There was a beat of silence, and then he asked a little too casually. So, how were they? The cookies. Yeah.
I took a breath. Oh, I didn’t eat them. I gave them to Ruth.
The line went dead quiet. I pulled the phone away from my ear to check if the call had dropped. It hadn’t.
You… gave them to Ruth. His voice was different now. Sharper.
The warmth evaporated. Yes, I said slowly. She’s always loved sweets, and I, well, I didn’t know what to do with them.
He didn’t speak for a long moment. I could hear his breathing tight and uneven. Then quietly at first, but with building force.
You did what? The words hit like a slap. I blinked, stunned. I, Ezra, what’s wrong? They weren’t for her, he snapped.
They were for you. Only you. His voice cracked, not with sadness, but something else.
Frustration, maybe even panic. I couldn’t tell. I sat frozen, the coffee cooling in my hands.
I didn’t know I said my voice small. Right. Of course you didn’t.
The bitterness bled through thick and choking. You never do. He hung up before I could say anything else.
The dial tone hummed in my ear. I set the phone down slowly, staring at the counter. My heart thudded in my chest, not fast, but deep, like it wanted to be heard.
Only you. That’s what he’d said. I stood, walked to the fridge, and opened it.
The small container was still there. One perfect cookie, untouched. I shut the fridge and leaned against the counter, suddenly cold.
That’s when the other phone rang the landline in the hallway. Almost no one used it anymore. I walked toward it, dread already spreading.
The landline crackled when I picked it up, like the receiver had forgotten how to carry a voice. Marlene. It was Lila Ezra’s wife.
Yes. Her voice was strained, brittle. It’s Ruth.
She’s in the hospital. I sat down without meaning to. What happened? She collapsed this morning.
Vomiting, disoriented. I thought it was the flu, but… It got worse. She couldn’t stand.
She was confused. The ER says they can’t find anything definitive. They’re running tests now.
My mouth went dry. Did she eat anything unusual? A pause? She mentioned cookies? Said you brought them over? I did. I gave her the box Ezra sent me.
Lila didn’t speak. I could hear hospital noises in the background, monitors heels on tile, a cart squeaking down a hall. Do you think they could have made her sick? She finally asked.
I swallowed. I don’t know. I didn’t eat any myself.
Another silence. If you think of anything, anything at all, you’ll tell me. Yes, I whispered.
Of course. We hung up and I sat there in the dim light staring at the wall. The afternoon sun had faded and left the living room in a dull haze.
I didn’t turn on the lights. I didn’t move for a long time. Later after dark, I wandered into the kitchen with the aimless instinct of someone looking for order.
I started cleaning, wiping down surfaces, folding towels that didn’t need folding. I opened the trash to empty it and saw something near the bottom, a small clear plastic bottle, like the kind vitamins come in. No label.
Just a faint ring of white powder clinging to the inside wall. I reached in and picked it up, turning it in my hands. It wasn’t mine.
I hadn’t seen it before. The cap was still screwed on tight. I opened the fridge.
The cookie was still there, tucked into its little container like it had been waiting for this moment. My hands shook as I lifted it out. I hadn’t even remembered why I saved it.
Something sweet for later. A small kindness for myself. Now I couldn’t look at it without feeling sick.
I carried the cookie and the empty bottle into the study and set them on the desk. The lamplight made the sugar crystals sparkle faintly. I sat down and folded my hands, staring at both like they might blink first.
Was I the target? Was it meant for me? The questions hung there too big to touch. Later, just before bed, I called the lab where Janelle Morrow worked. She owed me a favor.