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Forty-seven
Henley
When I wake up, he’s gone. Propped against my squawking alarm clock is a piece of paper, Conner’s handwriting scrawled across the front of it. Turning off my alarm, I lift the piece of paper and study it. Another mathematical equation. Not Schrödinger’s, but still one I recognize.
It’s the equation on the white board on his room. I saw it the night I climbed his fire escape. At the end of a very long, very complex string of number and symbols is an answer that seems deceptively simple.
10500 .
Folding the piece of paper, I tuck it away with a smile. Only Conner would see quantum mechanics as a viable form of communication.
In the kitchen I find coffee, still fresh and hot. The dishwasher is unloaded. The trash taken out. Next to the coffee pot is a bag from the bakery a few blocks away. Inside it is a fresh croissant. It makes me wonder if he slept at all. How long he was here. When he left.
Pouring myself a cup, I carry it and the pastry back into my bedroom to get ready for work. On impulse I set the cup and bag down on my nightstand and reach for my phone to send him a text. There’s a text from Jeremy sitting in my in-box from last night, but I ignore it. After yesterday, I’m not in the mood to talk to him.
Your mood has nothing to do with it. You don’t want to talk to Jeremy because he reminds you that you have a real life and Conner doesn’t have a place in it.
Pushing the truth aside, I text Conner.
Me:Thank for breakfast.
Trying not to think too hard about it, I add.
Me:And the bedtime story.
He texts back almost immediately.
Conner:You’re welcome.
Conner:For both.
Grinning at my phone like an idiot, a third text rolls through.
Conner:Lunch? I can’t
promise I’ll be more fun
than chicken Caesar
salad and Mahjong
Titans but I’ll try.
If I’m not meeting Tess, salad and computer games is exactly how I spend my lunch hour. Alone. In my office.
Me:Do I want to know
how you know how I
spend my lunch hour?
Conner:Probably not.
Pick you at noon.
Me:See you then.
Putting my phone down, I carry my coffee and croissant into the bathroom to finish getting ready for work.