Last Light(47)

I held up a hand. “I understand. Thank you.”

Mel laughed too loud. She shifted her weight from foot to foot and avoided my stare.

“Are you hungry?” I said.

“No.”

“Thirsty?”

“Nope nope nope.”

“Suit yourself. There’s food and drinks in the fridge.” I pointed. “And the pantry. Cups are there, plates there. I won’t cook for you, so make yourself at home.”

Melanie nodded. She went to her duffel bag and began rummaging through it. I watched her with interest.

“Are you afraid to be here with me?” I said after a while. “You can stay at a hotel.”

“No, I’m fine.” She removed a book from her bag, then another, building a pile.

“Do your parents know you’re out here?”

She snorted. “I’m twenty-two. I have an apartment with friends. My parents don’t need to know everything I do anymore.”

“You say twenty-two like that’s old. You’re a child to me.”

“You’re only seven years older.” Melanie set the books on the coffee table, and I saw that they were … mine.

There was Ten Thousand Nights with its handsome jacket, and Harm’s Way, Mine Brook, The Silver Cord, all in hardcover.

“You’ll be surprised how much older you feel in seven years,” I said. I leaned over the books and inspected them, smiling. “The gravity of living”—I flipped open Mine Brook—“increases exponentially.”

Mel thrust a pen at me. I smirked and took it.

“You signed my paperbacks in Denver,” she said, “and you didn’t give me the time of day. I’m your biggest fan. So I’m trying again.”

“Fair enough.” In Mine Brook, I wrote: For Melanie, my driver. M. PIERCE.

“Sign your real name,” she said.

I opened Ten Thousand Nights and scribbled: For the persistent Melanie. W. PIERCE.

“You’re a dork.”

“All right, all right.” I laughed and rolled my eyes. I signed The Silver Cord and Harm’s Way MATTHEW R. SKY JR.

Melanie traced her finger under the scrawl. “Junior,” she said.

“Yes. Matthew was my father’s name.” I rose and moved away from the couch. “You can sit there, if you like. Before I forget—”

In the desk drawer was an envelope containing three thousand dollars, which I’d separated from my funds last night. I handed it to Mel. Her eyes widened at the feel of it; three thousand in fifties is quite a wad. “There’s that. It’s the amount I mentioned on the phone, and it should cover your travel expenses to and around here, and back to Iowa, with money to spare. If you stay on another week, I’ll pay you again.”

She fumbled with the envelope before shoving it in her duffel bag.

“You can count it,” I said. I fetched a bottle of water from the fridge and set it on the coffee table. “Please drink that. You look pale.”

“You look pale.” She plopped onto the couch. “Your hair…”

“What about it?”

“It’s so black. It makes you look a little pale.”

“You’re one to talk about hair color.” I gestured to Mel’s wild red locks. “That cannot humanly be natural.”

She shrugged.

We stared at one another in a silent deadlock.

My God, a twenty-two-year-old. I wanted to kick myself. Had I known Mel was so young, I would never have invited her. It felt weird—wrong, almost—to have this girl at the cabin. I should keep my distance. Keep this as professional as possible.

I cleared my throat.

“I’m going to my room,” I said. “Your room is down the hall to the left. Knock if you need anything.” I checked my watch. “I was hoping to go to Denver tonight, but it’s getting late and I’m sure you’re tired of driving. We’ll head down tomorrow.”

“Sure thing.” Mel began to unpack her duffel. I loitered and watched as she got out an iPad and a laptop and turned them on.

“What are you doing?”

“Making a hotspot.” She grinned at me. “You know, so I—”

“I know what a f*cking hotspot is. I mean why?”

“I have to update my blog.”

“You can’t blog about this!” I towered over Mel and glared at her laptop.

“Down, boy. I’m not blogging about this. I’m just writing about my trip.”

“Typical.” I threw up my hands. “Typical.”

Melanie began to laugh, the sound high and fluting.

“What are you laughing at?” I snapped.

“If—if you could see yourself.” She was breathless with laughter. “Oh, my gosh. You looked so mad just then, like you were going to attack my laptop.” She gulped down another laugh. “Oh, wow. I’m sorry. Please don’t have a heart attack.”

“You know I trust you, Melanie.” I stabbed a finger at her. “Don’t f*ck me over.”

That chastened her. She frowned and looked at her feet.

I stalked toward the bedrooms, then doubled back to collect my notebook. I glanced around. “And don’t … try anything funny. Don’t make any trouble in here.”