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“She’s incredibly proud.”
“What about Bastian?”
He’d taken the bite of pasta he’d been holding and was now twirling a new bite against his spoon. “What about him?”
“I’ve never met him. I’ve had two chances—when they went skiing at Vale and when they went to Italy last year over Thanksgiving. I was invited. But I was with my own family both times. Is she proud of Remy’s twin, too?”
It took a second for Bo to answer. When he did, his voice was far less strident. “I’m sure she is.”
“Just not as much as Remy?” Ismay asked uncertainly.
When he hesitated again, she guessed he was being careful not to say something that could get back to Annabelle.
Leaving her fork and spoon in her bowl, Ismay finished her wine. “There’s no need to worry. I won’t pass along anything you tell me. You can trust me.”
“I hope you won’t take this personally,” he said. “But I don’t trust anyone.”
5
The storm continued to rage even after they’d finished dinner and cleaned up the dishes. Bo hated to think of what the wind and rain were doing to the place where he lived. He’d been through hard times before. This was nothing in comparison. He didn’t even own the cabin, so the financial fallout wouldn’t affect him. But he’d been comfortable there and would be expected to do most of the repair work. And the damage came right when he thought he’d finally gotten his life on a solid footing.
Nothing was ever easy...
They attempted to watch a movie—Where the Crawdads Sing, since he’d recommended the book—but the internet was out, and it wouldn’t stream correctly on either of their phones. So, seeing the white and black marble chess set on the coffee table, he suggested a game. Anything would be better than continuing to answer Ismay’s questions. He’d been careful so far, told her only general information that wouldn’t lead anywhere. He wasn’t using his real name, anyway. But he couldn’t tell her more specifics about the village where he grew up, how far it was from New Orleans, or too many details about his mother’s murder. He didn’t want what he’d been through holding him back any longer, didn’t want the people on Mariners to be afraid of him or assume he was dangerous. He also didn’t want to lose his job, and if the truth came out, he probably would, since he’d lied to obtain it.
“I haven’t played chess in forever,” Ismay said as he carried the board to the kitchen table.
“I play all the time on my phone,” he told her. And that was about all he’d done in prison, besides reading and working out. Betting on games with the other inmates, and occasionally a correctional officer, was the only way he could get funds for the cantina. Many of the prisoners had family putting money on their books. He had no one. His uncle had come to visit him twice, but with Chester’s health failing and the fact that he didn’t own a car, the prison was too hard for him to reach. And he had no money to send.
Ismay gave him a cautious look. “That’s worrisome...”
He grinned. “Only if you’re afraid of losing.”
“The idea of beating me? That’s what finally brings a smile to your lips?”
“Someone has to win. Might as well be me,” he said jokingly. She’d probably never experienced much loss, certainly not the way he had. She could lose a game of chess. A game of chess was nothing. It wasn’t as if they were putting any money on it.
“No way,” she said. “I’ll just do my best to make sure that doesn’t happen.”
She put up a good fight, but he beat her handily—and quicker the second time.
“Why don’t we play something else?” she asked when he won three games in a row. “This is far too easy for you.”
“Like what?”
“Cards?”
“Do we have any?”
“I saw a deck in the drawer earlier when I was searching for a flashlight.”
“So...what are you suggesting? Some two-person version of poker?”
“Why not cribbage? I used to play with my brother all the time. It can be a two-player game.”
“I’ve seen cribbage mentioned in a book or two; never played it.”
“Good. Maybe I’ll beat you for a change,” she said, but they were just setting up when she got a call from Remy.
