Page 6 of Creeping Beautiful

I nod. “About four years, I’d guess.”

She hugs herself and smiles. “Did you miss me?”

“What do you think?” I ask it to be sarcastic but also to hear what she has to say about that. Because you can’t ever really know what’s going on inside that head.

She shrugs and turns. Picks up a candle. Smells it. Looks over her shoulder at me. “Who gave you this?”

“Misha. A while ago.” But I feel the need to add qualifiers to that answer. “For my birthday. Thirty-fourth. You missed it.”

She nods, puts the candle down and wanders over to the couch where she takes a seat and picks up a ring of keys.

I study them with her, then answer her unasked questions as she holds up a fob. “New truck. Bought it last year. New, like actually new. Nice too.”

She holds up another key. Not a fob.

“You know that one.”

“Motorcycle,” she affirms, dropping it to pick up the next key. “House,” she says. “Yours,” she adds. And for the last one she says, “House. Adam’s.”

She slips Adam’s key off the ring and slides it into her pocket.

“That all you need, then? That why you came?”

“No.” She leans back into the cushions. “I’m cold, so…” She shrugs. “I’ll take a bath with you.”

“Uh, no. Not with me, Indie. You know better.”

She squints her eyes at me. “Do I know better? Who taught me better, McKay? You? Adam? Donovan?”

“Well.” I cross my arms, still blocking the door. If she wanted to leave there’s really nothing I could do to stop her. But it doesn’t hurt to send all the right messages. “I’d go with Donovan, I guess. If I had to choose.”

She holds my gaze for a moment and then agrees with a nod. Maybe a smile too. But I can’t see it. She drops her head and her long, wet hair falls forward to cover her face.

“I’d have gotten you something better than a candle.” She lifts her head up so I can see a sliver of one stormy, blue eye peeking out from behind her hair. “For your birthday, I mean.”

“Yeah… well. You weren’t here and Misha was.”

“Misha’s dead now.”

“I know.” I sigh as I rub both hands down my face. “I’m aware.”

“She deserved to die.”

“You want me to run you a bath, then?”

“Everyone’s dead now, huh?”

“Indie.” I say this sternly. “We’re not getting into this.”

“Into what?”

“You know what.”

“I’m just saying. Just making an observation, that’s all. Everyone is dead now.”

“We’re not dead. You’re not dead, I’m not dead. Adam’s not dead. Donovan’s not dead…” I stop because she’s right. Plenty of people are dead. But I don’t want her thinking too hard about that. Not when she’s in this frame of mind. “Who cares about dead people anyway? We’re still here.”

She inhales deeply and sinks a little further back into the couch cushions. Pulls her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around her wet jeans. Hugs herself.