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Grabbing for the handrails inside the elevator, I bend, panting and edging off the panic that’s raging through me.
No one knows the full extent of the night I gained this scar. We kept it that way. But it seems the enigma that is Ms. Eder knows something. Something she shouldn’t.
Something that could get her hurt.
* * *
Conner findsme sitting in my car, taking a minute to calm down before getting back inside for more meetings. He knows when it’s not okay to push me to talk, and right now is one of those times.
He turns to me, sensing the mood shift as I come down from what happened in Carina’s office.
“What’s wrong? It’s been years since I had to come sit in this car with you. Hell, it’s been years since I’ve found you in the car like this,” he says, his voice overflowing with concern.
“She knew about my scar. She asked me if it was from that night.” I turn toward him as I let the seriousness of my words settle between us.
“How? I mean, she obviously lived in Rochester and went to school with us, but…”
“She’s from Rochester. But that night was… it was buried, Conner. Wasn’t it? I mean, Father handled it. I thought he buried it.” I scrub my hands over my face, worry beginning to crowd my chest, warring to be the only emotion I feel.
“Yes, it’s buried. Unless she was there, she doesn’t know anything.
Unless she was there.
“The girl’s name from that night?” I ask him, not having to elaborate because he knows who I’m talking about. He knows the disgusting things that happened in that house.
“Amanda something,” he replies.
I nod, chest finally releasing at a name that isn’t hers. I couldn’t stand it if it was hers. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t.
“She might know about the fire or the rumors, but I don’t think she knows more than that. She can’t,” he tells me, fully pulling down the curtain of calm over me.
“Thanks man, it’s …”
“Thinking about it, I know,” he finishes for me. Because he’d been right beside me, as he always is.
I let my head fall back and hit the headrest.
“You know, you have two more meetings before you can call it a day. Afterward, I think we should get a drink,” he says, opening the door and stepping one foot onto the asphalt of the parking garage.
“Yeah, give me a few more minutes,” I say.
When the door shuts, I let myself take a few more breaths, but when my eyes close, flames dance behind them and I pry them back open.
Maybe Carina Eder is a lot more trouble than I gave her credit for.
Hours later, I’m sitting at the bar next to Conner, at our favorite Pho joint downtown, sipping strong Saki as we wait for our food.
The bartender hangs up the phone, shaking his head with a massive smile tugging his lips upward.
“What’re you smiling about?” Conner asks, sake taking full effect as he slips into his usual nosy self.
“The girl down the street, Carina. She always orders the same thing every week.”
Conner perks up at the name, and I, too, feel my ears hone in.
“So?” I ask. “Why does that make you smile?”
The bartender shakes his head. “Oh, no reason. Just brightens my night to see her. She’s always kind and she over tips. She’s not bad on the eyes if you look hard enough, either.”
