Perspicuous (J.HALE)

21

"Meg?"

She looked up from the magazine she was reading, glasses perched on the end of her nose and wisps of dark curls splaying out from her head in all directions. "Yes, honey?"

The ease of her tone—lighter than it had been for weeks—was comforting to me, but also twisted in my gut. I could sense that I was about to ruin that peace.

"Can I talk to you about something?"

She shut the magazine. "Of course."

Ethan lay asleep in my lap, heavy head resting in the crook of my elbow and his little feet dangling off of the edge of my thigh. I rocked back and forth, and the wooden chair creaked gently with each sway.

"This is hypothetical."

She frowned slightly. "Right."

"So..." I took a deep breath. "If you were to have a work colleague who you don't really know, and don't really get along with..."

She watched my face as I spoke, my tone gentle so as not to disturb Ethan.

"...but you were worried about them, because you saw something that they were trying to hide from everyone..."

Her eyebrows rose.

"...what would you do?" I finished.

She paused a moment. "When you say worried-

"For their safety," I said. "And well-being."

Her brow crinkled. "Do they know that you know?"

"You helped them cover it up," I said. "Hypothetically."

"Okay," she said softly, tilting her head. "Are we talking, their life is in danger?"

"You don't think so, but you don't know."

She hummed.

I didn't want to say his name, just in case. If he was telling the truth and Meg had dated his dad, she might know who in his life is causing him harm, but that was also years ago. Plus, I didn't know that the bruise was a product of someone's intent. He could have slipped or walked into something. I didn't know enough, but I couldn't ask. If he'd have wanted me to know, he would have told me. But there was a coiling feeling in the base of my gut, twisting and tightening and constantly niggling at me that what if he was in real danger, and I did nothing?

"Well, I suppose, you could offer them somebody to talk to," Meg said. "Or somewhere to go, if where they are isn't safe."

I nodded. I doubted he would go for that, but she was right—all I could do was offer.

"If you believe them to be in immediate danger, you could call the police," she said. "But that's tricky. If they didn't tell you themselves and aren't actively seeking help, they could see it as a massive violation."

Ethan kicked out one of his legs, his heel hitting my arm.

"It's very difficult," she continued, before adding, "hypothetically."

I smiled slightly.

The front door opened before either of us could say anything else. Elliot tumbled into the room, woollen scarf wrapped tightly around his neck and jacket zipped right up to the top, the apples of his cheeks blushed and his hair windswept. His eyes seemed uncharacteristically bright. There was even a hint of a smile there.