Lyric is a chatterbox all through dinner, describing a new girl in her pre-k in great detail. Apparently the little girl is missing a finger after an unfortunate accident. Usually a very quiet child, certain things possess Lyric’s attention and it will sometimes take days or weeks for her to move on from them. I have a feeling this missing finger is going to be an obsession for a long time and I pray she’s not making the poor girl uncomfortable.

“She’s my best friend now,” she announces at bed time.

I tuck her in and plant a soft kiss on her cheek. “That’s very sweet. She’s lucky to have you as a friend because you’re fun, and smart, and caring.”

“I’d give her one of my fingers if I could, Mommy. I don’t need them all, do I?”

Stifling a laugh, I raise her little hand to my lips and kiss her fingers. “I think you do. In case you want to play piano someday.”

“But what if she wants to play piano someday?”

“Well… I’m sure she still can. It will just be a little bit harder for her.”

“Then I really don’t need all of mine,” she protests.

“Sweetheart, you don’t need to worry about your friend’s fingers. I’m sure she’s just fine. Anyway, I think Acorn would like you to have all your fingers to pet him with.”

At the mention of his name, Acorn lifts his head from his favorite nighttime napping spot at the foot of her bed. “See?” I say. “He heard us talking and he agrees.”

She giggles. “You’re silly. He didn’t say that. He said I can pet him with any or no fingers or I can pet him with just my eyes and he’ll feel it inside.”

Acorn wags his tail, and I’m sure it’s true, he wouldn’t care as long as he was getting attention. I’m touched that Lyric seems to understand that—that there’s different ways of loving someone, and different ways of accepting the kind of love they can give.

After Lyric has fallen asleep, I get ready for bed, but I don’t go to sleep. Instead, I take Reece’s card out of my wallet and dial the number written on the back before I have a chance to change my mind.

It rings four times, and I’m just about to give up and end the call when he answers.

“Yeah?”

My heart jumps at hearing his deep, scratchy voice.

“Blue…” I swallow hard. “It’s me.”

There’s a long pause, then the sound of a lighter clicking, then a deep inhale and exhale of breath. I can almost see the smoke drifting from the tip of his cigarette.

“Are you there?” I say.

The click of metal against teeth. “Yeah… just surprised.”

“Reece gave me your number. I hope that’s okay.”

I can hear his lips wrapping around the cigarette. Inhale, exhale.

“Sure.”

I can’t tell if he’s glad or pissed that I called, so I babble. “I got the money you sent; it came today. You didn’t have to do that, but thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, babe.” The hoarseness of his voice calling me babe sends a tingle of heat through my thighs.

“I just wanted you to know I appreciate it.”

“It’s weird talking to you on the phone. You sound so little.”

I let out a laugh and clutch the phone tighter. Vendors and clients tell me at least twice a week that I sound about fourteen years old over the phone, which is I why I try to use email as often as possible.

“Does that bother you?” I ask.

“No. It makes me wish you were here.”

My eyes close as his words sink down into my heart.

Clearing my throat, I pull a pillow onto my lap and lean my elbows on it. “Where are you?”

“Seattle. For a week, then we head back out.”

“More concerts?”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“You sound tired.”

“So do you.”

“I haven’t been sleeping very well lately.”

“Because of me?”

I chew my lip. “Because of what happened.”

“Do you remember how we used to listen to the rain?”

“Of course I do,” I reply softly. We used to spend hours making love in that tiny shed, then cuddling under the blanket, listening to the rain falling on the tin roof.

“Those were my favorite days,” he says. “I loved the quiet of it. Just me and you. I think about it a lot.”

I remember. I loved it, too. He seemed happy then, and much less restless, but I don’t trust myself to say anything, because he’s the one who left and put an end to our time together.

“How are you doing… with everything? Are you getting help?”

He lets out a short laugh. “I’ve been smoking a joint laced with opium and drinking J.D. since you called. So, no.”

My stomach sinks like a lead ball. “Blue… why are you doing this to yourself?”

“I don’t know. This is what I do.”

“But you stopped. You weren’t doing all this when we were together. You told me you never wanted to go down this road again.”