Over the Edge by Brandilyn Collins Page B

stepped around it. The sound of a long sigh reached my ears. Brock. It was a sigh of defeat.
    "Just wanted to tell you I have to go on a trip for a week."
    I made it to the threshold. Leaned against the doorjamb.
    "No, I don't want you to go!" Lauren looked up at her dad, disappointment pulling at her profile.
    Brock turned toward me, his eyes grazing mine before bouncing away. "Afraid I have to. In fact, I have to leave right now."
    "Where are you going?"
    "On a business trip. You know, boring stuff."
    Coward. All the same, relief washed over me.
    Lauren's shoulders slumped. "But it's Sunday night. And I just got home. "
    "I don't want to go. But I'll call you every night, okay?"
    Lauren glanced over her shoulder at me. "Who's going to take care of Mom?"
    Brock stilled. "Guess you'll have to do that."
    Lauren looked from him back to me, reticence scrunching her eyes. Even a nine-year-old knew how ridiculous that sounded.
    How strong the pull of this Alicia must be. To make Brock do this.
    Lauren got up. She and her dad hugged each other. Brock kissed her on the head. "Be a good girl, now."
    "Where's your suitcase?"
    "Already in the car. I'll talk to you soon. Be a good girl, okay?"
    Lauren's head hung. "Yeah. Okay."
    Brock turned toward the door leading to the garage, then veered toward me. He leaned in close enough to whisper without Lauren hearing.
    " You tell her."
    Then he was gone.

Chapter 16
    THROUGH THE GLASS HE WATCHED THE ADULT FEMALE TICK crawl on a spindly branch. She was hungry.
    In this spring season the tick was reaching the end of her life cycle. Hatched from an egg into larva in July nearly two years ago, she'd been no bigger than a period at the end of a sentence. She'd fed as a nymph and had a second feeding the following spring. That fall she molted into an adult. Denied a blood meal at that time, she'd gone dormant over the winter. Now she sought a meal once again.
    He'd chosen this tick with purpose. She was big enough to be spotted with the naked eye. She'd grown significantly since her nymph stage, now measuring about one-eighth of an inch wide. The back of her body was black, seeping into bright red. She was noticeably bigger than her male counterpart, and much brighter. Males showed no red.
    After her long-awaited feeding this female tick would lay eggs, then die.
    If she fed at all.
    He rocked back in his chair, arms folded, gaze drifting upward. A scene filled with Elyse rose in his mind, his wife's round cheeks flushed and large brown eyes bright. They were backpacking in Oregon, an hour from their home at the time and had just found the perfect campsite—a level area tucked in the woods and beside a stream. Elyse wore a blue T-shirt and jeans, her brown arms tanned and strong from weight-lifting. She flung her heavy backpack down with enthusiasm, turning in a complete circle, her ponytail bobbing as she nodded. "Yes, yes. This is just the kind of place I wanted!"
    "What if there are bears?"
    "Nuh-uh, I'll fight them for this spot!" She spread her arms wide and grinned.
    That was Elyse, full of energy and light. Nothing got the best of her; nothing deterred her from exploring the world. At work, her third-grade students loved her, and at home Elyse exuded optimism in the midst of his melancholic spirit. She was his strength and supporter, his best friend and lover. She buoyed him up and urged him on when his personal demons threatened to overcome him. And she made sure he took his meds. Without them he tended to go a little crazy, conjure up things that weren't true. Elyse evened him out, gave him a reason to breathe.
    She was his life.
    He watched the tick venture upon a new twig, its eight legs moving in slow precision.
    "We don't have Lyme in Oregon," the doctor had said when Elyse asked for the test. She'd gone to him with a mysterious weakness in her limbs and pain in her joints, a creeping depression that sucked away her sprightly demeanor and spat out listlessness. Some friend had