Better Off Alone

Chapter 13

(Sean's POV)

I don't know why I turn around.

Something pulls at me — a voice, a laugh, a shape in the corner of my eye that my brain flags before my thoughts can catch up. I turn, and there she is.

Rebecca.

She's standing two rows behind me, pressed against a man I don't recognize, his hand on her waist, their faces close enough to share a breath. He's holding her like she belongs to him. She's looking up at him like she's forgotten anyone else is in the room.

Something hot flares in my chest. Sharp. Sudden.

"Sean?" Hannah touches my arm. "What are you—" She follows my gaze. Her hand tightens on my sleeve. "Isn't that Rebecca?"

"Yes."

"Why is she... who is that man?"

I don't answer. The man lets go of Rebecca's waist and steps back, and they separate, and the moment breaks. But I saw it. I saw the way he looked at her.

"Sean. Why is she here with another man?"

I watch Rebecca move to the next display. She's laughing at something the man said. Her hair is down. She looks — different. Lighter. Like something heavy has been lifted off her.

She hasn't called me since she came back from California. She hasn't called Jack. She packed her bags and left the house and she's been staying at Connie's and she hasn't once picked up the phone to ask about her own son. And now she's here, at the same exhibition, with some man's hands on her, laughing like she doesn't have a family waiting for her at home.

The man steps away to look at a display on the far wall. Rebecca stays behind, examining something in a glass case, her back to me.

"I'll be right back," I tell Hannah.

I walk over. My shoes are loud on the polished floor. Rebecca doesn't turn around until I'm right behind her.

"Rebecca."

She looks over her shoulder. Her face doesn't change. No surprise, no guilt, no scramble to explain. She just looks at me the way you'd look at someone who showed up to a meeting you forgot you'd scheduled.

"Sean."

"What are you doing here?"

"Looking at robots." She turns back to the display. "Same as you."

"I mean with him. Who is that man?"

"That's Eric."

She says it like the name should mean something to me. It doesn't.

"I don't care what his name is. I'm asking why you're here with him."

"Because he invited me."

"Rebecca—"

"Is there a problem?"

The question stops me. Not the words — the tone. Flat. Calm. Like she's asking if I want sugar in my coffee. There's no heat in it. No fight. No trembling lip or hurt eyes or any of the things I'm used to seeing when Rebecca is upset.

She's not upset. She's just... looking at me. Waiting for me to finish so she can go back to her robots.

"You haven't called," I say. "You haven't been home. You haven't asked after Jack."

"I didn't want to bother anyone."

"Bother—" I stop myself. I can feel people glancing at us. This isn't the place. I lower my voice. "Rebecca, I don't know what's going on with you lately, but being out in public with another man — getting that close — it doesn't look right."

She turns to face me fully then. Her arms crossed. Her chin level. She doesn't take a step back.

"Eric is my friend, just like Hannah is your friend."

I open my mouth. Nothing comes out.

Because there's nothing wrong with what she said. There's nothing I can argue with. And the thing burning in my chest — the hot, sharp thing I don't have a name for — twists, because I can't contradict her without contradicting myself.

"That's different," I say.

"How?"

She doesn't raise her voice. Just stands there, arms crossed, and waits.

I open my mouth.

Close it.

Around us, the exhibition keeps moving. People drift past with brochures and coffee cups. A child laughs somewhere near the entrance. A guide is explaining something about neural-interface technology to a group of students, and their voices blur into a hum that makes the silence between Rebecca and me feel louder.

I know it's different. It feels different. But I can't say why without saying something about Hannah that I'm not ready to say.

Rebecca watches me. Her face doesn't change. She doesn't push. Doesn't press her advantage. She just lets the silence sit there between us, and the silence says everything she doesn't.

Then she uncrosses her arms.

"Enjoy the exhibition, Sean."

And she walks away. Doesn't look back. The man sees her coming and straightens up. She says something to him, to which he nods. Then they walk together toward the next row of displays. Side by side. Casual. Like they've been doing this for years.

I stand there. My hands in my pockets. My jaw tight.

Hannah appears beside me. "What happened? What did she say?"

"Nothing." I turn back toward the displays. "She didn't say anything."

Hannah touches my arm again. Gentle. Concerned. "Sean, are you okay?"

I'm fine. Of course I'm fine. Rebecca is just — I don't know what Rebecca is. She's never talked to me like that before. She's never looked at me like that before. Like I'm someone she came across on the street.

As we walk back through the exhibition, I catch myself looking over my shoulder, twice, scanning the crowd for the back of Rebecca's head.

I don't find her.