Page 8 of Retool

When he reached me, he crouched in front of the chair.“Are you okay?”

I nodded.But I did put a little misery into it, because this was Bobby, and if I couldn’t be a baby sometimes with Bobby, well, whocouldI be a baby with?

He ran his hand over my hair, cupped the back of my head, and drew me forward to give me a kiss.

“God, Bobby, she came out of nowhere.Like the Wicked Witch of the West.”

He nodded.

“Actually,” I said, “I don’t think the Wicked Witch of the West came out of nowhere.If anything, it was the house that came out of nowhere—wait, was that the Wicked Witch of the East?”

Bobby, bless his heart, knew better than to engage.He took out his phone, pressed a button, and said, “He’s all right.”To me, he mouthed,Sheriff.Then he said into the phone, “Okay.Okay.Thank you.”

“What’d she say?”

As he pocketed his phone, Bobby said, “Nobody knew she was getting a pardon.Nobody knew she was being released.Nobody informed the sheriff.And she’s not happy about it, because that’s not how this is supposed to work.”

“So, what?”I said.“This is for real?She’s out of jail?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, it has to be real, right?Otherwise, there would be a manhunt, people would be talking about a prison break, everybody would know.”

“We don’t know anything yet,” Bobby said.“The sheriff is working on it.”

“I just sat there.”I dropped my head into my hands.“I should have—I should have called the sheriff, or gotten campus security, or—or run.I should have donesomething.But I was so off balance because of the TV show, and then the shock of seeing her.God, I’m such an idiot.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.You called for help as soon as you could.”Bobby paused.“What TV show?”

“Oh my God.”I sat up straight, rubbed my eyes, and told him.

When I finished, Bobby said, “Dash, that’s amazing.”

And because it was easier to talk about a show calledMr.Murderthan to deal with the thought of Vivienne on the loose again, I said, “Is it?Because it sounds like a terrible idea.”

“What?Why?”

“Well, because it’s going to be a disaster.”

“Why would it be a disaster?”

“I don’t know, Bobby.A lot of reasons.Primarily because it involves me.”

A beat passed.And then Bobby said, “But this is great.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Bobby shifted his weight and ran a hand through his hair.His expression was distant with thought.“What’d they say about time commitments?This isn’t going to interfere with your writing, is it?”

“I don’t know.I haven’t asked about how much time it will take.”

His knee started to bounce.“Are you going to have to move to Hollywood or—where is this all going to happen?”

“I don’t know.I guess I just assumed it would be somewhere around L.A.But I don’t want to move, Bobby.”

“We can figure it out.We can find you an apartment.”

“Uh, yeah, if it comes to that.”