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She smiled. “I guess we all romanticize our pasts, to make them better than they actually were.”
“Maybe we do,” said Decker. “Nostalgia can be very tempting. And nearly as addictive as opioids.”
She said sharply, “You don’t seem very appreciative to someone who just brought you apie.”
Decker looked taken aback. “I’m sorry. I…I guess getting nearly killed hasn’t put me in the best mood.”
“Well, enjoy the pie,” she replied in a softer tone.
She walked off while Decker stood there watching. At first, he was feeling guilty about having spoken to her so abrasively. But when she left the gravel walk that led up to the house and reached the sidewalk,Decker stiffened.
Clunk, scrape, clunk.
The sounds he’d heard that night.
Her quad cane was striking the pavement, and the broken foot on the cane she had told him about earlier was making those sounds. It was first scraping against the pavement, and then, when she lifted it and brought it down, it clunked against the pavement.
He closed the door and leanedhis head against the wood.
Son of a bitch. Baronville. More like Murderville.
He had some things to do and he didn’t have much time to do them.
He went into the kitchen and threw the pie into the trash.
