Chapter 3

The day I was discharged, Martin came to pick me up himself.

Bella sat in the passenger seat, his coat draped over her knees.

I opened the rear door.

Martin watched me in the mirror. "You're sitting in the back?"

I climbed in. "Mm."

His fingertip tapped once against the wheel.

"Anna Quinn, look how well-behaved you've gotten."

Bella turned around at once. "Annie's still not well, Martin. Don't tease her."

Soft piano music was playing in the car.

It used to be my favorite piece.

Once, to get Martin to take me to a concert, I waited outside his study for three hours.

When he finally came out, Bella called to say she'd had a nightmare.

He picked up his coat and left.

I grabbed hold of him, wouldn't let him go.

That night I smashed every record in his study. The shards cut open the soles of my feet, and I chased him to the elevator, tracking blood the whole way.

Martin carried me back, bandaging my feet while he asked,

"You can't stand to be away from me, can you?"

Back then I went mad, and he was satisfied. He took care of me, and I was satisfied too.

I thought the two of us would go on tangled up in each other forever. But every song ends eventually.

When the music stopped, Bella suddenly said, "Martin, I want the dumpling soup from that place on the south side."

Martin glanced at the time.

Today was my birthday.

He'd promised me: every year, on my birthday, he'd sit with me over a birthday dinner.

Martin turned the wheel.

Bella acted like she'd only just remembered.

"Annie, isn't today your birthday? I'm so sorry, the morning sickness has been so bad, it slipped my mind."

I said, "It's fine."

Martin looked at me in the mirror.

"Really fine?"

"Mm."

"Anna Quinn." His voice went cold. "Don't play this back-off-to-get-ahead game with me."

I looked out the window.

The trees along the street slid backward, their shadows flickering past in pieces.

Inside the restaurant, Bella sat beside him.

He picked the scallions out of her bowl, blew on the hot broth to cool it, and nudged her chair over toward him so no one would bump into her.

I sat across from them.

The owner brought out a birthday dinner.

"This gentleman ordered it ahead of time."

Martin looked at me, his tone flat. "I didn't forget."

Bella's face stiffened for a second, then she smiled quickly. "Martin's so thoughtful."

I picked up my fork and took a bite.

It didn't taste like anything.

Martin stared at me. "Is it good?"

I nodded. "It's all right."

He suddenly set his fork down.

"Anna Quinn, what exactly do you want from me?"

A few tables turned to look.

I raised my head. "What?"

"I remembered your birthday. I ordered your dinner. I came to bring you home from that place."

There was fire pressed under his voice.

"So who is this face for?"

Bella murmured, "Martin..."

He ignored her.

His eyes on me were heavy and sharp, like he wanted to tear me out of all this quiet.

"You never used to be like this."

Each word deliberate.

"You'd cry, you'd throw fits, you'd curse me for playing favorites, you'd flip the table. What's this act now?"

"When did you learn to do the silent-treatment thing? Fine. You win. Happy?"

I looked at him, and it struck me as strange.

"Didn't you say I was sick when I acted like that?"

Martin stopped, unable to say a word.

Bella suddenly clutched her stomach. "Martin, it hurts a little."

Martin was steadying her almost instantly.

"Where does it hurt?"

Bella leaned into his arms, tears falling.

"Maybe the scare from earlier did it."

I didn't look at them again. I kept my head down and ate.

I didn't notice the way Martin was watching me from across the table, as if he'd never known me at all.