Number four: She showed me the chart where she’d assigned everyone’s rooms. Abram was on the main level, in the green room with teak paneling, as opposed to the green room with ash paneling or the blue room with teak paneling.
Thanking her, and even though I didn’t like the idea of her cooking for me, I promised to return in a little bit for a Belgian waffle since she’d already made the batter.
The most direct path, even though it was the most public, took me through the main floor great room. Running into one of Leo’s guests wouldn’t be the worst thing in the word. I’d behaved oddly last night, I knew that, I regretted it, and the sooner I started smiling at people and making chit-chat, the better. These people were important to my brother, otherwise he wouldn’t have invited them. Therefore, they were important to me. I would make an effort!
No one was encountered on my way to Abram’s room. I knew he wasn’t inside, but I knocked anyway, my heart in my throat. There was no answer. I tried the knob. It turned. I walked in. My plan was to leave the envelope on his pillow, where he’d certainly see it, and then leave. That was the plan.
Instead, I took a moment to stand just inside the doorway and stare like a lunatic at his things, cataloguing them: his phone appeared to have a cracked screen, unclear as to whether it was the screen cover or the screen itself that was cracked. It sat on the side table. Next to it were two quarters and a penny, and a book. I longed to read the cover of the book. I didn’t.
Counting his change and noticing the fractured screen of his phone was one thing, but inspecting the title of his novel felt like an invasion of privacy, so I tore my eyes away, swallowing around my aching heart lodged in my throat, and rushed to his bed, endeavoring not to notice the contents of his suitcase open on the floor.
Do not look. Do not look. Do not look.
I looked. Clothes and more books and—
AH! STOP LOOKING!
Screwing my eyes shut, I withdrew the envelope. Peeking just one eye open, I placed the envelope on his side table, on top of his phone instead of on his pillow which I suddenly decided felt too intimate, and turned for the door. Breath held, I made it to the door without any more creeping on Abram’s stuff, shut the door, and turned back toward the kitchen for a waffle.
And then he was there.
Startled, I froze.
Head down, he was strolling toward me, wearing a long-sleeved white shirt and green snow pants that did wonderful things for his chest and thighs, which did all kinds of wonderful and terrible things to my chest and thighs.
Regrouping my scattered wits, I drew myself up straighter, squared my shoulders, and faced him.
Okay. This is it. This is it. Be brave like Ahab.
What? No! Ahab was insane, not brave!
Well, honestly, if the shoe fits . . .
Frowning and mentally shaking a fist at my internal dialogue, I shook my head to clear it and allowed my gaze to move over Abram. I hadn’t really looked at him last night. The lights of the funicular structure at night were dim compared to inside the house during the day, and I’d been somewhat blinded by shock. But I looked at—and saw—him now.
He looked so different. So astonishingly different. And yet, he was the same.
For one, he was bulkier, which made him seem taller. In the last images I’d seen of Abram, before he’d changed his last name and disappeared, he’d been thinner, not bulkier. Obviously, he’d made some changes. He looked like he’d been working out a lot. Like one of those people who took a healthy gym habit to the next level. Like lifting weights had become a source of mental health more than physical health. The added muscle suited him, looked extremely good on him, but it also gave Abram an air of power and strength that I found both flustering—because, holy hot specimen of the male species, Batman—and alarming.