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“But you really don’t want to answer the question, do you?” Adrienne said. “That’s five people, but your item was a way to get a hold of us.”
Touché. “Stickler for the rules?”
“Sometimes. But mostly I’m curious. What are your four other things?”
Now that I’d moved past the hiccup of my initial answer, I could be more lighthearted about this. “Crowbar-slash-tire iron.”
“Multi-purpose. Smart.”
“Twinkies.”
“Not so smart. You’d go out of your way to stop at a store and grab a box of Twinkies?”
I’d let her have the flavored whipped cream. But the question was slightly different than the one we asked her. “It’s a bribe in case we run into any loudmouthed guys who really want a Twinkie. Besides, I have a box in the cupboard. I love Twinkies.”
She wrinkled her nose and managed a look of pure disgust. “If you eat them, they cease to be a bribe, but really, why would you? Is it the goopy cream filling or the generically bland sponge made of corn syrup and questionable solids that does it for you?”
“Like you have a problem with cream filling,” I teased.
“Not even for a second. My problem is with Twinkies.”
I sighed and fluttered the back of my hand to my forehead, pretending to be faint. “Who even are you? You can’t be in our camp if you don’t like Twinkies.”
“You’re sure? One less person to share with.” She made a good point.
“Okay, fine. You can stay in our group if I can grab the Twinkies. Four and five—chlorine tablets and my biggest bottle of cologne.”
“I get the tablets, why the other?”
“Assuming these are Walking Dead Season One zombies, create a false trail to throw them off scent-wise. A drop or two of that stuff goes a long way.”
“You let me have my whims in the sex toy shop, so I’ll let you have yours.”
“Much obliged.” I gave her a seated half-bow.
Silence settled in to replace the silliness, and it felt right. Like there was nothing more natural than what we were doing.
“You didn’t say photos.” Adrienne’s voice was soft.
The words shattered my calm regardless. “Of what?”
“Your family.”
I didn’t know how to respond or recover from the gut punch that came with the memory. “Do you blame yourself for what happened with Sean?” I kept my voice kind. I wasn’t accusing her of anything, but I already knew her answer.
“Every day.”
“Even though it’s not your fault.”
“If it wasn’t my fault, I wouldn’t blame myself.”
It was like she crawled into my head and extracted my answers, despite the different situations and the logical voice that said no, really, it’s not my fault. “It’s not, though.”
“Do you believe that?” she asked.
And I wasn’t the only one who saw the parallels. My counter rose to my lips too easily. “I was in the same accident they were. It doesn’t matter how long it’s been, I still feel guilty that I survived and they didn’t. Not only survived, but—”
“If you’re going to say walked away mostly unscarred obviously you didn’t.”
