She stands, heading toward the vending machine. She taps a code into the pad before selecting her snack of choice—Peanut M&M’s, which might be the only thing the two of us have in common.
“I offered to help,” she says over her shoulder.
“No. You don’t do anything that doesn’t benefit you. I know your type.” I stand and make for the door. “I’m out of here.”
I’m bluffing, hoping that whatever she wants is worth her showing a modicum of candidness.
“Wait!” she calls to my back, and I smile in momentary triumph.
Schooling my face back to neutral, I turn and wait for her to speak.
For several seconds, she appears to weigh her words. I cross my arms over my chest and tap my foot, signaling she’s running out of time and trying my patience.
She sighs. “Please sit.” Corinne motions toward the chair as she takes her own seat.
The red tablecloth is noticeably absent today.
“I don’t like people eating on it,” she explains, as though she can read my mind. “Sit.”
I take a seat, but I don’t say a word. This is one of those scenarios in which the first to speak loses, and I plan on coming out on top.
“That night, when we touched, I saw your memories.”
I shake my head. “Those weren’t mine.”
She takes a deep breath and I have a sudden feeling I am going to regret coming here. “No... No, they weren’t,” she agrees. “They were those of your husband’s soul.”
My breath hitches and a chill seeps into my bones. “How do you know?”
She bites her bottom lip and closes her eyes when she says, “Garrett spoke to me.”
Two of Swords
“NO, HE DIDN’T.”
I jump up from my chair, annoyed that I allowed this phony to play on my emotions.
“How do I know his name?” she asks, a little too calm for someone who’s desperate to keep me here.
“That’s easy. Social media. White pages. There are any number of ways for you to get that information. Knowing his name means nothing.”
I grab my keys and turn to walk away. “He said you’d fight me.” My hand lifts to silence her, implying she should give it up. I don’t care to hear anything more she has to say.
“He said you’ll always have Barbados.”
My feet skid to a stop. “What?” The word slips from my lips.
“He showed me your first time.”
I whip around with a look of horror.
She lifts her hands. “Notthatpart. Good god. If that were the case, I’d be blind from bleaching my eyes.”
My face twists into a glower, but quickly melts as I consider the possibility. “He showed you that night?”
She nods. “The whole setup. You had some fascination with Barbados, so he put together a date to bring the country to you. It’s the night Ava was conceived.”
I gulp, because she’s right. We were the only two who knew about the specifics, as far as I know. A night under the stars, next to his parents’ in-ground pool while they were away in Florida, complete with Bajan cuisine, rum cake, and rum punch. We stayed up until the sun rose above the horizon, wrapped in each other’s arms under a bed of blankets that Garrett had set up himself.
