42
Riley
I
can tell something’s amiss the moment Mal walks through the door.
Carrying brown paper bags of groceries, he’s tense. His energy is weird. He won’t look at me.
Sitting at the kitchen table with my yellow legal pad, I watch him drop the bags onto the counter and turn back to go out again.
“Mal?”
He stops midstride. He doesn’t turn around.
“I’m going to ask you what’s wrong, and you’re going to tell me the truth. Are you ready?”
He doesn’t respond.
“What’s wrong?”
I watch his shoulders rise as he inhales. When he speaks, his voice is low and gruff.
“I talked to Pakhan.”
My stomach drops. If he’s talking to Pakhan, that must mean it’s time for him to go back to work. His vacation is over.
Our perfect little bubble has popped.
I stand, cross to him, and curl my hands
