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You obviously had a lot of that locked and loaded. Which means you’ve thought about it a lot.
Yeah
?? Psych major, reporting for duty.
Your point?
I guess I didn’t quite realize how different our childhoods were.
Btw, you don’t have to apologize for any of this. Dad being a bag of dicks isn’t on you. That’s on Dad.
My therapist says that two people can grow up in the same house, but not in the same home.
I didn’t know you’d been seeing a therapist.
A) again, psych major, so … duh
B) doesn’t everyone see a therapist?
Apparently.
Wait. You don’t?
* * *
I’m still trying to decide how to answer Trinity when my phone rings. I jump, because almost no one calls me. Sure, I get the occasional phone call from my mother, but beyond that, nothing. The last time I got regular phone calls was when we were in the height of the trial. Then, the phone calls always came from my lawyer. I now have a Pavlovian response of anxiety and nausea when my phone rings.
According to caller ID it’s Martin. So I answer it.
“Savannah? It’s Martin.”
“Yes?”
“Where are you?” As always, Martin speaks in terse, short sentences. Like he’s too busy for real conversation.
“Um …” I’m not sure what the right answer is here.
“Are you at Ian’s out by the lake?”
“Yes.”
“Are you at the cottage or the main house?”
“The cottage. Why? Look, I know you’re my boss, technically, but this line of questioning feels a little invasive.”
“Sorry. I just—” He makes a noise of strangled frustration and for the first time I get the sense that he doesn’t know what to say.
It’s not like I’ve spent that much time with the guy, but every interaction we’ve had has been short and to the point. Succinct to the point of rudeness.
This sudden, apparent verbal awkwardness makes me nervous. “What’s up?”
“I need you to trust me. And I need you to not repeat what I’m about to tell you. Not to anyone. Not even Ian, if he asks, though he probably won’t. Can you do that?”
“No.” I say succinctly. “If you’re about to tell me that you’re a serial killer, or that you’ve just assassinated Vladimir Putin, and you need me to help you bury the body, I can’t promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“Jesus. Why are murder and dead bodies the first place you went with that? What is wrong with you?”
“Well, I just got off the phone with my sister and she has a way of making my imagination spin out.”
