Page 121 of Because I Killed Him
I see the way my fingers curled around Dad’s daffodil brooch, handcrafted from his Grandmaster graduation medal, and feel how my heart ached when he pinned it to my dress.
Edmund tucks the badge carefully away, then turns to face me. When he speaks, his voice is gentle yet cautious, as if each word costs him something.
“I’ve been trying to piece my grandfather’s uniform back together for a long time, Miss Waldsten. What you did for me today… I won’t forget it.”
The tension in my body eases as he talks, slowly and reluctantly, like an old knot loosening inside me, tied the day we met. The cautious, guarded edge I always walk with him dulls a little, and for the first time, I realize what’s missing between us: the condescension, the knives of pride, the little cuts he so often delivers. Now, it’s just a conversation. Maybe the first real one we’ve ever had.
And I don’t want to waste it.
I hold out my hand to catch the falling snow and say, “Don’t forget you owe me a drink, too.”
Edmund laughs and glances at the icy drifts. “You were right about more than the snow.”
I smile, knowing he means the luck.
“Red Imperial, right?” he asks.
“Yes. And I expect a full bottle.”
“Maybe you’ll get two.”
Edmund’s eyes linger, his smile still in place, though he doesn’t add another word. Neither do I. Instead, I let the silence stretch, enjoying the moment for what it is and for what we are, past the Blue and the Green, past the high and the low.
Just a boy and a girl, standing in an empty parking lot, our colors hidden by the snow.
I regard trust as one regards an infant—precious to protect, fragile to hold—for it is so difficult to earn and so easily lost.
—SCARLET DU PONT, JAZZ SINGER
CHAPTER 27
I sit in my hovercar, watching snow drift across the windshield like pale winter petals, whispering softly against the glass. The world outside is serene and still. Inside, all I hear is the uneven draw of my breath and the whir of the hovercar’s power core. I’m still replaying Edmund’s and my conversation in the parking lot, where for once there wasn’t a white-knuckled tug-of-war or a barbed insult buried in his words. He spoke to me the way he speaks to Jack and Dickie, like a friend.
Now I feel as torn as Edmund always looks. We’re not the same. We never will be. There are lines I can’t cross for him, and lines he’ll never cross for me. So what am I doing? Why do I care?
I drop my forehead against the control stick and squeeze my eyes shut. Meltwater drips from my hair onto my dress, already soaked by the snow, stained with dirt, torn by the high-citizens.
Dad warned me never to trust Blues, especially the Prews. But Dad never met Edmund. Only Charlotte did. Only she called him a friend, which means only she really knows.
The hovercar door opens, letting in a gust of cold air. Charlotte leans in, her mouth half-open as if about to speak, then her lips close. Her eyes sweep over me, taking in the torn dress, the grime, my damp hair, and my head still pressed against the control stick.
“Lore?” she says softly, reaching toward me. “You okay?”
“Yeah. It’s just…”
“Just what?”
“Can I trust Edmund, Char? Or am I making a mistake?”
Charlotte flicks her cigarette butt into the snow and sighs. Then she climbs into the passenger seat and closes the door. The silence between us stretches like a shadow creeping across the dashboard.
Finally, she says, “Yeah. You can trust him. But…” She turns toward me, and the pain in her eyes deepens with memory. “Don’t betray him, Lore. When he’s your friend, it’s good. Better than good. But when he’s not…” She trails off, her gaze wandering to the windshield. “It’s hell. He doesn’t know how to forgive.”
I nod slowly, staring at the muddy tear in the hem of my dress, and say nothing.
Because I believe her.
Charlotte and I spend the rest of the day together, starting with ice skating at the indoor rink on campus, then dinner at a fancy fish restaurant with rooftop seating. It’s one of the most exclusive low-citizen spots, where they verify that your civil credit score is at least four hundred before letting you in. A glass dome seals the dining area, and through it we watch the campus lights wink dreamily through the fog as snow drifts around us.
