As the Wicked Watch(53)

“Good morning,” I said.

“How long you been up?” he asked.

“Just a few minutes.”

“Is this what you do every morning?”

“What?”

“Start your day loving up on that phone?”

“I have to check my emails and text messages, and oh God, my calendar. That’d be a big mistake not checking my calendar,” I said.

“So you just launch in like this?” he asked.

“Yes, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

In a single movement he reached out with his left arm and pulled me to his chest and playfully pecked me on the lips. “This is how you should be starting your day,” he said, and took my hand and began to slide it down toward his naked pelvis.

I pulled away. “Cut it out!”

“I wasn’t going to do it.” He laughed. “I’m just messing with you.”

“I should’ve known this was too good to be true,” I said.

Thomas squeezed me tight and our bodies, skin on skin, rocked back and forth.

“I’d love to make you some coffee, but since it’s our first sleepover, I don’t even know where you keep it,” he said. I took it as a slight dig at me for not letting him stay over before.

“It’s good to see you smile, though. As a matter of fact, let me look at that,” he said. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen that smile before.”

“So, what, are you taking credit?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said without hesitation.

“I’m glad you came over last night,” I said. I figured I’d play to his ego before making it clear never to sneak up on me like that again. “But don’t make it a habit.”

His smiled dimmed, which wasn’t my intention. Something I know I need to work on is getting better at living in the moment, instead of always searching for the next one.

“I looked a mess last night,” I said, deflecting.

“No, you didn’t. You looked beautiful.”

“You were right about one thing—yesterday was a very difficult day emotionally.”

“I kinda figured that after I saw your story,” he said.

I leaned away, pulled the sheet up over my breasts, and propped myself up on my elbow, with rapt attention. “You saw my story?” I’d assumed he hadn’t.

“Yeah,” he said, scooching up in bed and sliding a pillow underneath his head. “That’s why I texted you right after it went off,” he said.

“Oh.” What’s the saying? When you assume, you make a what out of who and who? I perked up. “What did you think?” I asked.

“I thought it was kind of fucked up,” he said with a sour look. “That mother looked like a zombie. There was no life in her eyes. I don’t know how you reporters do that to people. That woman was in no position to be in front of a camera, and you guys were right there in her face.”

“That was her choice,” I said, abruptly sitting up in bed. “Don’t go there.”

He had no idea how insulting what he just said was to me.

“I’d better get up and get my day going,” I said before the conversation went any further. I turned my back to him and grabbed my phone off the nightstand.

“Wait. What just happened?” he asked.

I turned around and faced him. “You offended me, that’s what,” I said. “You make reporters sound like thrill seekers forcing people to talk. Like I get paid for tears or something. Pamela Alonzo wanted us there. She was using us to her advantage.”

Just then, the sun bore through my bedroom window with a flash of hot blinding light like it was agreeing with me. I ran my hand through my hair and tried to settle down a bit before I went on. “And I’m glad she did, because you know what?”

“What?” he said, pouting like a seven-year-old man-child, his arms folded across his bare, prodigious pectorals.

“This little girl, Thomas, from what I’ve learned, was the girl next door. Our girl next door. Smart, ambitious, beautiful. I’m just baffled how her life came down to this.”

Thomas sat up and leaned his back against the headboard and drew his knees to his chest in a contemplative pose.

“What?” I asked.

“What I don’t get is how come she was riding a bike home that night when it was getting dark?” he said.

“Well, supposedly, she took off before it got too dark out. Her mother told me her cousin was throwing a birthday party for her boyfriend that night and she didn’t want her there. The people were too old for Masey to be hanging around, and her mom probably suspected there would be a lot more going on than Masey was ready for. But she let her go to the mall with her cousin that afternoon. So you make a good point. Why didn’t she just drop her off at her house?”

“She’s probably kicking herself right now,” Thomas said, reaching down to pick up his shirt off the floor.

“Or worse, blaming herself,” I said. “I drove over to Englewood yesterday before the vigil and tried to figure out the route Masey might have taken. It’s not destitute or anything. In fact, it’s busy as hell over there. There’s a church on every corner. A liquor store on every other block. This section of Englewood is very busy and not always in a good way. The closer you get to Auburn Gresham, the quieter the streets get. It’s a mystery. I also feel like Pamela may not have known her daughter as well as she thought. She might’ve fit in a lot better at that party than her mother realized. Does anyone really know their child? I can think of at least six things I did around that age my mother will never know about.”