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“You were right, Ivy,” he says quietly. “It does bother me. The way our choices are taken away from us. ”
I’m almost scared to breathe. He is confiding in me, opening up to me exactly the way my father and Callie wanted. “Why didn’t you say something right then?”
Bishop sighs. “I’m not…I’m never going to be the guy who lays it all out there. That’s not me. Until I really know someone, not much gets out. It’s just the way I’m built. ”
“Okay,” I say, waiting. If nothing else, I understand what it’s like to have a part of your personality that’s not easy to change.
“But it doesn’t mean I don’t have feelings,” he says. “That things don’t matter to me. ”
I take a sip of water. “I shouldn’t have said that, the morning we fought, about you not feeling anything. That wasn’t fair. ”
“I understand why you might think that,” Bishop says. “But it’s not true. ” He pauses. “I wanted something else, too. Something more than being your husband. ”
“Like what?” I ask.
His eyes drop away from mine. “Nothing that matters now. This is what we have. This life. Each other. This house. ” His hand thumps downward. “This couch. ”
My heart jumps. Was all this a prelude to getting me into bed? I’m already kicking myself for sitting down on this stupid sofa.
“Relax, Ivy,” he says, a smile in his voice. “I’m not asking for anything. ”
But someday he will. As far as he knows, this relationship is forever, and I can’t imagine he’ll want to sleep on the couch for the next fifty years. I’m not sure what I’ll say if he does ask. For the sake of my father’s plan, I know my answer has to be yes.
“Well, I’d better get to bed. Work in the morning. ” I stand, set my cup down on the coffee table.
Bishop’s voice stops me before I get to the hallway. “You told me you were trying, remember?”
I glance back at him. “Yes,” I say, cautious.
“I’m trying, too. ”
“I know,” I say, watching the way his eyes shine in the moonlight. I turn and go back to bed.
I try not to be nervous as Victoria leads the way into the basement of the courthouse. It’s not as if I’m going to be left alone in a room with any of the prisoners. I don’t want Erin Lattimer’s words—there are some things that are too adult for you—to be a prophecy. I’m determined to do this, and do it well, if for no other reason than to prove her wrong.
“What are we doing with them?” I ask Victoria, trotting to keep up with her. Even though I’m taller, she walks fast everywhere she goes, like she’s rushing to catch something that’s always disappearing around the farthest corner.
“These are prisoners who are already convicted,” she tells me. “We need to get some final information from them. Next of kin, that sort of thing. We should have it already, if the screenings were done correctly the first time around. ” Her tone of voice tells me that’s unlikely. “But we have to double check, before…”
“Before we put them out,” I say, because she seems reluctant to finish the sentence.
“Yes,” she says, glancing at me and then back to the hall in front of us. “I know that must be hard for you to understand, with your father being who he is. ”
She says it with no malice in her tone, but I’m wary anyway. I don’t have any trouble speaking when my temper gets ahead of my good sense, but being drawn out on the subject is a danger even I should be able to avoid.
“Well, he’s not a big fan of putting people out,” I say, choosing every word with care. It’s no secret my father opposes Westfall’s method of punishment. My family always has, since my grandfather’s time. But my father is careful not to be too vocal. He makes our position clear without being strident. He is smart, with one eye always on the long-term goal.
Victoria uses her shoulder to push through the door at the end of the hall. “But does he have a better solution?” she asks, eyebrows raised. She doesn’t give me a chance to respond, just leaves me to follow or risk getting hit by the door swinging back in my face.
We’re in another hall, this one short and with a single door at the end. The door has a small window at the top and there’s a guard standing outside it, hands crossed in front of him, gun at his waist.
“Hey, David,” Victoria says. “We’re here to do the final interviews. ”
“We’re ready for you,” David says. He barely glances in my direction. “They told me you’d be down this morning, so I went ahead and brought the first one in. Laird, Mark. ”
Victoria holds out her hand, and I shuffle through the stack of manila folders in my arms until I find the one labeled with Laird’s name and pass it to her. I’ve gotten used to Victoria’s efficiency, which can sometimes border on rudeness.
“Okay,” she says to me. “This time, watch and learn. You’ll be doing these on your own soon enough. ”
