Page 33 of Solo

“But you’re not for him. So why not just say so and spare yourself a lot of grief?” he asks.

“Because no matter what he’s done or what he thinks or what he says, he’s still my father.”

“Does he know about the reporters?” he asks, frowning into his bowl.

“Probably. Though, I don’t think he knows to what extent they’ll go to get to me. That last guy.” I start, waving my spoon around animatedly. “That Kevin asshole—sorry, Dr. Markham, but that’s what he is—turns out he’s been watching me for months.”

“You’ve seen him before?” he asks, a flicker of horror flashing through his eyes.

“No, and that’s what’s so scary. The fact that I hadn’t noticed him. And then he was asking all kinds of questions like…why am I driving a car that gives me so much trouble? How can I live in an apartment that’s so small? He even asked me why I don’t have a winter coat. He really freaked me out.”

Something seems to occur to him.

“Is that why you were out in a blizzard with nothing but a hoodie? Because you don’t own a winter coat?” he asks incredulously.

“Umm…”

Chapter Fourteen

Drew

I’ve asked the question before I can stop myself and I immediately see it’s a mistake by the look on her face. She’s not offended, she’s embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” I hasten before she gets a word in. “That’s none of my business.”

She looks at me for a long moment, then shakes her head. “No, it’s fine,” she says with a weak smile and a shrug. “The coat I’ve been wearing for the last five winters finally fell apart back around Christmas. I figured I could get through the season by layering my clothes. Who knew we’d have the coldest, longest winter on record?” She laughs a little, but I’m confused.

“Okay…the old car. The apartment. The coat. I have to ask—why don’t you just ask your father? Surely he can help you with a coat…” I immediately regret this question even more than the other one. The look that passes over her face is some cross between sadness, regret, and mortification. “Jesus Christ,” I mumble. “I’m turning into Tessa.”

I’m startled when she suddenly bursts out laughing. “You mean Professor Morgan? Hah! So I’m not the only one who thinks she’s nosy.”

I smile, but I can’t quite bring myself to laugh with her.

“Yeah, well, we’re kind of friends,” I let her know. I’d hate for her to say something that she’ll regret when she realizes the connection I have to Tess.

She slaps a hand across her mouth. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Dr. Markham. I…I didn’t know. I didn’t mean to—to be offensive…”

She looks so horrified that I feel myself soften. I shake my head.

“No. Don’t be sorry, Miss Brenner, you’re right. Tessa is very… Well, she’s just… She’s…” I don’t know what makes me stop defending Tessa, but I do. “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I say, throwing down the napkin that I’ve been holding. “You’re right. She just can’t mind her own goddamn business,” I say and then we’re both laughing. It’s nice, the sound of laughter in this kitchen again. “Of course, we’re just friends.”

Now why, for fuck’s sake, did I feel the need to go and say that?

“Oh, I, uh, of course…” she stammers, the sentence hanging there.

“Well, yeah, so we’re just friends,” I repeat for some inexplicable reason. “She was a big help to me when…when my fiancée…”

Now I’m the one having trouble finishing my sentences.

“I’m sorry,” she says, meeting my eyes. “I’m sure that was a really difficult time for you. It’s good that Professor Morgan was around to help you get past it.”

Did she seriously just say that?

I suddenly feel my face harden and, when I speak, it’s chillier than even I expect it to be.

“Yes, well, Miss Brenner, it’s hardly the kind of thing one ‘gets past.’”

She blinks hard and looks down into her bowl. I get up from the table abruptly and busy myself loading the dishwasher. When I spin around, she’s standing so close that I nearly crash into her.