Page 124 of Keller

It comes out ugly. Loud. A sound I don't recognize from my own throat. My breath hitches, and stutters, and then another sob rips through me, and another. I can't control it. I can't stop it. My chest heaves, and my face crumples, and I cry like something inside me has broken open.

This is not graceful grief. This is not quiet tears sliding down my cheeks. This is my whole body shaking. This is snot and spit and gasping for air that won't come fast enough. This is collapse.

THIRTY-TWO

Quinn

Tableau Scenes:At traditional krewe balls, tableau scenes present staged, motionless performances in which members appear in elaborate costume to embody mythological, historical, or thematic figures. These living portraits serve as the artistic centerpiece of the evening, reinforcing hierarchy, symbolism, and the carefully curated narrative chosen by the krewe.

I don't knowhow long I stay there.

The wall clock in the living room ticks. At some point, the sound filters through the fog in my head. I lift my face from my knees and blink at the clock face.

10:47.

I'm late for work.

The realization hits dully, like hearing news about someone else. I should care. I should be panicking. Instead, I just stare at the numbers and feel nothing.

I stand. The sudden motion sends my head spinning, my temples still throbbing. My stomach rolls, threatening to empty itself. I grab the doorframe and wait for the dizziness to pass.

I can't go in today.

The thought settles into place, simple and true. I cannot sit at my desk and analyze shipping manifests or walk past Martin's office and pretend everything is fine.

I can't function.

I find my phone on the kitchen counter, my fingers clumsy as I pull up Martin's contact and dial.

"Martin Dupré."

"Martin, it's Quinn." My voice sounds thin. Scratchy. "Sorry for the late call this morning, but I'm sick. I've got a migraine I can't get under control."

A pause. "You okay? You sound rough."

"Just need to sleep it off. I should be good by tomorrow, God willing."

"Take care of yourself."

I hang up before he can say anything else.

The silence rushes back in, filling every corner of the house. I pull a blanket from the back of the sofa and wrap it around my shoulders. Immediately, I think about sharing this blanket with Keller while we watchedLincoln Lawyer.

I sink into the cushions and stare at the wall.

The absence sits beside me, heavy and unavoidable. I keep my eyes fixed on a spot where the paint meets the ceiling, and I don't let myself think about anything at all.

An hour passes. Maybe more. The light through the windows shifts, growing stronger as morning slides toward noon.

Finally, I stand and decide to shower again. The hot water runs over my skin, washing away the dried salt on my cheeks, the tension in my shoulders. I stay under the spray until my fingersprune, as if I can scrub away everything that happened. As if I can reset the day and start over.

I pull on some soft pants and a worn t-shirt. I don't look in the mirror.

In the kitchen, I sit at the table with my phone in my hand. I realize I never had any coffee and wonder if that will help my headache.

The first sip tastes like mud.

I sit back at the table again, armed with hot mud and my phone. The screen glows, waiting. I scroll to Leah's name and stare at it.