Page 104 of Solo

I scoff. “It’s an oral exam, Maureen. The state of her wrist is irrelevant. What did she do? Slip on the ice in those ridiculous sneakers she’s always wearing?”

Now my boss’s gaze hardens. Her eyes squint a little as her brows draw together. She’s pissed. Something’s not right here.

“Drew, Kate was attacked Tuesday night. Some overzealous reporter from DC. She had him arrested on assault charges and he lost his job. When he got out on bail, he decided to come back for a little revenge.”

My mouth is now grazing the linoleum floor. “What?” I gasp. “Is—is she all right?”

“Well, yes. And no. She managed to give the guy a good swift kick where it hurts, if you know what I mean. He was still balled up on the ground, crying and shoving snow down his pants when the police arrived. But when Kate went to the hospital to have the cast put on, the doctor noticed she was having trouble breathing. The poor thing’s got double pneumonia on top of everything else. When they couldn’t get an acceptable oxygen level on her, she was admitted. I understand it’s gotten quite serious. I’m sorry, I assumed you were…in touch with her.”

She says this last part pointedly.

Suddenly, all I can see is Katherine sitting on my front porch with her back against the door, sobbing my name over and over again. No coat. No hat. Not even a fucking pair of gloves.

“Where?” I whisper, my voice filled with concern I didn’t know I still felt.

“He followed her to—”

“No,” I cut in. “Where is she now?”

Maureen stares at me curiously.

“All Saints.” She pauses, considering me carefully before she continues. “Barry, would you please excuse us for a few minutes?” she asks, her eyes never leaving mine.

“Huh? Oh yeah, sure,” Barry mutters as he gets up, taking his lunch with him.

When he’s gone, Maureen takes off her glasses and rubs the bridge of her nose.

“What the hell, Drew? Just last week you were telling me how much you care for Kate. Now, all of a sudden, you seem to hate her again. What on earth is going on with you?”

“I did care about her. But she played me, Maureen. It was her. She told the reporter. She used me to get back at her father. She took advantage of my grief for Casey and she—”

I stop short because I don’t see what I was expecting in Maureen’s face. It’s not sympathy for what I’ve gone through. It’s not relief that I finally understand what I’ve done. It’s rage. Pure, unadulterated fury.

“Are you out of your goddamned mind?” she yells at me.

I’m so stunned that I can’t say anything. I have never seen Maureen this angry. Or heard her this loud.

“Good lord, Drew! And here I thought you couldn’t muck this up any worse.”

“W-what?” I finally venture.

“Could you be a bigger idiot?”

I think it’s a rhetorical question, but she seems to be waiting for an answer. My mouth opens to say something, but there isn’t anything, so I close it again.

Maureen closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, clearly willing herself not to come across the table and stab me with her plastic fork. When she starts again, her voice is a little softer, but it’s still laced with anger.

“And what, exactly, is it that you think she was using you for?”

“My money—”

Maureen jumps all over the two words.

“So, she asked you for cash?”

“Well, no. But I bought her an expensive coat—”

“Did she ask you to buy it for her?”