“I know,” he replies. A fork falls
from one of the trays, pings off the floor at his feet. With
deliberate care, Conlan bends his knees, sinks down to pick it
up.
I try again. “Shanley can help her—”
“I know.” The trays slide out
of his hands, tumble to the ground. “Dammit,” he mutters, trying to
gather up the plates again, the bowl, the silverware and cold
pancakes and napkins. I feel like I should apologize for making him
do this but they should’ve sent Tobin to clean up this mess, it’s
hisfault. Before I can say anything, though, Conlan
murmurs, “We have to wait a few days to see how Shauna progresses.
Right now she’s in quarantine. Could be this is just a cold,
nothing more. Could be she’s going to get better. We just have to
wait and see.”
A few days. Is that how long we’re going
to be stuck down here?I can’t stand this forced separation, I
can’t stand knowing Dylan’s locked away somewhere, locked away from