Chương 10
Someone behind us cursed because a dog had stolen a glove.
Emma opened the paper bag.
She pulled out a breakfast sandwich wrapped in foil.
Then another.
“You brought food.”
“I’ve learned that apparently everyone around you becomes medically concerned if I skip breakfast.”
“You did collapse.”
“There he is.”
She handed me one.
“I didn’t ask for this.”
“Then don’t eat it.”
I opened the foil.
She smiled without looking at me.
The sandwich was egg, cheese, and sausage on an English muffin.
It was greasy.
It was also better than most breakfasts Peter made.
“Don’t tell Peter.”
“About what?”
“This.”
“You like normal food.”
“I like expensive food.”
“You’re eating gas-station sausage.”
“It’s not gas-station.”
“It came from a place attached to one.”
I stopped chewing.
Emma laughed.
We ate in silence.
A gull landed six feet from my chair and stared at me.
Emma tore off a piece of muffin.
“Don’t feed it.”
“Why?”
“It’ll bring others.”
“You afraid of birds?”
“No.”
“You are.”
“I dislike organized scavengers.”
“You run organized scavengers.”
I turned slowly.
Emma froze.
For one second, neither of us moved.
Then she winced.
“That came out wrong.”
“No.”
I looked back at the gull.
“It came out pretty accurate.”
She studied me.
“You ever going to tell me what you actually do?”
“No.”
“Fair.”
“You ever going to stop asking?”
“No.”
“Also fair.”
Wind moved her hair across her cheek.
She tucked it behind one ear.
“Who shot you?”
The question came so quietly that I almost pretended not to hear.
“I don’t know.”
She waited.
“That’s the truth.”
“Did they catch anyone?”
“No.”
“You have guesses.”
“Yes.”
“People you hurt?”
“Yes.”
Her eyes dropped to my hands.
“What kind of hurt?”
I looked toward the water.
“Financial.”
“That sounds edited.”
“It is.”
She accepted that.
A runner passed, breathing hard.
Farther down the path, a maintenance worker emptied a trash can.
The ordinary movement of the morning continued around us.
Emma folded the foil from her sandwich into a small square.
“Do you ever think they’ll try again?”
“Yes.”
There was no point lying.
She looked toward the parking lot.
“That’s why the guards.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why you don’t leave.”
I glanced at her.
“It’s one reason.”
“What’s the other?”
I could have said accessibility.
Pain.
Logistics.
Privacy.
Instead, I said, “I hate being seen like this.”
Emma’s face changed.
“Like what?”
I almost snapped at her.
The question sounded too careful.
I stared at the chair.
“Reduced.”
She didn’t answer immediately.
“I don’t see you that way.”
“You’re one person.”
“True.”
“The city remembers me differently.”
“How?”
“Standing.”
The word hurt more than I expected.
I looked away.
“I used to walk into a room and people moved.”
“They still move.”
“Not the same.”
“No.”
Her honesty made it easier somehow.
She leaned forward, elbows on her knees.
“You miss being feared.”
“I miss choosing what my body does.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I looked at her.
“Yes.”
She nodded once.
“You miss it.”
“I said yes.”
“I heard you.”
“You sound disappointed.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
She ignored that.
“I think you liked being feared because it made things simple.”
“That sounds like psychology.”
“It’s observation.”
“From a maid.”
“Former maid.”
“Current hotel cleaner.”
“Future nurse, maybe.”
I looked at her.
“You said maybe.”
“I know.”
“What changed?”
She pulled one glove tighter.
“The clinic gave me a payment plan.”
“That’s not nursing school.”
“No.”
“But?”
“But I called my old program.”
I waited.
“They said some credits may still transfer.”
Something warm moved through me.
“You’re going back.”
“I said may.”
“You want to.”
She looked out over the lake.
“Yes.”
“Then do it.”
She gave me a warning glance.
“I am not offering money.”
“Good.”
“I can still be supportive.”
“That sounds painful for you.”
“It is.”
She smiled.
Then her eyes moved past me toward the path.
The smile vanished.
A man in a dark wool coat stood near the railing twenty yards away.
He was not looking at the water.
He was looking at me.
I turned.
He raised one hand.
Not a weapon.
A phone.
He took a picture.
Every muscle in my upper body locked.
Emma saw it happen.
“Danny?”
The man lowered the phone and started walking.
I reached beneath my jacket.
Emma grabbed my wrist.
“Don’t.”
My hand stopped.
The pistol remained holstered against my ribs.
“He took a picture.”
“I saw.”
“He knows who I am.”
“Maybe.”
“He does.”
The man kept walking toward the parking lot.
I pulled out my phone and called Luke.
“Black coat, male, forty-five, Montrose path near the south lot.”
“Danny?”
“Find out who he is.”
I ended the call.
Emma let go of my wrist.
Her face had gone pale.
“You carry a gun.”
“Yes.”
“With me.”
“Yes.”
She stood.
“I should have known.”
“I told you there are people.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“He may be nothing.”
“You almost pulled a gun in a public park.”
“I didn’t.”
“Because I stopped you.”
Her voice shook.
“I reached for it.”
“That’s not better.”
I looked toward the parking lot.
The man was gone.
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain.”
“I can’t.”
“Convenient.”
“Emma.”
“No.”
She stepped back.
“You don’t get to ask me to trust you while keeping me inside some version of reality where I’m supposed to guess which parts can get me killed.”
The sentence landed cleanly.
I felt anger rise.
Then shame behind it.
“I would never let anything happen to you.”
Her expression hardened.
“You don’t control that.”
I opened my mouth.
Nothing came out.
She looked at the chair, the gun beneath my jacket, the guards moving toward us from the parking lot.
“You of all people should know that.”
The words cut through every defense I had.
Luke arrived at a fast walk with one of the guards behind him.
“Car’s coming.”
Emma looked at him.
“Who was he?”
May you like
“We don’t know yet.”
“That happens a lot around him.”
