Free Acolyte by Seth Patrick Page A

nothing; he walked through to his bedroom. Annabel’s suitcase was on the bed, packed and ready to go. He marched back to the kitchen. ‘Two
hours
?’ he said.
    â€˜I’d planned to stay for a few days, but I got a message this morning from someone with information about the new Andreas revival investments. I have to go meet them back west.’
    â€˜Jesus, Annabel … I haven’t seen you in so long, and this is all I get?’
    â€˜I can’t just turn down information, and this was the only time they—’
    He interrupted her. ‘Are you even coming back for Valentine’s next month? Like you
promised
?’
    She wouldn’t make eye contact. ‘It’ll depend on what’s happening,’ she said. ‘You know how important this is to me.’
    â€˜I know what’s
not
important.’
    Her mouth opened a little but she said nothing. He could tell she was taken aback by his tone, but he couldn’t quite read her expression: upset, certainly, and uncomfortable. But he didn’t know whether she was unable to find the right words to ease hisfears, or was stopping herself from saying something more painful.
    When things had first become serious between them she’d told him about previous boyfriends, the ones who had outstayed their welcome and had been unable to take her hints. It had been funny, at the time, because she’d been so clear about how relaxed she felt around Jonah, how
different
it all was. Now, Jonah was starting to think that what she’d told him had been a warning:
Take the hints. Don’t outstay your welcome.
    â€˜What am I to you, Annabel?’ he said. He could feel the despair swirling within him, coming out as reckless words. ‘Tell me what I am, because right now you’re looking at me like I’m a fucking burden.’
    Still she said nothing, but Jonah thought he could read it now. She wanted to reassure him, wanted to please him. But none of it would be true, so she was silent.
    He made it easier for her. ‘Go,’ he said. ‘Just go.’
    Annabel got her case and walked to the door in silence. She opened it, stepped through, and was about to shut it behind her when Jonah spoke.
    â€˜I love you,’ he said.
    She paused, just long enough for him to be sure she was about to say something, say
anything
. Bring it to an end, he thought, or let him know she felt something in return.
    Anything would be better than nothing, surely.
    â€˜I’m sorry,’ she said.
    Then Annabel Harker closed the door.

10
    Annabel walked for ten minutes before she called a cab, pulling her rumbling luggage behind her. She was muttering to herself, swearing under her breath loud enough for people she passed to give her a crazy-person look and a wide berth.
    The journey back to her apartment in San Diego went pretty much the same way, a constant urge to yell at herself for handling things so badly. By the time she got in a taxi outside San Diego International she’d stopped muttering, but the same thoughts were going round and round in her head.
    She’d gone to Jonah’s because when she’d heard his message about quitting his job, that had been her first and only instinct. Drop everything and go. Maybe that said it all, but it was also the real problem. Commitment had crept up on her, and commitment wasn’t something she did.
    Her father Daniel had died twenty months ago, but she knew a truth she found hard to acknowledge: part of him had been dead long before that. Annabel was sixteen when her mother died, and Daniel Harker had been destroyed by her death. He’d breathed, he’d eaten; rarely, he’d even smiled. But it always felt like a show he put on for the sake of his only child. Annabel knew that if it hadn’t been for her, he would have ended his own life as soon as he’d been able to.
    That was what her parents had taught her of love: it was a wonderful thing, but