“You are not allowed to laugh.”
She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I absolutely am.”
“You broke my brain.”
“Well,” she sighed, “you asked.”
“You were alive during Napoleon?”
She laughed harder. “Technically speaking, I was born the year Napoleon died. 1821. So we never had the pleasure of meeting.”
“That’s a shame. But you were alive before railroads.”
She laughed. “That’s debatable, depending on what type of railway you’re referring to.”
I smirked. “You were alive before indoor plumbing.”
That nearly killed her. Tears streamed down her face. “I think you need to read up on your historical facts. The Romans had their own version of indoor plumbing. I’m notthatold.”
I waved my hand in the air. “I’m not talking about the aqueducts. You know what I’m saying.”
People at nearby tables started looking over. I didn’t care.
Eventually, she managed to calm down enough to catch her breath. “I suppose it all sounds rather odd.”
“No, it sounds impossible.”
She tilted her head. “My sire turned to dust in front of your children yesterday. I think you can wrap your mind around my age.”
“Fair point.”
The conversation drifted after that. Toward Ireland. Toward the girl she’d once been. The real Winnie. She told me about her parents. The poverty-stricken life she’d lived in a tiny cottage where she’d had to share a bed with her siblings. She told me of the times she had to go hungry so the younger children could eat, but there was no animosity in it. No, she spoke about her brothers and sisters with such fierce affection that I immediately understood why she’d fallen so completely in love with my kids. She’d always been built for family.
“They were my favorite people,” she admitted quietly.
The fireplace crackled nearby. People laughed at the bar. But we occupied our own little corner of time.
“I missed them terribly,” she continued. “When I left.”
“You were, what? Eighteen?”
“Yes.”
I shook my head. “God.”
She smiled sadly. “It seemed like such a great opportunity.”
Then she told me about the position on the island with Bogdan and everything that followed. I reached across the table and covered her hand with mine. I wished I had the perfect thing to say. Some losses were too large for cleverness, though.
Her fingers turned beneath mine. Intertwining. Holding on.
The conversation eventually quieted in a comfortable way. We sat there in the light from the fireplace, enjoying the simple fact that the other person existed.
Finally, Winnie touched her cheek. “What?”
I blinked. “What?”
She frowned. “Do I have blood on my face?”
