She turned back to the email box, dismissing him and his questions. As tempting as it was to tell her that she couldn’t be responsible for another person’s relapse, he chose to let that one drop. She wouldn’t believe him, anyway.
Finally, she stopped on a message preview and clicked to open it. “Here. This is what you came to see.”
She was wrong about that. He’d come to check on her, just like he’d said. The girls, too, but mostly her. Grateful for the distraction, he scooted closer to read the email. She angled the laptop to show him the quotes she’d mentioned the other day.
“Here’s another one from Miguel de Cervantes, that one who wrote about secrets and graves.” She pointed to the screen. “‘Let every man mind his own business.’”
“That doesn’t sound scary. In fact, it’s good advice.”
“What about this one?” Rachel scrolled down the page and read again. “‘It is not every question that deserves an answer.’ That’s Publilius Syrus from the first century BCE.”
“Still not making me tremble. If you found just that quote, would you have mentioned the emails to me at all?”
“Well, this one might give you shivers. I didn’t see it before.” She slid the laptop to him.
“Seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.”—William Shakespeare (1564-1616)
“Even that one’s not so bad.” But this time he shifted his feet under the table. Like before, the warnings were vague, their threat still unformed. “Anyway, that’s justJulius Caesar.”
She shot a look at him. “How do you know that?”
“Are you saying a firefighter can’t read a book? Or a play?” He shook his finger at her but couldn’t help grinning. “Before you answer, remember you’re from a firefighter family.”
“I only meant I’m surprised you chose that one.”
He rolled his eyes, not buying it. “High school literature. Extra credit project,” he explained, anyway. “I know. It was so long ago that I shouldn’t be able to remember it.”
She opened a spiral notebook to a page with several notes on it. Beneath the others, she wrote down the sender’s email address, the date and the quote. “You talk about yourself like you’re a few breaths away from old age.”
“Maybe I am.” He pointed to her long list of email addresses.
“Either your brother signed up for a quote club with a bunch of different word fanatics, or one person’s been sending messages from multiple addresses. Look at that one.” He pointed to the screen, this time unable to keep himself from shivering. “Death is definitely a theme.”
“It hath been often said, that it is not death, but dying which is terrible.”—Henry Fielding (1707-1754)
“They’re all warnings, but Riley wasn’t listening.”
She appeared to have said those words to herself, ironic since she, too, had chosen to ignore the messages of caution.
“There are so many of them,” she said, as she jotted down another email address. “I need to start a spreadsheet.”
Somehow, Mick had to convince her to avoid following her brother’s example and heed the warnings.
“I have lousy taste in men.”
Mick squinted at her, the comment making no sense. But as she sat taller, her gaze locked on her notebook as though her own words had surprised her, he recognized that she’d referred to his earlier question. Details he still craved, whether he should have asked or not.
“What are you saying?” he prompted after too many seconds ticked by.
“You asked about the girls’ father. There’s your answer.”
It was hardly acompleteone, but she didn’t appear likely to share more.
“A lot of women have that problem. Just ask my ex-wife.” Mick’s breath hitched. She might have been surprised by her confession, but his had downright shocked him. He hadn’t talked aboutherwith anyone since— Well, since…
When Rachel clicked the laptop closed, Mick pushed back from the table and stood. Even if he wasn’t an expert on Miss Manners’s rules, he could tell when a meeting was over.
She came to her feet as well but didn’t sprint over to the coat-tree for his jacket. He headed that way himself.
