Free Still Waters by Rebecca Addison Page B

say, just to
be sure.
    “Ok,”
he says, and moves back on the mattress. He lifts his arm from around my
shoulders, forcing me to sit up straight next to him and wraps his arms around
his knees. He’s far too tall to sit in the cubby house. The blanket we’ve used
as a roof is draped over his head like he’s playing a shepherd in a school nativity
play. When we built it, I tried to add another layer of chairs to give him more
room but he didn’t want to hear it. He was actually very bossy.
    “I
told you about my mom already,” he says quietly. He’s shifting restlessly next
to me, so I place my hand gently on his arm. He goes still and swallows loudly.
“What I didn’t say was that she lives in a hospital in Seattle. She’s had
problems with mental illness her whole life, but a few years ago she had a
breakdown, and she’s been living there ever since.”
    “Do
you go and see her much?”
    The
words come out croaky and thick, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
    “Yes.
But she doesn’t know who I am anymore. I try to visit every month, just in case
the next time I go is the one time she remembers me.”
    “You
must miss her.”
    “I
miss how she used to be. She was funny and clever. Everyone loved her. The
house was always full of people back then. So,” he says, looking down and raising
an eyebrow when he meets my eyes. “Who’s looking for you? Are you in trouble?
Or some kind of danger?”
    He
goes tense when he says the word ‘danger’ and I want to be quick to reassure
him, because I don’t want him to go back to that guy I first met – the one wound
as tight as a spring.
    “I’m
not in any danger, Crew,” I whisper. “I ran away.”
    He
picks up the hand I’ve left on his arm and threads his fingers through mine.
    “From
what?”
    “Remember
the problems with my employer that I told you about earlier? My employer was my
dad, and I used to work for the research and development part of the company.
It’s an old family business. A big one, Crew, one that employs thousands of
people.”
    “So
is your dad trying to get you to come back to work for him?” he says, and I
think I hear a hint of disappointment in his voice.
    “No.
I found out something that makes it impossible for me to keep working there,
and I think my dad just wants to make sure I’m going to keep my mouth shut.”
    “Do
your people know where you are? Maybe the messages are because they’re worried,
or because they’re sorry, and they want you to come home.”
    I
shake my head sadly, wishing that were true. I pick up my phone and press the
button for the first message then put it on loudspeaker so that Crew can hear.
My dad’s voice suddenly fills the cubby house. His words are clipped and angry;
he speaks like he’s shooting bullets.
    “Hartley,
this is your father. I’m getting tired of this little game you’re playing. I
know what you have with you, and I expect you to return it to the lab
immediately. Courier it if you can’t be bothered delivering it yourself. I
don’t care.”
    The
line goes dead. Next to me Crew sucks in his breath sharply. I press the next
message and hold the phone up.
    “Hartley,
it’s David. I can’t believe you did this. You’re selfish, you realize that
don’t you? Your mother is worried about you, and so is Marta. I’ve put up with
these spontaneous adventures you always want to go on and the impulsive
decisions you make for years now, but you know what? I’m losing patience. You
know how I feel about bad language, Hartley, but frankly, you’re being a bitch.
We have tickets to the hospital benefit on Saturday, and I expect to see you at
the company table at 6 pm sharp, wearing something decent. Oh, and do something
with your hair for once.”
    I
turn the phone off, putting it down on the mattress. Next to me, Crew is
silent. He’s breathing heavily, his arms pressing into mine as his chest
expands and deflates.
    “Hartley,”
he says finally as he lets go of my hand and