“Are you okay?” Tatum asked.
“You’re wrong,” Sabrina said as she let go. “Tristan is lovely.”
• • •
“A day off?” Sabrina said as chewed her nails. Deja stood before her in the foyer, the afternoon sun beating through the stained glass and coloring both their skin with strips of red and blue and gold. Deja had called to her as she sat alone reading, her thoughts not on the book but on the events of the night before: the hallucination. Or the proof that there was something supernatural in the house after all. The book she’d chosen was an old anatomy textbook She carried it with her on trips away to ground herself when her sense of whimsy or fear of the unknown became too much to handle. Deja had snapped her out of her distraction, Sabrina had followed her voice to the foyer, and Deja had informed her she had the day off.
“Why?” Sabrina asked. “I haven’t had a day off of filming since I began this journey.” She hoped it wasn’t her fault she wouldn’t be on camera today.
“Tristan doesn’t feel like dating right now.” Deja waved her hand around. “Not until the evening, when we have to reshoot with Linda. And since Brandon got airlifted out of here this morning, we’re short-staffed anyway.”
“Brandon got airlifted out? Why didn’t they rescue all of us?” Sabrina said. “And why didn’t we hear—”
“Last I checked, we still have a show to film.” Deja sighed. “He’s going to let them know to get the forest service out here to clear the mudslide. In the meantime, let’s finish this. But not today—not you—cause, like I said, you get a break.”
Sabrina gnawed at her cuticle until she pulled a strip of skin away. Blood welled in the exposed pink space. She tasted blood as she studied Deja’s face for hints.
“Is it…me? Something I did?”
Deja scrunched her forehead. “What did you do?”
But Sabrina shook her head, unwilling to give Deja any fodder. “Nothing that I know of! But I thought Tristan and I… Yesterday… The picnic…”
“Oh, he had a fine time yesterday, sure, until Linda fucked it up.” Deja leaned in and whispered. “Listen, the truth is he’s exasperated with Linda’s behavior, and if he has to redo this scene tonight, he says he needs the day to gather himself.”
“That’s it?” Sabrina said.
Deja grinned. “He’s not that deep, hon.”
A weight lifted from her shoulders—a phantom feeling. Sabrina shrugged her shoulders back. “And he’s not filming with Marion today?”
Deja shook her head. “She’s still not feeling well, I’m afraid.” Deja’s gaze ate Sabrina up as her grin widened, Chesire-style. “I might have been wrong about your chances for winning, sweetheart.”
The lifted weight became wings. Sabrina’s head went airy with hope. “You think so?”
“I really do.” Deja stroked Sabrina’s cheek once, then pulled away. “You do this. For the smart little girls who watch this show, okay?”
Sabrina started to agree, then thought a moment more about the little girls watching. “God, I hope not too little. Especially this season. They might have nightmares.”
“I hope so,” Deja said.
• • •
Sabrina tried to distract herself with her book, then a series of half-hearted sit-ups, then poring through the pantries for any type of cookie. She tried to journal about her insecurity regarding Tristan but found herself gnawing at her fingernails until her thumb was a bloody mess. Not a turn-on. Finally, she padded down the hall to Marion’s room. Maybe she would have a better idea about Tristan’s state of mind, and maybe Sabrina could trick Marion into telling her about it.
“Who is it?” Marion asked as Sabrina knocked. Marion’s voice was weak and quiet.
“Can I come in?”
“I guess so,” Marion said.
Sabrina let the door creak open. Inside, Marion had drawn the curtains and lay in her bed, her body stiff as she rolled over to take Sabrina in.
“What do you want?” Marion’s lips were chalky, the paleness seeming to have taken over her whole body, even her hair, now an even lighter shade of blonde.
“Bored,” Sabrina said. “Just wanted to chat.”
“Not in the mood.” When Marion heaved a breath, her chest hardly moved.
“Are you congested?” Sabrina asked. “Having trouble breathing?” She reached to feel Marion’s forehead, but Marion let out a shriek.
“Don’t touch me,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”
“You look…off,” Sabrina said. “Have they mentioned air-lifting you out like they did Brandon?”
“They airlifted Brandon?”
“This morning. They should have taken you, too. You need a hospital.”
“I have no fever. No weakness in my grip or anything that happens after a stroke. I’m a little pale, and my muscles are sore? This journey has been taxing. I’m not dying.”
Sabrina nodded. She didn’t have the heart to ask after Tristan. But then Marion smiled, and even though her lips trembled, Sabrina understood the triumph in it.
“Of course, my being sick means Tristan’s been taking care of me. All day long. All night, too.”
Sabrina’s excitement twisted into nausea in her gut.
“He’s been with you all day?” she managed to say.
