HAILEY
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
Eamon glances at me over his shoulder, not fully turning at first, and then he does.
“I should be asking you what you are doing here instead,” he says, and his voice is low and steady, but there’s something under it I can’t quite name. “You should be resting. You… you look like you need it.”
I don’t answer that because I don’t even know how to.
So instead, I take a step forward, and then another, until I’m standing beside him, close enough to feel the quiet around him, but not close enough to touch.
And I look ahead at the water and the petals floating on its surface.
And I ask,
“How many times have you come here after I left?”
Silence.
For a second, I wonder if I asked the wrong question.
Or maybe the right one at the wrong time.
My li
