"How funny," Sonya says, grinning pointedly at Hugo. "Spiced apples are Hugo's favorite."
Of course they are.
"What about them?" Hugo repeats.
Sonya pulls a wineglass from a shelf. "Mallory was saying that if she could choose a natural scent, she'd pick spiced apples."
Hugo's eyes meet mine, then skitter away. "Hmm." It's half growl, half polite disinterest.
"Can I pour a glass of wine for you?" Sonya asks me.
A second look from Hugo, and a question behind his eyes. "No, thank you," I answer. "Water is fine, please."
I'm wearing a T-shirt dress, one of those that are casual and don't hug the body. My baby bump is hardly noticeable, but I didn't want to take a chance Sonya would notice, and inevitably the conversation would become about me, and the baby. At which point it wouldbe nearly impossible not to overshare. Despite how friendly Sonya is, I need to maintain a level of professionalism. Telling her my ex signed away his rights to our child and I'm staring down life as a single mother does not achieve that.
Hugo strides for the fridge, coming away with a beer. For the briefest moment, his gaze falls to my stomach. He looks into my eyes, and when he sees I'm looking at him, he looks away quickly.
Did you leave your wedding ring behind in the hotel room?
He'd said it with disgust. Disappointment. But now this is the third time we've seen each other. That means this is his third opportunity to notice I don't wear a wedding ring.
Ridiculous.
He's not looking. Why would he?
Brushing off the foolish desire, I thank him for the bottle of water he's holding out for me.
"Take a seat," Sonya offers as she sits in a round-backed stool at the far end of the kitchen island.
Sitting beside her, I take one of the cookies off the plate she pushes my way. Hugo remains stationary on the other side of the island, arms crossed and hips pushed forward slightly.
"Well," she says, waiting for me to take a bite. It's charming, the way she wants to make sure I'm eating. Very motherly, and it twists my heart. My own mother stopped parenting the day Maggie died. It was as if she quit existing, and left behind was nothing but a husk ofthe mother I once knew. Maggie's dad, my stepfather, has always been a quiet man. I think after my dad left her with an infant, she was looking for his polar opposite. She got it, but I don't know if that was a good thing. "Let's get to the nitty gritty," Sonya says. "Why did you come to Olive Township?"
I glance up at Hugo. Did he tell her nothing after our breakfast yesterday? Nothing about my sister, or the real reason I'm here? He's looking at me with patient expectance, and I don't know why, but I feel an emotional tug in the center of my chest.He didn't tell his mom about Maggie. He saved it for me.
Taking a small sip from my water, I begin. "I host a true crime podcast calledCase Files. My best friend from college is the producer. We spend time learning the cases, interviewing friends and family, trying to create a fuller picture than what is available just by reading articles. For the most part we've given loved ones an opportunity to talk about the person and share with others, but we've had two instances where tiny details shared on the show were what solved unsolved murders." I hesitate, choosing my next words carefully. "I'm not saying I expect that to happen where your husband is concerned. I can't promise that. But," I hesitate again, searching out Hugo. For strength, perhaps? To get a nod of his head, urging me forward? Somehow, he seems to understand this is what I'm seeking. With a dip of his chin, he gives me the go-ahead. "My twelve-year-old little sister was murdered in the same manner as Simon."
Sonya inhales sharply, her hand covering her mouthas her eyes widen. "That'sevil." The words slip through the spaces between her fingers.
"Truly," I agree. "And it doesn't automatically mean it was at the hands of the same person. But what if it was? That question is what has kept me up at night. What spurred me to write Hugo my first email. What if it was?"
Sonya's gaze falls down to her hands, now folded in her lap. She doesn't speak, and I meet her silence with patience because I expect it. But then the silence stretches on, and I look to Hugo. He's watching his mom, concern etched on the plains of his face.
"Mom?"
She looks up, first to him, and then to me. "It's been a long time since I talked to anybody about Simon."
"Hugo said as much." My voice is low. Gentle.
Sonya spins a simple gold band she wears on her ring finger. "Did Hugo also tell you he doesn't have relationships because the women he's met have odd reactions when they learn about Simon?"
My lips press together to stop my chuckle. "Uh, no. He didn't mention that."
Wherever Sonya went in her mind a few moments ago, she is back. Her humor has returned.
Hugo rolls his eyes. He reaches for a cookie, shoving the entire thing in his mouth, probably to keep himself from saying anything.
Sonya takes a cookie, too, breaking it in half over her plate. "That's one of the reasons I think it might be time, Mallory. Time to talk about Simon.Rip off the Band-Aid. Maybe, if the wound is exposed to air, it can heal. Lives can be lived in healthier ways."
