“Of course no one blames you, Maggie May. You’re an innocent victim in all this.”
“So are you, Luc.”
He studies me darkly.
“You’ll see,” I tell him. “When you’re cleared of all charges, you’ll be able to—”
“WhenI’m cleared of all charges?” His mouth forms a small smile. “You’ve always been an optimist.”
I think of that tender time at the start of my freshman year of high school and sadly admit, “Not always. But I like to think I’m getting better at it as the years go by.”
His expression is straight-up Luc, so compassionate. It has a deep burn igniting behind my eyes. Noisily, I clear my throat and change the subject. “Your mom is driving down today. She’ll be there with me in court tomorrow.”
He passes a hand over his face. “I wish I could spare her this. I wish I could spareeveryonethis.”
I go to reach across the table and tug on his ear, then remember the rules and fist my hand in my lap. “Stop it. You didn’t have a choice in the matter. Sullivan didn’tgiveyou a choice. And after you’re out on bond, you can go back to your life and let Abelman prove that.”
“You really think the judge is gonna grant me bail? You heard Abelman. It’s rare for murder suspects.”
“I think with the preponderance of evidence in your favor, the judge will see you’renota murder suspect.” I paste on a confident smile that feels only alittleforced.
“Ah, there it is.” He leans back in his chair, crossing his arms.
“There what is?”
“That smile. The one that’s like all the lights coming on in the house after a power outage. I see it, and all the tightness in my chest comes undone.” He taps a thumb over his heart. “I can breathe again.”
“Luc—” I try to head him off. I recognize his tone.
He ignores me and adds, “I wish I could kiss you. The thought of kissing you again is the only thing keeping me company in this place.”
Ho-kay,then. I was going to wait until he was out of prison to bring this up, but apparently there’s no dodging the issue.
I open my mouth, but then close it.
“Uh-oh.” His eyes narrow. “You’re about to say something I’m not gonna like, aren’t you?”
“You don’t miss much,” I say.
“Actually, I miss a lot,” he counters. “I miss my dad. I miss my best friend spending his days sober. In here, I miss the soft sounds of the bayou.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.” He’s patiently waiting for me to stop prevaricating and say what I need to say.
Come on, Maggie. Hoist up those big-girl panties.
After a steadying breath, I launch into the tale of opening Cash’s email from the neurosurgeon at Johns Hopkins. And then I tell him my theory that the email was behind Cash’s behavior on New Year’s Eve.
“He’s lost hope, Luc. You should see him lying in that hospital bed. There’s a darkness separating him from the rest of us. It’s like I’m looking down at him in the bottom of a pit. I don’t know how we shine a light to show him the way out.”
“He might be giving up on himself,” Luc says, “but we’re not gonna give up on him.”
When he uses that voice, wearing that face, I believe him. I also dare to hope, once again, that he might see things my way.
Gathering my courage around me like a suit of armor, I burst out with, “And since he’s in such a dark place, I don’t think we should tell him about what happened between us on New Year’s Eve.”
His face falls. Or at least I think it does. The expression is there and gone so quickly I’m left wondering if I imagined it.
