Then she became serious.
“Are you safe?”
“Yes.”
“Lily?”
“Yes.”
“Did Ethan come here?”
“No.”
“Good.”
She looked around.
“Where is Billionaire Airplane Guy?”
“His name is Adrian.”
“So you’re defending him already.”
“I am correcting you.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Marisol.”
“Fine.”
She started unloading groceries.
Bananas.
Crackers.
Juice boxes.
A package of cheese.
Everything a parent might need while the world became confusing.
I watched her.
“Why did you bring food?”
“Because children get hungry at inconvenient times.”
I almost cried.
Apparently that was what happened when your nervous system had been functioning on fear and caffeine for too long.
Marisol saw my face.
“Oh, Elena.”
“I’m fine.”
“No one who says that while crying over string cheese is fine.”
I laughed through the tears.
She sat beside me.
“Tell me.”
So I did.
Not everything.
Not the financial details I barely understood.
But enough.
The photograph.
Northbridge.
Ethan.
