It's a beautiful early summer day, and I find myself staring out at the ocean, thinking how much Audrey would love being outside right now, enjoying the sun and the beach beyond the house. She used to love the beach, particularly when she was little and her mother was still alive. When we were on vacation, they would wake up early in the morning to look for sea shells, and then bring them home where she would proudly show me what they'd found. I remember her grinning and holding up a big shell to my ear because her mother had just taught her that she could hear the ocean if she did that.
But now instead of wandering the beach, Audrey is trapped in the bed upstairs. And I doubt she can hear the surf, though I open the window sometimes just in case.
Jack has arrived, earlier than usual. If someone asked me right now how long he's been coming now, I'm not sure I could accurately say. A few days? No, at least a couple weeks. A month? Longer? All I know is that his presence is becoming so familiar, I almost didn't notice his arrival. It worries me. I never thought his visits would continue for this length of time, and the last thing I want is to be comfortable with Jack Bauer in my house. Nothing good can come of it. As soon as his immediate purpose here is complete, I will be asking him to leave. He knows – that much I've made very clear. I think he understands what his continued presence in her life would do to her.
And yet, I've given Jack a few moments alone upstairs, for reasons I can't even begin to explain. I tell myself it's because she's making progress. She's been opening her eyes for longer intervals, and whenever Jack speaks to her, she tilts her head in his direction.
At the same time, I want to tell myself that it has nothing to do with Jack, and her getting better since his arrival is only a coincidence. Her mind is simply ready to heal now, it was just on a different time table than we thought. But in more honest moments, I know that's not true – I can't get the same reaction from her.
Checking my watch, I turn from the ocean, and I make my way up to Audrey's room. When I get to the doorway, I stop, not daring to even hope that I'm seeing what I'm seeing.
Jack is sitting by the bed, a book open on his lap. He has taken to reading to her for periods of time, which Amanda has naturally encouraged. In fact, Audrey's nurse seems to have taken a liking to Jack, and I've heard them talking on several occasions. It seems she's taken his presence there in stride, and moves around Audrey's bed as if he's been there the entire time, as if she's always had to walk around Jack to tend to Audrey. It bothers me that she doesn't question who he is or that she's not more cautious around him. Or maybe she does know who he is, I really have no idea what he's told her. But either way, I keep meaning to speak to her about it. Jack Bauer's presence shouldn't be accepted by anyone in this house. He's not staying.
But at the moment, I'm not thinking about any of that. The book Jack's been reading is lying across his knees, forgotten, because he is staring intently at Audrey.
Audrey's eyes are open, which is a common occurrence these days, and not what surprises me. What surprises me, and has caught Jack's attention, is that she's looking around. She's focusing.
I don't know what to do. I'm caught between not moving an inch for fear of startling her and running over to her so I can look into her eyes.
But Jack apparently doesn't have the same problem. Moving slowly, he eases to the edge of the bed, lowering his weight by degrees until he's settled beside her.
"Audrey?" he says gently.
At the sound of his voice, her head turns toward him. A look of brief confusion crosses her features, and then she looks up at him. She looks up at him. Her eyes spend a long time searching his face, taking him in. Her lips begin to move, and she is obviously trying to say something. After an agonizing minute, she does.
"Jack?" she whispers, barely, but I can hear the disbelief in her voice. I see Jack's eyes go wide and he releases a shaky breath. He nods.
"Yeah, Audrey, it's me. I'm here." His voice is thick with emotion.
Audrey continues to stare at him, and then her mouth briefly lifts in the smallest of smiles.
"Jack," she repeats, her voice slightly stronger this time. And then she tries to raise her right hand, but she is too weak, and her hand drops back down after lifting only a couple inches. But the movement does not escape Jack. He takes her hand in his and lifts it, pressing her palm to his cheek, his hand covering hers. The instant her hand makes contact with his skin, Jack's head bends toward Audrey and his eyes close. When they open again, I can see they are bright with restrained tears.
Audrey is still looking up at him in wonderment, her eyes completely locked on him.
"Jack," she whispers for a third time, and in her voice I hear everything I don't want to hear. They are both in a world I have no hope of entering, and it's such an…intimate moment, that I have no choice but to walk out into the hallway.
I lean against the wall and close my eyes and once again curse the day Jack Bauer entered my life and my daughter's life.
Goddamn him.
I'm not sure how long I stand out in the hallway, but I look up when Jack walks out of the room. He looks at me, but I can't read his expression. I've always thought I was good at reading people, but Jack's face betrays nothing and he's holding himself still. The only discernable movement is in his right hand, where his thumb is rubbing against his other fingers. Has he always done that? Or is it an unconscious reaction to whatever torture was responsible for putting the scarring on the back of his hand?
He stares at me for a moment longer before he says, "She's asking for you."
Oh my God. Something lifts in me, and I have the insane urge to shout with joy. But instead, I match Jack's general demeanor and simply nod at him.
"Thank you," I say. He nods back and steps out of the doorway. I move by him, and as I enter the room, I note he does not follow me. It's at that moment that I remember he's a father himself, and I am forced to acknowledge that he might understand what this means to me.
But all thoughts of Jack leave me when I enter the room. My daughter's eyes are open, and when I walk up to her, she turns her head in my direction and her eyes meet mine. For the first time in months, her beautiful blue eyes are focused on mine and she's smiling at me. She's smiling.
"Hi, Dad," she whispers.
Something wells up in my throat and I have to swallow hard. The tears start falling uncontrollably down my face and I sink onto the bed next to her. I reach out to smooth her hair back, touch her face, before gathering her hands in mine.
"Hi, Audie," I manage to choke out before a sob escapes me.
"Don't cry," Audrey murmurs, her fingers rubbing against my hands. "It's okay."
I shake my head. "I'm sorry. I've been so worried. You've been gone for a long time, sweetheart."
"I was just tired," she says, and I see the hint of a familiar look in her eye. She's teasing me.
I chuckle then, relief and happiness at war in me as to which is the dominant emotion. "Yeah," I nod, "I know."
As I gather myself together, removing one hand from hers to wipe the tears away, my daughter looks up at me.
"Thank you," she says, her voice still impossibly weak.
I smile at her. "For what? You did all the hard work."
She shakes her head. "Not true," she says and her eyes flick briefly toward the door, outside which I assume Jack is still standing, "So did you."
Tears come to my eyes again, but this time for an entirely different reason. I cannot answer her, I cannot have this conversation with her right now. It will have to wait until later, until she's strong enough to understand why I can't let him stay.
For now, I only nod and squeeze her hand, and wait until she falls asleep again. Her eyes falling shut doesn't scare me now; I know she'll wake up again.
Audrey has been making remarkable progress. Each day since she woke up, she's been awake a little longer. She's gotten strong enough that she's been sitting up in bed, talking. Color is still missing from her skin, and she's still pretty thin, but she's alert and smiling, and her doctors say that those are all very good signs.
I'm getting to know my daughter all over again. I've taken to spending several hours with her every day. Sometimes we sit in companionable silence. Sometimes I bring up the morning newspaper and read to her. Watching TV or reading for any length of time still gives her a headache, so I try to update her on what's going on in the world. I tried at first to shield her from it, arguing that what was going on in the world wasn't really important, but after two days she made it clear she'd had quite enough of my protectiveness and told me that if I didn't bring up the paper and start reading, she was going to switch political parties and start campaigning for the opposition. I shook my head, grinned, and brought up the paper.
But my favorite moments are in the evenings after Amanda has gone home for the night. I bring Audrey her tea and settle myself in the chair next to her, with my feet kicked up on her bed. And we talk. About everything and nothing. We discuss what I read to her that morning, or we go off on tangents about the past. I would talk to her about just about anything, it's so wonderful to see her animated and speaking again.
Of course, there is the white elephant in the room that we avoid. I do not ask her about China and she does not offer any information. I don't know if she doesn't remember or if she just doesn't want to talk about it. Or perhaps she doesn't want to talk about it to me. And I'm forced to conclude once again I may need someone else's help.
Jack has still been stopping by the house on a regular basis. Each time he comes, I think to myself that it's time for his visits to end. Audrey's getting better and better, and his presence is no longer needed. But each time, I cannot seem to have the conversation with him. Or with Audrey. And now I'm faced with the prospect of needing his help again.
I'm in her room when he arrives this evening. Audrey and I are laughing about her and Richie's antics as teenagers, and I've just learned that there was a lot I didn't know about my children's whereabouts half the time, and that it was probably better that way. I ask her if it's too late to ground her, and she makes a face at me. I laugh.
She's about to say something else, but suddenly she cocks her head in the direction of the door, and I know what's coming. Or rather, who. She always hears him before I do.
When Jack walks into the room, I watch the change in my daughter, the same change I've observed on several occasions now. Each time, it's harder to take.
It's not a big, exuberant reaction, the way I might have expected. If anything, she becomes quiet. It should worry me, the way she goes from chatting and laughing with me to the stillness that comes over her when she catches sight of him. But as her eyes find his, her entire body relaxes. A few minutes ago, I wouldn't have said she was anxious in any way, but I can see the tension leave her shoulders, her arms. I don't know if she's even conscious of it. And then he's walking towards her, and she's already turning her hand over so his can slide into her grasp.
He smiles at her, a rare expression for him.
"Hey," he says softly.
"Hey," Audrey answers, returning his smile. Her fingers close around his, and there's a familiar knot taking up residence in the pit of my stomach. And it's one I have no idea how to unravel.
As he settles himself on the other side of the bed, Jack and I find ourselves on opposite sides of my daughter. Looking away from Audrey, he regards me with a guarded expression. I wonder if he wonders how long it's going to be before I make an issue of his continued visits. I wonder if he will make an issue of it when I do.
It will have to be soon, but not today. For now, I nod at him. "Jack."
He nods back. We've both learned to be civil in Audrey's presence. But Audrey's no fool, and she glances back and forth between us, trying to gauge our tension level. No doubt she realizes it's high, but I'm determined not going to stress her recovery. If it means keeping an uneasy peace with the man I invited into my house against my better judgment, so be it.
I stand up. Leaning over to kiss her cheek, I tell Audrey, "I'll be downstairs if you need anything."
Audrey nods, but her attention is already turned away from me, and as I walk downstairs, I wonder if I ever truly had it.
I'm waiting for him by the door when he comes down the stairs. His step slows when he sees me, but he comes down the rest of the way to stand next to me.
"Jack, we need to talk," I tell him.
He crosses his arms, and his expression says he thinks he knows what's coming. I hold up my hands, hopefully indicating peace for the moment.
"I'm worried about Audrey," I begin, counting on the fact that concern for Audrey will trump Jack's distrust of me for the moment. When I have his attention, I motion him into the living room and away from the staircase where Audrey might hear us. Jack follows me and when we stop, I clear my throat.
"I'll get right to the point. Has Audrey spoken to you about China?"
Jack's expression changes to confusion for a moment as he realizes that this is not the conversation he thought we were going to have.
"No, she hasn't," he replies carefully.
I nod. "That's what troubles me. She hasn't talked to me either. Or Dr. Jensen. And I think she needs to talk to someone. It's not healthy for her to keep it inside."
Jack shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "Is there something you're asking me?"
I look at him carefully and at last nod. "I'd like you to try to talk to her, Jack."
He gives me a long measuring look.
"I was under the impression you wanted me out of Audrey's life as soon as possible, as soon as it was clear she was better."
"That's true. And that hasn't changed, Jack. Audrey cannot survive with you in her life. She won't be safe. We both know that. But I'm asking you this one last thing before it's time for you to go."
There's an expression on Jack's face I can't read as he processes what I've just said.
"You talk to her as much as I do," he answers. "More. Why don't you approach her about this?"
"Jack," I shake my head. "You've…Well, you've has a similar experience. You know where she's been."
Before he can cover it, I see the immediate pain in his eyes that says he knows only too well. But a second later, the mask he's perfected over the years is back in place and he's looking at me coolly.
"Let me get this straight. You want me to help you again, and then you want me to get the hell out."
"I want you to help Audrey," I reply.
A bitter smile forms on his lips. "I'm awfully useful when you want me to be, aren't I?"
This is going nowhere, and I don't have time for it. "Listen, Jack, if you won't–"
"Of course I'll help. You know I will. You know my desire for the chance to spend more time with Audrey, however short, will outweigh how much I detest doing anything that helps you. And once I do, you'll simply pretend like I never existed. Again."
I glare at him, not because what he's saying isn't true, but because it is. And he's forcing me to acknowledge it.
"You'll be helping Audrey," I insist, refusing to let him bait me.
Jack's lips curl in another unamused smile.
"Right," he says.
"I won't apologize for anything I do that helps my daughter, Jack," I tell him, for some reason feeling the need to justify myself in the face of his contempt.
"No, I don't imagine you would," he replies.
"Who the hell do you think–" I start angrily before I stop myself short and take a long breath. "So you'll talk to her," I confirm, refusing to get into an argument with him for the second time.
"Yeah," he says, with a shake of his head, already turning toward the door as if he's dismissing me even though I'm the one who initiated the conversation.
"And then that's that, Jack," I say to his retreating back. I can't let him think he has the upper hand in this situation. Defining boundaries is very important with Jack Bauer; that much I've learned.
My words stop him short. He turns back to face me, but instead of the anger I expect to see on his face, I see what I would almost describe as a thoughtful expression.
"What are you going to do," he asks, "When this doesn't turn out the way you planned?"
His question shocks me to say the least and I'm instantly on alert.
"Are you threatening me, Jack?" I ask, finally letting my anger slip into my voice. But Jack does not match my demeanor. In fact, he looks relaxed.
"Threatening you? No. It would be very clear if I were threatening you. I'm merely posing a question."
And before I can come up with an answer, he's walking out of the room and in a few seconds the front door opens and closes. I stare at the spot where he was just standing before sinking into a chair, painfully aware of the fact that Jack said "when" and not "if."
I'm well aware that I spend a good amount of time outside of Audrey's room. I try to rationalize it by convincing myself I really do need to go by that many times back and forth to my own room, but someone not as close to the situation might call it pacing.
In the beginning, it was to check if by some miracle, there was a change in her condition, to see if there was any sign of her getting better, however small. But when she finally woke up, and her condition improved, I continued the habit, and eventually there was no denying my continued passes by her door directly coincided with Jack's visits.
I can't seem to help myself. The same paternal instinct that caused me to bring him back into her life on the chance he could help her now drives me to make sure that he doesn't do anything outside the lines that I've drawn. Particularly given our recent conversation. It's not likely he'll pull anything at the moment, but still….I've known Jack Bauer to make decisions and take actions that most people would claim only happen in the movies. And they'd be right. Except they've never met Jack.
Today is no different. I'm downstairs in my office when I realize I've left a folder upstairs in my room, and though I probably don't need it for some time, I get up to retrieve it. After all, it's a legitimate reason to walk down the hall, and if I happen to glance into Audrey's room on the way by, it's not as if she can fault me for it.
Usually when I walk by, Audrey and Jack are talking quietly, or Jack is simply sitting by the bed, watching over her as she sleeps. While it causes no small stress in me, I am also used to seeing it by now, and have grudgingly accepted it as a necessary evil for the moment.
However, this time when I reach the hallway and hear Audrey's voice, I immediately detect a change. It does not have the tone of normal conversation, but rather is anxious and laced with fear. My first instinct is that Jack has done something, and I hurry to the door, which is standing ajar. But before I push my way in, the scene that greets me stops me short.
Jack is sitting on the bed next to Audrey, and Audrey has her head bowed, one hand clutching one of his, the other fisted around a tissue, which already looks well-used. And she's speaking in a voice little more than a whisper.
"I looked everywhere for you. Anywhere I could think of. Bill was helping me as much as he could, and Chloe…God, Chloe got me farther than I should have gone. Obviously. But I couldn't stop. I–"
"Audrey," Jack tries to get her attention, dipping his head to catch her eye. She looks up at him, but shakes her head.
"I couldn't stop," she insists. "Not after everything you –. Not after everything. But then they caught up with me. I had no …no idea what to do. And, Jack, there were so many of them, and I couldn't get away, and then it was dark, and I was so cold…all of the time…" It's as far as she gets before sobs are wracking her frame, and she's dropping her head against Jack's shoulder.
Jack's face is clenched in pain as Audrey's hand lets go of his in favor of twisting his shirt between her fingers. He hesitates a moment, and then almost against his will, slowly puts his arms around her. A few seconds later, the hesitancy disappears, and he's got his arms securely around my daughter as she shifts more fully into his arms, and her sobs become muffled as she turns her face into the material of his shirt.
I find myself once again wanting to move, wanting to tear this man away from my daughter, even as I recognize he's only doing what I asked him to do. She's finally talking about her horrific experience, and she's finally letting out everything she's kept tightly inside of her.
And so I find that once again, I cannot move.
It is at this point that Jack lifts his eyes, and looks directly at me. I jerk my head, surprised, until I realize that I shouldn't be. I should have known he knew I was standing here the entire time. There is not much that gets by the man.
He and I stare at each other for several long moments, measuring each other, trying to gauge what the other is thinking. But even if I wanted to somehow convey gratitude for at least this, I cannot bring myself to do it, and his expression does not give me anything new beyond the hostility with which I'm already well acquainted.
In the end, I simply nod once and close the door.
When I walk into the house, I am struck at once by the voices. I've become so accustomed to the quiet of the house that it's jarring to hear noise when I walk through the door. It's Audrey's voice and then Jack's, but I know that's impossible because they're coming from the living room.
"Hello?" I call.
The voices fall silent. Confused as hell, I walk quickly toward the living, wondering if perhaps I'm losing my mind. When I enter the room, I am not at all prepared for what I see.
Audrey is sitting on the couch in the living room, with a blanket thrown over her lap. She's dressed, and looks like she's showered, and there is a faint color to her cheeks. She's holding a mug of what looks like tea, and she's beaming at me.
I gape at her.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Jack is sitting in the arm chair next to the couch, eying me. He is sitting back, giving every appearance of looking relaxed, but I can tell he's ready for any reaction I might have.
I glance back and forth between the two of them.
"Audrey!" I exclaim, finding my voice. "What are you doing down here?"
Audrey's grin widens.
"Isn't it great? When I woke up, I was feeling so good today. So when Amanda got here, I asked her to help me with a shower, and I cannot tell you how good it feels to have actual clothes on, even if it's only sweats."
Audrey's enthusiasm is infectious.
"That's wonderful, honey," I say, walking forward so I can bend down and kiss her forehead. "But I don't want you to overdo it."
Audrey rolls her eyes at me.
"Dad, I don't think we're in any danger of that."
I nod, but I also know Audrey's still very weak, and she could not have gotten down the stairs by herself.
"How did you get down here, Audrey?"
Audrey takes a deep breath and glances at Jack, enough to catch his eye. There's something in the way she looks at him that triggers a faint nagging at the back of my mind, but before I can identify it, Audrey looks back at me and speaks.
"Jack helped me."
"I see." I turn toward Jack, who so far has been silent. I try to stay calm, but I know there's an edge to my voice.
"Jack, you know she's not strong enough."
Jack leans forward, his elbows on his knees. He's still giving every indication he's relaxed, but he suddenly reminds me of nothing so much as a crouched lion.
"Audrey wanted to get out of the room. It was her decision, I simply helped her."
His tone is even, but his eyes are saying something else entirely. Start something. I'm begging you.
And I'd be more than happy to comply, but my daughter's voice pulls my gaze away from Jack.
"Excuse me," she says, irritation evident in her voice, "Audrey is right here, and does not appreciate you speaking about her as if she's not. Either of you." And here she quickly flips her eyes to Jack, who seems to be vacillating between wanting to confront me and letting her continue. He narrows his eyes at her in an expression I can't quite understand, as if they're in the middle of some other argument I'm not aware of, before leaning back in his chair again. Audrey holds his eyes for another few seconds, and again I'm struck with the same odd feeling as a few minutes ago, but then Audrey turns her attention back to me and the feeling's forgotten.
"Dad, I was going crazy in that room. If I had to be in there another minute, I was going to scream. I had to get out. And how do you expect me to get any stronger if I don't move?"
"Audrey," I begin, trying not to sound like an overbearing parent and failing miserably. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. Again." The comment is out before I have time to censor it, and I can see Jack stiffen in my periphery vision. That's right, Jack, I haven't forgotten. And don't you forget it either. But before either of them can react, I continue. "I worry about you. That's what dads do. But if you're feeling up to it, we'll find a great physical therapist and we'll start working on your strength. The right way."
Audrey considers my words and nods.
"Okay. Thank you. But it was really no big deal getting down here, so I don't want you to worry. We managed."
I press my lips together at the word "we," looking once again at Jack before looking back at Audrey.
"It's my job, Audie. I have to worry." I tell her. But all I get is a look from her and I sigh. "Okay, you win. For now. I'm going to see about dinner."
Audrey nods, and as I turn away, her gaze has already twisted to the man at her right, and there's an enigmatic smile forming on her lips, and I have the distinct feeling I've missed something very important.
I have to go out of town for business for a few days. I've tried to postpone it, or better yet, get out of it entirely, but it's become unavoidable. The request has come personally from the president's office, and I'm not in the habit of refusing him. But that means leaving Audrey while I make my way across country. It means leaving her with Jack.
Audrey is in the living room, reading, when I find her. She's down here more and more these days. I hired a top physical therapist for her, and with her help, Audrey is slowly building muscle again, and her legs are getting stronger. She still can't get down the stairs by herself, but with a little help, she manages.
I try to offer my help as much as possible, and sometimes she accepts. But she mostly shoos me away, claiming she doesn't want her aged father getting himself hurt helping her. She says it in jest, and I know she's just teasing me, but I can't help but notice that those times correspond with the days Jack visits. She tries to cover it with concern for me, or perhaps she thinks I haven't guessed the truth, but it's obvious she's waiting for him.
The first time he helped her down the stairs, I stood guard in the hallway in case I was needed, as they made their way down painfully slowly. Halfway, the effort became too much for her, but before I could move forward, I watched Jack lift her easily into his arms. Her arms immediately went around his neck and she sighed softly as he carried her down the rest of the way. I know my daughter well enough to know she would never have accepted any help like that from anyone else. No matter how tired, she would have insisted on getting down all the way by herself. But with him, there was no protest, and I now understood how she got downstairs on that first day. My stomach dropped inexplicably, and I leaned against the wall with sudden dizziness.
Now, she can make it down all the way on her own two legs, though she still needs some moderate assistance, and Jack is still right beside her, his arm twined securely around her waist, her arm around his shoulder.
It was only this morning that I noticed that she was moving around steadily upstairs, and I couldn't help but wonder if she was now capable of walking down the stairs by herself. Yet she did not make any attempt. She waited. And then I saw my daughter's undivided attention shift once again to the man who appeared in her doorway, and who fitted himself against her smaller frame as they made their way toward the staircase. I clenched my teeth.
Jack is gone, for the moment. After helping Audrey to the living room, he only stayed briefly before excusing himself, saying he'd be back tomorrow. As Jack left, Audrey's physical therapist showed up, and I left the two of them alone to work, retreating to my office to catch up on work.
When I finally think to look at the clock, I realize hours have passed, and I make my way out to find Audrey.
She looks up from her book when I enter the room, and smiles.
"Hi, Dad."
"Hi," I smile back, her light mood infectious. "How was your session with Dr. O'Loughlin?"
"Good. She gave me some new exercises. She says I'm doing better than she expected. I feel great."
I nod. "That's wonderful to hear, Audie. Really great." I take a breath, and continue. "Listen, I need to talk to you about something."
Immediately, I see her expression turn guarded.
"What is it?" she asks cautiously.
I sit down on the ottoman next to the couch.
"I have to go out of town in the morning for a few days. The president's asking for me."
She relaxes, and for a second I think I see a smile quirk the edge of her lips. But her expression turns serious before I can be sure.
"Is everything okay?" she asks.
"Oh, yes, fine. But I'll be gone for most of the week, and I'm worried about you."
Now she definitely smiles, and rolls her eyes in amusement.
"Dad, I'll be fine. Didn't you hear me just now? I'm getting stronger. I don't need someone looking after me twenty-four hours a day."
"Yes, but –"
"And it's not as if you're leaving me to the wolves. Amanda's still stopping by. And so is Dr. O'Loughlin. Robin's here most days too." She pauses. "And so is Jack."
I glance at her sharply. "That's not comforting, Audrey," I say. "In fact, that's exactly what worries me."
Audrey sighs, sets her book aside, and sits up straight.
"I wish it wouldn't," she says, taking my hand.
"It terrifies me," I admit quietly, my eyes dropping to my hand in hers.
"I know," she says, sadness etched in her voice.
I look up at her, at the concern in her eyes, and think that this may be the right time to broach the subject. "Audrey, when I asked him to come here, to help you, it was never my intention for him to–"
But she's already shaking her head.
"Dad, we're not having this conversation right now. I can't. Please, not now."
I squeeze her hand. "Audrey, Jack's not–" I try again. But she's already pulling her hand away from mine.
"Not now," she says, more emphatically.
I search her eyes and then nod. "Okay," I give in, "Not now. But we're going to have to have this conversation soon."
I see Audrey's jaw clench and she looks away from me.
"Yeah," she answers.
I stand up. "Audrey, I just want what's best for you."
She glances up at me, and looks like she's about to say something, but then she swallows and nods.
"I know," she replies. She reaches for her book. "You'd better go pack if you're leaving in the morning," she says, with what sounds like forced lightness. "I know how long it takes you."
I nod in return, not entirely sure where that leaves us. "You're right. I'll be back down a little later to make us some dinner. Robin's got the night off."
Audrey smiles a smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes and nods again, already seemingly absorbed in her book once more. But when I glance back into the room on my way up the stairs, she's got her knees tucked up to her chest and she's staring out the widow toward the water, her hand pressed against her mouth. I make my way slowly up the rest of the stairs.
