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“I really didn’t think you and I would ever talk about babies, Olaf.”
“Nor I, but I saw you with the baby, and something harsh in you softened. I hadn’t expected to see that.”
“It surprised me, too,” I said, and that was honest.
“You talked to the woman in a way that surprised me as well.”
“You mean Brianna?”
“Yes.”
I said, “She surprised me because she named her kids after characters in her favorite book. I really didn’t see her as a reader.”
“She was different as a child. You heard her. She found boys, and books were forgotten,” Olaf said.
“If they were forgotten, she would have named her twins something else,” I said.
“That was unexpected,” he admitted.
“I know. I thought she was just some sexy airhead, but there’s depth in there if you get her talking about something besides strip clubs and her friends.”
“She would cheat on her husband,” Olaf said as if it was just true.
“You don’t know that.”
“I believe I could seduce her.”
“I noticed you putting some effort into flirting with her.”
“Did it bother you?”
“I wasn’t jealous if that’s what you mean.”
“I am jealous of you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I ignored it and said, “She fits your victim profile, except for being a little too tall, so when you started flirting with her, instead of being jealous, I was more worried that you were going to see her as a potential target.”
“So your concern for her safety overrode any jealousy issues?”
“Yes,” I said. I thought, I don’t think I would have been jealous over you, but that was probably a fact best kept to myself.
“Why do you care about her? She is not your friend. She is nothing to you.”
“Brianna’s a person, Olaf. I held her baby and enjoyed it. I know what her favorite book from childhood is and that she named her kids after it. I know that her mom and mother-in-law are buying so much stuff for the babies that she’s trashing her living room to try to get them to stop. I know she’s probably a voyeur at the clubs. She’s real to me now, and the thought that she’s not real to you in the same way is disturbing.”
“I am a sociopath, Anita. I do not feel empathy. You know that.”
“Intellectually I know it, but that doesn’t help me understand it.”
“As I do not understand your sympathy for the woman we just left.”
“I guess we just agree to disagree,” I said.
“You are being very quiet, Nicky,” Olaf said.
“I’m just listening,” Nicky said from the backseat, where he had been unusually quiet.
“You are a sociopath. Do you feel anything for the woman we just left?” Olaf asked.
