Page 25 of Belonging to Them

So I took the crumbs you left behind

And told myself

They made a meal

I stare at the page,wondering what sort of second verse I can come up with.Sweat gathers behind my knee, so I straighten my legs and fluff out the skirt of my dress, trying to cool off.My phone rings, startling me.

The screen showsCarl Baldwinas the caller.The detective?What could he want?

“Hello?”I answer.

“Is this Ella Marchand?”

“Yes, hi, Detective Baldwin.Is something wrong?”

He makes an amused sound.“Nothing’s wrong.Just wanted to check in.I heard Marks gave you the brush-off when you spoke the other day, which wasn’t my intention.”

“No, it’s okay.I know you’re all busy there.”

“Yeah.”The detective is quiet for a moment, then asks, “Well, is Teddy still missing?”

“Tommy,” I correct him.“And…this is embarrassing, but no, he’s not missing at all.It turns out, he never was.He actually wrote the threatening note himself, hoping I could get my boyfriends to give him money.”

“Oh.”Detective Baldwin sounds taken aback.

“I’m very sorry for wasting your time,” I say.

“No, you should be able to come to us when you’re worried.There are just policies in place about when we can start cases.”

“And for good reason,” I say with a brittle smile.

“Yes.Well, I’m glad everything has worked out.Other than your brother sounds like a—never mind.It’s not my place.”

“He’s an asshole,” I say.“It’s okay, you can say it.”

The detective laughs.“Yes, that’s what I was thinking.Good luck, Ella.Be well.”

“Thank you.”

I end the call and turn back to the piano.An hour passes, then another.I field texts from Kingston and Sebastian, reassuring them that my guards are with me and I’m at the university.Then another hour passes.

Standing up, I stretch.I imagine what it would be like, ifthiswere my job.If, tomorrow morning, I could work with Sebastian on some of my lyrics, get his feedback, and come straight back to the practice room, or go into the studio he made me, and lose myself in my music all over again.

What would it be like if this—music—were my real life, not an escape from the drudgery of my job with Maids in Heaven.I’m grateful for what Melinda and Maids in Heaven has given me, but cleaning isn’t my passion.

Music, though—songwriting, singing—that’s my passion.

I’m going to do it, I decide.I’m going to quit my job, focus on my music.

I’m going to go after my dreams.

It’s only possible because you have rich boyfriends, a nasty voice in my mind whispers.

I mentally pick up the little voice, roll it into a ball, and drop-kick it into the sun.

* * *

Sebastian