Page 14 of The Lies I Told
“I don’t think so.”
“Clare would want you to get on with your life.”
If he thought he’d said the magic words, he was wrong. “I’m not going to do this.”
“Why not?Marisa, I know it’s us in this room.”
“No, it’s not just us. She’s here, too.”
“That doesn’t sound rational.” Nervous laughter rumbled, but the need still lingered in his gaze, and I doubted he cared whether I was reasonable.
“It’s not a day to be rational,” I said.
“I’m not looking for Clare,” he said.
I shook my head and moved farther out of his reach. “No. But I am. I’ve been searching for her for thirteen years.”
“What’s to search for? She’s dead, not missing.” His too-rational tone cracked the veneer, exposing my fragility. Maybe I was a little unstable. “I miss Clare, too,” he added.
I closed my eyes. If I were still drinking, we’d have already been in bed naked. “We need to honor that feeling and try not to cover it up with sex.”
He slid his hand into his pocket, a muscle in his jaw pulsing. “You’re not being fair.”
“Maybe not. But it is what it is.” The platitude rumbled out on a sigh.
“Okay. I get it.”
I wasn’t sure he did understand. I thought he was horny and wondering whether this could still be salvaged. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
I thought for a moment he’d reach out to me, but he stilled, finally nodding. “Nothing to be sorry about. Can’t catch lightning in a bottle, right?”
“Something like that.”
“I’d like to see you sometime soon,” he said. “I’d hate for thirteen years to go by before we see each other again.”
“Why did you come to my party?”
The desire melted from his gaze, leaving him more clear eyed. “We were friends once. Time to let the past go, I guess.”
“Have you been able to do that?”
“I’m working on it.”
“I’m not sure I ever will,” I said.
He studied my face, searching for hints of the desire I’d felt just moments ago. He found none. “Guess that’s my cue to leave.”
“Right.”
As he turned, he spotted a collection of framed black-and-white photos that I’d taken last fall. They were the ones I’d exhibited in my art show in January, right before the car accident. Odd, but I still didn’tremember the show or bringing these pictures home and rehanging them.
Kurt studied the images closely. “You took these?”
“Yes. Sometimes I really do identify as an artist,” I joked.
A smile quirked his lips. “Don’t let what Jo-Jo said get to you. It’s good to be a dreamer. She can be a moron and always found a way to take a swipe at you.”
“That’s not true.”
