Silence.
Dead silence.
I waited, pressing the phone more firmly to my ear. “Mona? Are you still there?”
“Yep.”
“Is there something wrong?”
“No.” Her answer was higher pitched than normal and sounded like a lie.
“You don’t want to send me photos?”
“I’ll send you photos.”
Hmm. That was easy. Too easy.
I felt like I was missing something, so I said, “Okay. Then it’s settled?”
“Yep. All settled. Where are you staying? What hotel?”
“Um.” I thought about that, my brain full of static, and then shook my head. “Honestly, I don’t even know. I’m so tired, I didn’t ask.”
She made a soft sound of sympathy. “I wish I were there.”
“Why?”
She said nothing.
I rephrased the question. “Tell me why. Tell me what you would do if you were here.” My words were a little slurred.
“I would have you rest your head on my lap as we drove,” she answered immediately, and I learned something I didn’t know about Mona. She didn’t do well with vague questions. The more precise, the better. “And I would stroke your hair, give your head a massage, and watch over you until you fell asleep.”
My scalp tingled at the idea. “Then what would you do?”
“Then, when we got to the hotel.” I heard the springs of a mattress compress. “I would take a bath with you.”
I stifled a groan.