Page 52 of Molt

“But I wasn’t better.”

Silence.

My grip loosens but she doesn’t pull away.

“For thirty-eight years,” I say, “I didn’t hear your voice.”

Her eyes search mine.

“I didn’t know what you would look like next. Didn’t know where you’d be born. Didn’t know if it would take ten years or fifty or a fucking century.”

“August...”

“I told myself I wanted you to stay gone.” My thumb moves against her arm. Once. “I meant it.”

She flinches.

I hate myself.

“At least I thought I did.”

Her eyes glisten.

“But then I saw you.” I remember that afternoon. Rain hammering against the lobby windows. Me checking the mail. The front door opening. A woman stumbling inside fighting with a broken umbrella. Swearing. Soaked. Alive.

I knew before she looked at me. “I saw you standing downstairs three months ago, and I couldn’t fucking breathe.”

She doesn’t move. “You knew?”

“Immediately.”

“How?”

“I always know.”

“Did I look like her?”

“No.”

“Any of them?”

“No.”

“Then how?”

“I don’t know.” My hand rises before I can stop it.

I touch her cheek and she closes her eyes leaning into it.

Fuck.

My palm fits against her face. It always does.

Different face. Same feeling.

“There you are,” I whisper.

Her eyes open.