Free Lies of the Heart by Michelle Boyajian Page B

honey.”
    “And . . . and that dumb . . . Nick. ”
    “I know.”
    “Missing both of you tons now,” Carly says, squeezing her hard. “Too much, lady.”
    Daniel is by their side after a couple of minutes, looking sheepish and awkward.
    “Hey, Katie.”
    “Hi.”
    “We should go, sweetheart,” Daniel says, his hand on Carly’s back. She loosens her grip on Katie and turns to Daniel, glowering.
    “Hold on one minute, buster,” she says, wiping her nose across her sleeve. She sniffles loudly and tugs at Katie’s hand, pulling her a few feet away.
    Carly reaches down her dress and yanks out her string necklace with the metal whistle attached. She pulls it over her head.
    “Yup, I got tons of them at home, you bet,” she says, all business once again, so Katie leans down and lets Carly put the whistle around her neck. “Just in case, lady,” she says with serious eyes. “You never know round here.” Carly turns to Daniel.
    “Okay, let’s go, I’m hungry,” she commands, gathering up her dress. She marches off to the group by the elevator without looking back, Daniel trailing behind her.

    The conference room smells like the yellow, moldering pages of an old book, Katie thinks as she looks again at the clock above the door. Almost eleven-fifteen and still no Richard; there’s probably no chance they’ll resume before the lunch break now. She fingers the whistle around her neck, considers blowing it just to get Dana to say something to her.
    The floor-to-ceiling windows on the east side of the room let in big blocks of sand-speckled light that sparkle and illuminate the dark table in the center of the room, where Katie sits. Dana stands near the windows in the shadows, arms crossed, one knee bent with her foot pressed against the wall.
    “I thought you had clients all day,” Katie finally says. “I thought social workers didn’t have time for the extras.”
    “You’re not an extra, Kate.”
    Kate. Her sister and mother are the only ones who call her that, and only when they’re upset, or about to say something “important.” A long moment draws out between them, and then her sister finally breaks the silence.
    “You knew Richard might touch her,” Dana says. “You knew.”
    “I forgot to tell him,” Katie says. “But how could I know he’d do that?”
    “Because for some reason you always know,” Dana says. “You always know about people, the things they’ll do. Especially after you’ve spent some time with them.”
    She slides out the cushioned brown chair beside Katie and sits down, eyeing her. The red highlights in Dana’s hair bring out the amber-green flecks in her eyes, and for a moment Katie is suddenly amazed, once again, by her sister’s confident beauty.
    “Please don’t pull the therapy stuff with me, Dana,” she says, recovering quickly. “C’mon. I need some air, and you can have a cigarette.”
    Katie is halfway out of her chair when the door opens and Richard walks in. She sits back down, shoulders tense. Richard’s eyes fasten on the whistle around Katie’s neck. He carefully places his briefcase on the table, fingertips resting on top.
    “Look, I really don’t care at all what you think of me and what I do,” he says quietly. “I really don’t.”
    The trembling in his voice is unsettling, but Katie reminds herself that this emotion has nothing to do with Nick—with her losing Nick.
    “I thought we were in this together and that you actually wanted to help me prosecute the man who killed your husband. But if you’re going to withhold pertinent information”—his voice rises a little with each word—“then I really don’t see the point of meeting with you, because it’s just a huge waste—”
    “Excuse me, ” Dana says, rising, but Richard lifts his palm at her, a stop sign. He turns his head slightly in her direction, his eyes addressing the table.
    “No, look, I’m going to say this,” he announces, then turns back to Katie. “I see it,