase and wondered if I should change clothes. I mean, it wasn’t a date. No way in hell. So I shouldn’t change. Or should I? I thought about calling Lauren to ask—since she was the only female presence in my life who knew things about men—but decided against it. It was a one-time occurrence, no need to change. Right?
“Are you okay?” Michael’s mildly amused voice broke through my thoughts, making me jump a little.
“Hm?” I said.
He glanced at the suitcase. “You’re been standing there for almost a minute with the weirdest looks on your face.”
I cleared my throat and zipped the suitcase closed, trying to seem nonchalant. “It’s nothing.”
“Right.” Michael reached down on the other side of his bed and withdrew his acoustic guitar—a gorgeous wooden one with a brilliant polish to it. He practiced three or four hours a day, and our trip was no exception. I stood in front of the mirror applying a bit more eyeliner while he began plucking at the strings and adjusting things accordingly.
“How long do you think you’ll be out?” I caught on to his casual tone. He was trying way too hard not to sound interested. It was kind of adorable, in a way.
I hid a smile, picking up my comb. “A couple hours.”
“Want me to order something?”
“Just for you. We’re getting Chinese.”
“Oh. Bring me back a Fortune cookie.”
I paused, glancing at him. “You’re an angel. Do you really believe in those things?”
Michael smirked. “Who says I believe in them? Maybe I just want to read the messages and add ‘in bed’ to the end of them.”
I dropped my comb. He chuckled. I tossed him a dirty look and checked one more time to make sure my hair looked presentable before walking to the bed to get my duster. By now, I had started to recognize the melody he was recreating—a tune I’d heard on an old Guy Ritchie film. “Golden Brown” by the Stranglers. Good song.
“Call me if something comes up,” I said, my hand on the doorknob.
He nodded, watching me with a rather guarded look.
“I’ll be here.”