Page 35 of The Count
“How did you two become friends?”
It occurred to me to be suspicious of why she pelted these questions at me. I paused in raising my glass to my lips. “Do I get to grill you when you’ve finished with me?”
A dark cloud passed over her face, but she shook it off. “If you like.”
Good money said I’d be way gentler with her than she was with me right now.
“We connected over books in the library.”
She sat back into her chair and looked me over. “You don’t look like a guy who reads.”
“What else is there to do in prison?”
That earned me a laugh. “I don’t know, dig a tunnel. Shawshank that B.”
I snorted the wine out my nose. It burned. After I mopped myself up, she chuckled. “I don’t think that would work.”
Instead of lingering at the table, I snagged the wine and wandered into the living room. “Come sit with me.”
She followed and sat close enough to touch.
“Your turn now,” I told her. “Tell me something about your life, outside of what I probably already know.”
That took some of the pressure off. Since my investigators were very thorough.
“How am I supposed to know what you know? Let me see the file and I can fill in the missing bits.”
“Nice try.”
She took the wine from my hand and sipped straight from the bottle. “I had a friend who went to prison once.”
I stiffened and then forced myself to settle down. As far as I knew, I’d been the only friend she had before everything happened.
She shifted and I watched her install some distance now. If she needed a shield to talk about it, I’d allow it.
Once she sat comfortable enough in her dress, she stared off across the room. “His name was Eddy and he was the only man I ever loved.”
Hearing my real name from her lips set off warning bells in my head. She didn’t know, she couldn’t know. The logic didn’t stop my organs from gearing up for a marathon. Or the fine sweat which broke out on my temples.
She was oblivious though. “We were friend as kids, and then we fell in love as teenagers. We were together for years. I thought I’d marry him.”
“What happened?” I asked, part question part throat clear.
She tucked her chin and dropped her gaze to her hands. She’d pressed them flat, one against her heart, and one against her belly. Holding herself together, even after all these years. After a while she said, “he died.”
I jerked my face toward her now, studying her, trying to spot the lie. Nothing I could read. Only a woman in pain. A woman who’d dealt with the worst things in life and came out the other side somewhat functional.
“How did it happen?” I forced myself to keep my voice even. I had no emotional investment in a teenage crush. Calm the fuck down.
She took a long drag from the wine bottle. “He went in for drugs. But then there was a fight, someone got hurt, his sentence got extended, and then Fernand told me another fight ended his life.”
The room went silent, and I closed my eyes. All these years. She’d never visited, never wrote. Nothing. I assumed it was because she’d been in on the plan to send me away, and didn’t want any contact. Now, hearing it from her own lips. My insides felt eviscerated, shredded.
I should say something. Sympathize, or change the subject. Anything, so she didn’t look at my face and spot the anguish written there. I looked over at her, but she’d been sucked down in her own world. She’d pushed herself to the farthest edge of the couch, and hugged the wind bottle against her, another barrier between us.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I managed, after far longer than I should have.
She shook herself and did one of those female swipes under the eyes. Checking for makeup or wiping away a tear? “Well, it’s a sad story. Anyway. Not many know that about me, so there. And well, you can’t use it against me…” Her smile slipped.
