Skin-Deep Love

Chapter 2: The Paper Name

I drove to the Seabird Motel that afternoon because I couldn't think of another place Elias would go.

He had left his phone behind. He'd taken the small notebook he used for longer messages, which meant he had planned the departure. I should have been furious that he'd decided without telling me. Instead, I kept imagining him stranded in the rain with nowhere to sleep.

The Seabird sat at the edge of Bellwether, where the coastal road gave way to scrub grass and the old fish docks. I found his truck parked outside room twelve. The windshield wipers were still raised from the storm.

I knocked once.

The door opened a handspan. Elias looked at me over the chain.

"I brought your phone."

He held out his hand. I gave it to him, along with the charger.

He didn't take the charger.

"You'll need it."

His hands moved through the narrow opening. Leave.

"Can we talk?"

No.

"I'm not here to force you back."

He gave me a look that made the lie plain.

"I'm here because the board will use your absence. If you don't respond to the court's notice, Rusk can say you've abandoned the trust."

Elias unhooked the chain and opened the door far enough for me to see the room. The bed was made. His suitcase sat on a chair. On the small table, he had laid out his notebook, a pen, and his hearing papers.

He had not fled. He had relocated.

I went in when he stepped back, though I could have read his gesture as permission or simple exhaustion. The room smelled of damp wool and the lemon cleaner the motel used. I set the charger on the table.

"You're still coming to the hearing."

He wrote in his notebook and turned it toward me.

I am coming. You are not speaking for me.

"Fine."

He added another line.

You will not answer questions for me.

"I understand."

He stared until I realized he wanted more than the words. He wanted a promise. He wanted a record of me agreeing.

"I won't answer for you," I said.

His shoulders lowered, barely. I sat on the chair closest to the door so he wouldn't have to ask me to leave.

"Dr. Bell thinks the court should assess your communication, not your speech. She can explain that you're capable of making decisions."

He wrote.

I was capable three years ago.

I looked at the page.

"I know."

You knew then.

"I thought I was protecting you."

His pen hovered over the paper. He looked at me, then wrote with enough pressure to leave a groove on the page.

You wanted the proxy.

My face warmed.

"Yes."

You wanted control.

"I thought if Rusk took control, he'd sell the house and your mother's cottage."

You used the cottage to get me to the altar.

"I was trying to keep you from losing everything."

You took everything first.

I had no clean answer. The only defense I could offer was the one I'd repeated to myself until it sounded like fact: I'd been twenty-two, scared, and sure that no one else would fight for him.

But I had fought by making the choice for him.

Elias closed the notebook.

"Can I at least know where you're staying?" I asked.

He pointed at the room around us.

"You know I mean after this."

He wrote, Not your business.

The motel door rattled as someone walked along the corridor. Elias glanced at it. I looked at his hands, at the faint scarring along his left thumb from the fire. For years, I had believed the most painful part was that he couldn't speak.

I'd been wrong. The painful part was that he could tell me exactly what I'd done.

A knock sounded. The motel manager called through the door, "Mr. Ward? There's a woman asking for you at the office."

Elias frowned. He didn't know who it was.

I stood up. "I'll check."

He signed sharply. Stay.

I stopped.

He went to the door, opened it, and looked down the corridor. A woman in a camel coat was walking away toward the office. Her hair was silver, cut to her jaw. I recognized her from the trust's annual meeting: Lydia Pike, the board's outside counsel.

She turned at the end of the walkway and lifted a cream envelope.

"Mr. Ward," she called. "I'm glad I caught you."

Elias's hand settled on the door handle.

I watched her approach. "You should have sent a letter."

"I did," she said. "This is simply a courtesy. The board has arranged an independent assessment. It could help you avoid the stress of a contested hearing."

Elias held out his hand.

She gave him the envelope. He opened it and read the first page. His expression didn't change, but his fingers tightened on the paper.

"What does it say?" I asked.

He turned the page so I could see the bolded line: voluntary evaluation requested by the board.

"It's not voluntary if they're threatening to petition the court," I said.

Lydia smiled without warmth. "No one is threatening anyone. We're trying to ensure Mr. Ward has proper support."

Elias folded the letter and put it in his pocket.

"I'll have my own lawyer review it," I said.

Lydia looked at him, not me. "Of course."

Elias closed the door between us.

I heard the lock slide into place. Through the narrow glass pane, I saw him stand on the other side for a moment, one hand still resting against the wood.

Then he turned away.