Page 39 of The Associate
Instead, his head dipped. A single, barely there nod.
He saw her absorb it. A minute flinch, a closing of her eyes for a half-second. Then she turned and began walking again, her pace brisk, purposeful. He stumbled to catch up, his hands, shoved deep in his pockets to hide their violent trembling.
Samuel’s heart thudded against his ribs, a frantic, trapped thing.
What happened now?
Would she run?
Simply speed up, vanish around a corner, and pretend this sidewalk confession had never happened?
Would they revert to the charade on Monday, exchanging polite nods at church, the scar, and his question a forbidden secret festering between them?
Or worse, far worse, would she turn to him with a serene, pitying smile? Would she tell him she’d beenhealed? That the Hills had worked for her, that she’d embraced the design, found peace in the structure, that she wasfixed? That she was living proof of everything he was supposed to be, a walking testament to his own fundamental, irredeemable failure?
A hot, shameful wave of sheer terror washed over him at the thought. He realized, with a lurch of self-disgust, that he was praying she wouldn’t say that. He was hoping, desperately and viciously, that she was just like him.Broken. Flawed. Haunted.
The hope was ugly and small, a reflection of the pit he lived in, and he hated himself for it even as he clung to it.
They walked another half-block, the tension between them a living thing.
Suddenly, Penny stopped. She didn't look at him. Her gaze was fixed on a crack in the pavement, as if the answer were written there. Her voice, when it came, was so low he had to lean in slightly to catch it.
"Can I trust you?"
The question hung in the air.
Samuel stopped beside her, his own heart hammering. His throat had closed, thick with an emotion he couldn't name. Words were impossible. He managed a single, sharp nod.
Yes.
She took a shaky breath, her shoulders rising and falling under her coat. Still, she didn't look up.
"I have someone," she whispered, the confession rushing out like a held breath. "Someone I love. I'm sorry."
His breath hitched, a sharp, involuntary gasp.
A memory, vivid and unbidden: not a face, but a presence. The crisp scent of pine and sandalwood in an elevator. A low, baritone voice, warm against his ear, shaping his name.
The flash was so intense, so visceral, it stole the strength from his legs for a second.
He found his voice, a scrap of sound. "Okay."
Her head snapped up, eyes flying to his face, wide with shock. She’d expected disgust. Pity. Righteous anger.
Seeing his expression, her own face transformed. A sad, genuine smile touched her lips, a silentthank youfor not making her say more.
They walked the remaining blocks to her apartment building in a silence.
The building was a modest brownstone. Penny stopped at the bottom of the steps, her gaze lifting instinctively to a third-floor window. Samuel’s eyes followed. For a fleeting second, he saw a figure, a woman with dark, curly hair, silhouetted against the warm light of the room before she moved away, the curtain falling back into place.
He quickly looked down, a flush of heat warming his neck. When he looked back at Penny, she was watching him, her expression unreadable.
"It was nice to meet you, Penny," he said. He extended his hand.
Penny looked at his outstretched hand, then back up at his face. She studied him for a long moment, as if seeing him clearly for the first time. Then, a decision made, she placed her hand in his. Her skin was soft, her grip surprisingly warm and firm.
Alive,he thought, with a sudden clarity. Not a ghost, not a symbol. Aperson.
