“Why are you here?”
“Should I not be?” Rachel stands at the foot of the bed, hands in her pockets. That same tousled hair, those same droopy eyes.
“I’m just a little confused I guess. I never get visitors.”
“No?” She raises an eyebrow. Elaborate.
“I wasn’t even sure anyone knew where I was.” I glance down. The white sheets reflect the movement.
“Yeah.” I roll my head to the side and look out the window. The wind blows the tops of the trees to and fro. “I’m sorry about the project.”
Is it? I watch the wind and the grey sky. “Lydia hasn’t come to visit me yet.”
“Shouldn’t that tell you something?”
I look back at Rachel. She hasn’t changed. She never does. (Should I?).
“Will you tell her where I am, in case she doesn’t know.”
“Do you think she’ll be able to find you?”
I ball the sheets up in my hand, the motion rolling out across the surface. My voice is quiet.
“I don’t know.”
“Do you want her to?”
My voice is silent.
“I don’t know.”>>