(Rebecca's POV)
Connie studies me over her glass. "That's either the wisest thing you've ever said or the most elaborate excuse I've ever heard."
"Maybe both."
She laughs. Doesn't push further. That's the thing about Connie — she knows exactly how far to go and stops one inch short of too far, every time.
My phone lights up on the counter. Jack's contact photo — round face, missing tooth, a purple heart he added himself.
I've let calls from that number go unanswered before. Not out of anger. Out of not trusting my own heart to cave, to return.
Tonight I answer.
"Hi, baby."
"Mom." His voice is small. Careful. The voice of a kid who's been rehearsing something. "I'm sorry I drew Aunt Hannah in the purple dress."
My hand finds the edge of the counter. Grips it.
I don't say anything.
