*Rasmus*
Ava sets the phone on the nightstand, screen down. She doesn't play it. She doesn't call back. She just stands there in the guest bedroom, her gaze fixed on the dark rectangle of the window beyond the bed.
I lean against the opposite wall, arms crossed. The room is narrow. Two people can't pass without one stepping aside.
"You're not going to listen to it?"
She shakes her head. "Tomorrow."
"It might be important."
"It might be." She turns, finally, and her eyes find mine. There's something frayed at the edges of her composure, a threadbare quality she's been hiding since the drive home. "But I can't. Not tonight. I've been in my head all day and if I hear Ginnie's voice right now I'll start crying or I'll start talking and I won't stop."
The admission hangs between us. She
