Mark's Secret Part 2
The music is something Mark doesn’t recognize, but it fits the room—a gentle backbeat, vocals like a secret passed from one friend to another. Alicia is humming along, curled into the corner of the sofa, her knees drawn up, a patchwork quilt thrown over her legs. She glances at Mark every so often, but doesn’t push. He appreciates it, even as his own restlessness makes it hard to sit still. He’s tried counting the threads on the throw pillow, reading the backs of book spines, tracing the path of a stray sunbeam that slips through the window and pools at Alicia’s feet. Nothing works. His mind is a knot of fear and hope and a dozen years’ worth of “don’t screw it up.” He leans forward, elbows on knees, and turns the mug in his hands so many times he’s surprised the handle hasn’t snapped of
- Writer
