Let Me In by Adam Nicholls (books under 200 pages .TXT) 📕

Three days had passed, during which Morgan hadn’t seen Gary, though not for lack of trying. He’d left multiple voicemails and text messages just to check up on him, and although his wife, Hannah, had reached out to let him know he was okay, Morgan didn’t much like how it was being handled. His friend’s misery was bleeding into their relationship, so now Morgan had a duty to be there without actually being able to be there. Nothing was more frustrating.

As if feeling useless wasn’t enough, there was plenty of spare time to think about it. Rachel’s upcoming charity event was sucking up a lot of her time, and she refused to let him help until he felt a bit happier. Morgan hated the idea that his emotions might instill some kind of negativity to her work, so he kept far away. The only way he knew how was to bury his face in a good novel, so he’d chosen the one his wife had insisted he read; it was a trashy romance novel, and although that wasn’t his taste, he could imagine liking it if circumstances were different. There was just the problem of concentration, and from the armchair across the room, Rachel must have read that in his frown.

“You don’t like it, do you?” she asked, wrapping her gown around her and yawning.

“Like what?” Morgan glanced down at the book he’d been staring into for a long while, realizing now that he hadn’t read a single word in minutes. “Oh, it’s okay.”

“Something on your mind?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“A little. Care to share?”

Morgan let out a long breath and closed the book, resting it on the arm of the couch. He didn’t really want to get into this, but maybe there was a way he could get it off his chest without bringing her down with him. The least he could do was try. “It’s all this stuff with Gary. I’ve not seen him like this before. I think he’s angry too.”

“Because you didn’t take the case?”

“Because I couldn’t take the case.”

“You think he blames you?”

Morgan shrugged. “It’s not like him to point the finger, but I could tell he was disappointed. And now that he’s avoiding my calls? It’s not a good sign.” He felt in his pocket for the cell phone, the mention of it making him wonder where it was. It hadn’t moved.

“Maybe it’s just his grieving process.”

“I’ve seen him grieve; this isn’t it.”

Rachel huffed and stared at him, her copper-colored hair dangling in front of her usually prominent cheekbones. Her blue eyes met his, full of love and care but not sympathy—he’d told her too many times how much he hated sympathy, and now she refused to give it. When the time came to break eye contact, she pulled herself up from the chair and took his hand, hauling him onto his feet with surprising strength. “Come with me.”

“Where are we going?”

“To the kitchen. I’m making you blueberry pancakes.”

“We don’t have any blueberries.”

“Then I’ll improvise.” Keeping her warm hand around his, she led him into the kitchen and dragged out a stool at the island, then set about the preparations, zipping from left to right. She’d mastered the art of cooking long ago, and Morgan thought she looked right at home. It suited him just fine—he loved her cooking as much as he loved her.

Taking the stool and leaning onto the counter, Morgan clasped his hands together, watching her with respect and admiration. How had he gotten so lucky? How had someone like him managed to marry someone like her? They were two different people, yet somehow the same; she’d come from money but refused to inherit it, whereas he had come from nothing and stayed there. The sentiment they shared was that money was a good thing to have but not nearly as important as the love they shared… although Morgan sometimes wished they could have both. He just didn’t want to take it from her folks.

“Are you going to talk to me or not?” Rachel said, lighting up the stove.

“What do you want me to say?”

“How about your plans for the week?”

“I have no plans,” Morgan said.

“Exactly. So why not investigate a little further?”

“I told you, there’s nothing to find.”

“Bullshit, honey. Do you know how many times I’ve heard you say you’re at a loss, only moments before you solved the whole damn thing? Here.” She spun and tossed a strawberry into the air.

Morgan opened wide and caught it in his mouth, almost choking as he swallowed it whole. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now, and he remembered he’d been like that a lot lately. He put it down to stress. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“So.” Morgan shifted on the stool. “What do you propose I do?”

“Just go over there and talk to him.”

“Hannah said he’s never there at this time of night. Not anymore, that is.”

Rachel glanced at the clock, then returned to the stove. “Then you know where he is.”

“Larry’s?”

“Larry’s.”

Morgan smiled. Larry’s was a diner across town that claimed to serve the city’s most amazing bacon and the country’s thickest milkshake. It failed to deliver on both counts, but the prices were reasonable and the staff didn’t mind you sitting there when you had stuff to think about. It stood to reason Gary would be there now. “I guess I should head over there, see what he has to say. Even if I don’t pick up the case, I can lend a shoulder to cry on.”

“Exactly.”

“I’ll need to take the car.”

“Of course,” Rachel said. “But you can’t go yet.”

“Why?”

She pointed her spatula into the pan.

“Ah.” Morgan gave his kindest, most grateful smile as he watched her finish cooking. She’d always done this for him in his weaker moments, and it all started around five years ago, when he’d revealed that his mother used to make pancakes for him when he was going through a rough patch. “Keep the stomach happy, and the mind follows suit,” she used to say. Boy, he missed her, but although she was long gone, Morgan could see many of her traits in Rachel. He hoped—or rather he thought—that she was watching from up above, nodding her head with approval at the woman he’d married.

She had every reason to be.