M Sellars - Perfect Trust

“Just what do you think she’s going to do when I tell her I’m a Witch?” I tried to play the only card I had left.

“Not much, Kemosabe,” my friend replied. “She’s quite a bit more open than most folks. Hell, we’re fuckin’ Indians, think about it.”

“Yeah, and you’re the biggest skeptic I know. So what’s your excuse?”

“You don’t wanna know,” he grumbled then shifted back to the original focus. “Besides, doesn’t matter. She already knows about it. I’ve told her about the two of ya’.”

Felicity had taken the business card from Ben as I sat there in silence, mulling over exactly how much I despised being backed into a corner. I felt a small spark of defiance deep inside, but I was going down fast. I still desperately needed something to cling to-some kind of life preserver that would keep me afloat long enough to give me a fighting chance.

I allowed my stare to fall on the surface of the desk before me and the answer became instantly clear. Deliberately, I reached across and picked up the notepad, which had been the center of our earlier discussion. Slowly, I peeled off a pair of the pages and tossed them back on the blotter in front of Ben.

“Now, here’s my deal,” I submitted carefully. “I go talk to your sister, and you have the crime lab compare the handwriting on those papers with Paige Lawson’s.”

“Row…” He began shaking his head as a furrow formed across his brow.

“I’m not asking much, Ben.” I held fast. “Just find out if it’s her handwriting and let me know one way or the other. That’s it.”

“Okay.” He finally nodded but still kept a frown plastered to his face. “Okay, but I don’t know what it’s gonna get ya’.”

“A place to start” was all I said.

“So are you mad at me?” Felicity asked, her voice somber as she guided her Jeep down an exit ramp and off the highway.

Our trip from police headquarters thus far had been made in almost total silence. The reason was not so much because either of us were angry, but because there was simply too much to think about. The extent of our conversation to this point had been my asking whether we should swing by to pick up my truck. In truth, I actually had no idea where I’d left it, plus all I really wanted to do right now was sleep. I wasn’t disappointed in the least when she told me that task had already been handled.

It was approaching mid-day, and the sky was still heavily overcast with a flat-bottomed stratum of grey clouds. A misty rain had begun to fall at some point while I was still being held captive by the hospital, and it hadn’t yet subsided. Winter’s chill was sharp in the air, even with the official start of the season still a few days away. The temperature was staying a few steps ahead of the magical point where precipitation solidifies, effectively making the difference between the landscape being a “winter wonderland” and “wintry blah.” Depending on your tastes, it was the kind of day that either made you feel great to be alive or depressed you into a mood that begged to be slept off like a bad drunk. Since I was already lacking in the sleep department, I was being pushed toward the latter with hardly any resistance.

“Not really,” I replied. “Although, I wish you’d said something about all this earlier. Then maybe I wouldn’t have wasted so much energy trying to keep you from finding out.”

“Why didn’t you want me to know anyway?”

“It wasn’t something you needed to worry about,” I answered. “You have enough to do without taking on my problems.”

“Row,” she admonished, “we’ve had this talk before.”

“Yeah,” I admitted, “but you get a little overprotective at times.”

“Aye, and just what is it you’d call what you’re doing then?” A slight hint of her normally veiled Irish brogue seeped into the question, audibly announcing her growing fatigue.

“Yes… I’m being overprotective too,” I returned. “But that’s nothing new.”

“And it’s something new from me then?”

“I didn’t say that.”

We were only a few blocks from home when she gave a quick downshift and turned the Jeep into a parking lot of what appeared to have once been a multi-tenant strip mall but was now occupied by only a single business. Hooking past a light standard, she serpentined through the lot then pulled into a space before the entrance of Arch Color Labs. She shifted into neutral then set the parking brake before switching off the engine.

“What are you saying then?” she asked as she peered at me, her green eyes searching for a hidden answer. “Are you saying it’s okay for you but not for me?”

“Like you said,” I sighed. “We’ve had this talk before, and obviously we’ve never resolved it, or we wouldn’t be having it again now. We’re both just too stubborn, I suppose.”

“Aye,” she agreed softly, “I suppose we are.”

We regarded each other quietly for a moment, neither of us certain where to take the conversation next. I finally motioned at the storefront and broke the lull.

“This doesn’t look much like our house.”

“Sorry, I forgot to tell you.” She gave her head a quick shake. “I need to drop off a batch job for a client.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” I shook my head as the realization overtook me. I hadn’t really thought about how my escapades might have affected her, and this detour drove the point home. “You’d probably already have this done if it weren’t for me throwing you off schedule.”

“It’s no problem,” she returned.

“Maybe not,” I echoed, “but I still feel bad about it.”

“You do? Good, then my mission is accomplished,” she told me with a sly grin.

“I just walked right into a waiting guilt trip, didn’t I?”

“Uh-huh.” She nodded as she rummaged behind my seat and withdrew a heavy-gauge envelope. “You can wait here if you want. I’ll only be a few minutes.”

“You sure?” I asked. “I know how long your ‘few minutes’ can be sometimes.”

“I’m sure. I just need to drop this off.”

“Okay.”

True to her word, Felicity was in and out in less than five minutes but then spent another ten beneath the awning in front of the lobby chatting with a wiry young man. I couldn’t blame her for the delay though because he had followed her out the door, talking nonstop except for quick lulls to light a cigarette. He’d been through two already and was heading quickly toward finishing off a third.

It was almost amusing to watch my wife as she maintained a constant distance between herself and the rambling chain smoker. What wasn’t amusing was the fact that every time he took a puff, I had to stop myself from getting out of the vehicle and bumming one from him. It did, however, serve as a reminder as to just how much she despised smoking, and that helped steel my resolve to fight the craving.

She finally managed to get away and flashed him a smile and a quick wave as she climbed into the Jeep.

“Friend of yours?” I asked as she buckled herself in.

“Oh, that’s just Harold. Nice enough guy but Gods! He smokes like a fiend.”

“I noticed.” I nodded, trying not to let on that I was within inches of joining him in the act, then cryptically changed the subject by asking, “So how about you?”

“How about me, what?” She furrowed her eyebrows as she shook her head in confusion. “I don’t smoke.”

“What? Oh, no, not that,” I replied. “Sorry, I meant what we were talking about earlier. Are you mad at me?”

“Oh, that.” She nodded as she cast a glance back over her shoulder then backed the Jeep out of the parking space. “I was,” she answered, chewing at her lower lip, “but I’m getting over it.”