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CHAPTER TEN
MARK KNEW THE second his neighbor resurfaced from the hell she’d sunk into. She stiffened in his arms and he let her go immediately, acting as if nothing unusual had happened as she crossed back over to her own chair.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“That.” She motioned toward him, but she was looking at her fountain. “I hardly know you and that was inappropriate. I’m not a crier. I assure you.”
The night was dark. Quiet. Warm.
“Don’t, Adele. Please.” Unlike him, who had Nonnie, she was alone. Completely alone. “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I consider you a friend. And you needed a friend. I’m not sorry. I’m glad I was here. Any time you need to talk, or need anything, I’m here.”
In Bierly he’d never have had to say that. Folks just knew.
He could barely make out her nod in the darkness. And so he sat with her. It was just the silence, the night, the glistening water fountain and him. There with her.
Ten minutes passed in silence, and then she shook her head.
“You okay now?”
“Yeah.” She glanced at him, a half smile on her lips. “I don’t know what came over me. It was all so long ago. And I’m fine, really. I don’t make a habit of falling apart. Ever. I hardly even think about that time in my life.”
He wondered if maybe she should.
“Something’s obviously bringing the old memories to the surface,” he said. “Maybe it’s just that you’re away from home, out of your element. Starting a new life...”
He was going through similar adjustments. Reflecting on the life he’d had, the perceptions he’d held, all the things he’d thought he had known.
“Mark?”
“Yeah?”
“Back home, people call me Addy. Would you mind doing so?”
Did he mind? Hell, no. “Is that what your folks called you?”
“My mom, yeah.”
She sat straight up, apparently back in control of her emotions. It was as if she hadn’t just been sobbing in his arms minutes before. Her strength was impressive.
Her compassion—Nonnie couldn’t say enough about her—was noteworthy. And she was sexy as hell.
No wonder he couldn’t go an hour without thinking of her.
She seemed to need silence and he was happy to sit with her for as long as she wanted. Sleep was irrelevant.
“No one knows about my father.”
“That he set the fire, you mean?”
She nodded. “The fire marshal...he was a friend of my father’s. And back then, fire investigation was based almost solely on the opinion and theories of the fire marshal.”
“They didn’t have fire forensics like they do now.” She was in Mark’s territory now.
She nodded, and said, “If he’d ruled that my father started the fire, I’d not only have been emotionally scarred, but I’d have lost his benefits. There’d have been no money for the funerals, or for my care. So he didn’t. I’m sure the fact that my father was a firefighter and friend had something to do with it, too. They protect their own.”
“So what makes you think your dad set the fire deliberately?”
