LAINE
I RUSH out through the college gates, sighing in relief to find his car in the usual spot. I throw myself into the passenger seat, full of sorry explanations.
I’m an i***t! I forgot my phone! I rushed out and left it there, right there by the bedside table! I’m so sorry. I’m an i***t. I’m an i***t. I’m an i***t.
He doesn’t say a word, just reverses the Mercedes out of the space and heads for home.
I don’t know what else I can say, so I say nothing, just tap my fingers on my lunchbox.
I wish he’d go crazy and tell me how angry he is, just to get it over with, but he doesn’t.
“I was worried,” he says, so simply.
“I know,” I tell him. “I get it. I get how worried you’d be. I’m sorry.”
“Rushing is a fool’s errand, Laine. Carelessness leads nowhere good.” I tell him I know that, t
