Free Between by Kerry Schafer Page A

sympathy. “Well. No matter then. I am sorry to be the bearer of such sad news. He was old; I suppose that’s some consolation.” Jehenna stretched her arm across the table and gestured at the web-and-penguin pendant. “That’s lovely. Quite unusual. And that’s all you have from him, you say? Perhaps he gave the other key to your mother to keep?”
    “No. If he did, I would know. I packed all her belongings myself.”
    “We all have secrets. Packed to go where?”
    “She’s—not well. We’re trying a home in Spokane for now.”
    “Perhaps I could speak with her myself, if you would give me the address.”
    “She’s not good with visitors. But when I see her, I could ask about a key.”
    “That would be lovely.” Jehenna pushed her chair back from the table. “I should be going. No, don’t get up—I’ll show myself out.”
    The box was in her hands.
    Vivian fought the inertia that bound her, managed to struggle to her own feet. “Wait—those are mine.”
    Jehenna looked at her, a smile flickering at the corners of her lips. “You have no need of them. I do. Good-bye, Vivian.”
    And the door swung shut behind her with a soft, final click.

    Not ten minutes later the doorbell rang. Vivian felt an unexpected rush of relief and gratitude to see Jared standing in the doorway. He carried a bouquet of roses. Long stemmed. Red.
    The color of blood. For an instant her vision swirled and there was blood on the floor, blood on Jared’s hands.
    It passed, and despite her resolution to the contrary, she found herself wanting to fling herself into his arms, to be held and comforted and made love to. But when she looked into his green eyes she remembered a clear agate gaze, a crooked grin, and she stood quietly to the side, holding the door so he could come in.
    “You’ve been working too hard; you look exhausted.” Jared crossed the room and rummaged in the cupboard.
    “There’s a vase under the sink.”
    She sank down on the couch to watch him fill the vase with water and arrange the flowers. Tall, dark, and improbably handsome, the sort of man who turned female heads wherever he went, the man every fortune-teller predicted toevery love-hungry girl who crossed her palm with silver. Her friends had told her she was crazy to break things off with him, that she would regret it, but all she felt was a quiet regret that she had been unable to love him.
    The litter of paper on the table caught her eye. The will. Things she would rather not have to explain, but it was too late now to clean up; he was already crossing the room to set down the flowers. His brow furrowed as he picked up the will and scanned it over. “Were you going to tell me about this?”
    “Yes. Of course. I only just found out a few minutes ago.”
    But he’d sensed her hesitation. His eyes hardened; his eyebrows drew together. She recognized with a weary inevitability the way he stood, legs braced, hands lightly curled. Primed for a fight.
    He crushed the brown paper wrapping in his hand. “What was in here?”
    Cornered, she got to her feet and faced him, feeling a surge of answering anger. There was nothing she wanted to tell him. Not a single, solitary thing. And if she spat out the comments that were swirling around inside her head, she could never take them back.
    Once more, she tried. “Let’s not do this. It was a particularly difficult night at work, and my grandfather’s death was a shock. I haven’t slept—”
    “I told you I was coming—”
    And that was the tipping point. “Right—you told me. You didn’t ask. You didn’t wait for confirmation. You left a message on my fucking phone and take that as a binding contract—”
    “I was planning to take you somewhere special.”
    “Then you should have asked. And I would have told you that another day would be better.”
    For a long moment he stood, fists clenched, glaring, and then he deflated as if she’d stuck him with a pin. His shoulders sagged; his eyes were bleak.