“Yeah, I have because it’s true. So…” he paused as he smoothed his hair back. “You still feel like you’re safe stayin’ here?”
I shook my head. “No.”
“Okay, so now I’m not askin’ anymore, I’m tellin’. Get Firehair in here, pack a coupl’a bags, an’ come crash at my place. I’ll wait and you can follow me over.”
“It doesn’t really matter where we go, Ben,” I told him. “As long as we’re dealing with Miranda, we’re not safe anywhere.”
CHAPTER 29:
I draped Felicity’s coat over her shoulders then slowly stepped around beside her. I had been standing at the door for better than a minute, watching her at the deck railing while trying to decide if I should intrude or simply leave her alone.
“I thought you might be getting cold,” I said softly.
She looked over at me with a weak smile as she pulled the garment tight around herself and held it clasped together at her neck. She didn’t say a word. Her gaze simply wandered back to some distant point in the patchy snow-covered yard.
Her cheeks were flushed red from the chilly wind, and that made me even more concerned for her emotional state. She had been out here far too long without a coat, and given how much she hated the cold, I knew that could only mean she wasn’t handling this situation very well.
“So… Want some company?” I asked.
“She killed him, didn’t she?” she answered with her own question. Her voice was faint and strained. It was as if she was struggling to contain her emotions.
I knew it wouldn’t do me any good to lie. I could tell she already knew the answer before she asked.
“Yes,” I replied.
Ben was still in the house, and the crime scene technician had been bagging the evidence just before I came outside. At least she wasn’t trashing the place like the last crew when they had been dead set on finding something to implicate my wife in all this. I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to check on the progress and saw my friend talking to the tech, so I knew things weren’t cleared out just yet.
“Why, Rowan?” Felicity asked.
“She’s sick, honey.”
“But, why did she send that to me?”
“I don’t have a good answer for that, other than I think the first one applies here as well. She’s a very sick person.”
I waited for a moment, continuing to watch her as she stared out at the yard. Finally, I said, “It will probably only be another few minutes. The tech should be done in there shortly, and we can go back in.”
“It doesn’t matter. That’s not why I’m out here,” she muttered.
“Oh,” I said, unable to keep a mildly perplexed tone from attaching itself to the words. “I see.”
“I’m out here because of the way I feel,” she explained.
“I know, honey. I understand.”
She remained silent for a long while. Even in profile, I could tell by her expression that she was deep in thought, wrestling with something she wanted to say but couldn’t.
Eventually, she whispered, “No. I don’t think you do.”
“Okay, I can accept that,” I agreed with a shallow nod. “I really can’t pretend to understand what it is you’re feeling. I can only imagine that it might be similar to how I feel.”
“How do you feel?” she asked.
I tried to sum up the swirl of emotions in a few simple words. “Sickened. Horrified. Mournful.”
“Yes,” she mumbled. “Like you’re supposed to.”
“Honey, I’m fairly certain there’s no hard and fast rule with regard to how you’re supposed to react to something like this.”
“Maybe not, but your reaction is normal.”
“What makes you think yours isn’t?”
“What would you say if I told you I don’t feel any of those things? None of them at all.”
“If I also consider the fact that you’ve been standing out here in the cold without a coat for more than a half hour, I’d say you’re probably in shock.”
“I wish I was.”
“Sweetheart, I’m pretty sure you are.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Why not?”
“If I was in shock then maybe I’d be numb,” she offered. “I wouldn’t feel anything.”
“So…” I asked. “I assume that means you’re feeling something?”
“Yes.”
“Anger?”
She nodded. “Maybe a little. But, that’s not really it.”
“Can you describe it?”
“Aye, unfortunately I can.”
I waited for her to continue, but after several heartbeats, it became obvious she wasn’t going to do so without prodding. “Would you like to tell me what you’re feeling?”
“I’m afraid.”
“That’s perfectly normal, Felicity. So am I.”
“No, Rowan.” She gave her head a shake then frowned. “I mean I’m afraid to tell you what I’m feeling.”
“Why?”
“Because… If I do you’ll think I’m insane.”
“I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“You say that now.”
“And, I’ll say it again after you tell me.”
She stewed for a moment, turning her gaze toward the activity at the bird feeders nearby. “The grackles have been eating all the food,” she stated, conspicuously diverting the subject. “The rest of the birds aren’t getting much.”
“We go through that every year,” I offered in reply. I wanted to press her for an answer to her earlier cryptic comment, but I feared she might be too fragile at this point. As tough as I knew my wife to be, her current demeanor was worrying me.
“I wish they’d just go away,” she mused.
“We can always take down the feeders,” I said.
“No,” she shook her head. “That wouldn’t be fair to the other birds… Besides, I suppose they serve a purpose. Before you came out, a hawk swooped in and had one of the grackles for lunch.”
“Nature at work, I suppose.”
Finally, she pivoted her head back toward me and said, “What if I told you I feel like he got what he deserved?”
“The grackle?”
“No. Lewis. ‘mat.’”
I thought about her comment for a few seconds then said, “I’d still have to say shock. After what happened yesterday you were angry. I wouldn’t be surprised if you haven’t let go of that yet, even if you think you have. Your mind is probably dealing with all of this by rationalizing what happened to him as some form of cosmic justice.”
“You sound like Helen.”
“Yeah,” I admitted. “I guess I do. Sorry about that.”
