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“Everything okay?” Clive asked from the driver’s seat.
“I don’t know,” I said vaguely, lost in my thoughts.
“What happened in there?”
“I—I don’t even know,” I said. “Do you know anyone named Eudora?” I couldn’t remember her last name.
“Can’t say as I do,” Clive said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. Moments later, he said, “Would you like some music, Rosabel?”
The question was so sweet and thoughtful, it stole a little smile through my sadness. “No, thank you, Clive. But if you do, go right ahead. Please.”
For now, I needed the company of my own thoughts. I didn’t want to derail anything that might serve as a clue to what was going on.
I sat there, worrying and wondering. My mind replayed every part of the interaction in the house that I could remember. Duncan had been so agitated from the minute Eudora had answered the door.
Why?
From what I could glean, she’d been the mother of the fraternity he was a part of in college. She’d owned the house in Chicago. Her sons had been slightly older than Duncan and his friends. They’d started some kind of pact that Duncan and others had signed.
This obviously devastated him, but I couldn’t understand why. What kind of pledge could possibly be this bad?
What had he agreed to do?
It seemed like only minutes had passed. Clive had indeed turned on some music, and the strains of Queen harmonized in the black interior of the car. He’d kept the volume low, though; low enough that I heard him mutter, “There he is.”
I pivoted on the seat. Sure enough, Duncan walked around the other end of the corner. He still wore the suit coat, but he’d loosened the tie so it hung low enough for him to undo the top buttons of his collar. And his hair did that swoopy thing where he’d been running his hands through it.
He stared at his phone for a few seconds before pocketing it, making me wonder who he’d just been talking to.
“Hang on,” I said, sliding out of the car.
I quickened my steps, hurrying to meet his side so we stood at almost the exact spot we had ten minutes before.
The animosity in his expression was gone. Now, his eyes were unguarded and the helplessness there unsettled me.
“I’m sorry,” he said before I got the chance to say anything.
Hold up. Duncan was apologizing. Again.
“It’s okay,” I said, placing my hand on his arm. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“I can’t,” he said, retreating enough to step out of my reach. The action stung a little. I did my best to ignore it.
“I know that doesn’t seem like enough of an explanation. I know you want more, but I can’t give it.” His eyes kept apologizing to me. They pleaded with me to let this go. To understand.
How could I possibly understand? All I knew was that it was something that had completely unanchored him.
“Will you tell me later?” I asked.
Maybe he just needed some more time to process or something.
The question struck him. Pain cleared his gaze of every other emotion except for the difficulty eating at him. What had him so torn up about this?
“I—I don’t know.” He lowered his head and stuffed his hands in his pockets. Seconds later, he lifted his head only enough to peer up at me through his dark eyes. “I can tell you something else, though. Anything else. Ask me anything. Just not that.”
I gazed up at the house I’d loved so much, a house that would always strike me for different reasons from this moment on. Now, every time I saw it, I would rememberthis, this turmoil,and the time I’d seen my stern, gruff boss looking as though he’d lost the reason to live.
Was Eudora in there? I pictured her standing near the window, looking out, watching us and wondering why we were still out here.
