Page 13 of The Hangman's Rope
I jumped, and looked up at Lorelai, leaning heavily against the wall in the shadow of the hallway, just outside the pool of golden light cast by the floor lamp in the corner that I just about always left on.
“Yeah,” I said gruffly, clearing my throat. “I’m fine.”
“You looked like you were going to be sick. Are you sure?”
I cleared my throat again and rubbed my sweating palms dry over the thighs and knees of my jeans.
“I’m sure,” I said.
We were silent for a time, just staring in one another’s direction.
“What happens now?” she asked quietly, as though she were afraid to ask.
I heaved a sigh and said, “Your guess is as good as mine, Sweetpea. Your guess is as good as mine.”
Chapter Six
Lorelai…
I felt my expression soften as the memory reached out of the dark to caress the inside of my skull with the sensation of fondness.
“I think my granddad used to call me that,” I said, and Hangman looked surprised.
He grunted and shifted a little awkwardly in his seat and gruffly said, “Sorry.”
I shook my head. “Don’t be,” I said. “It didn’t hurt my feelings. I think he’s gone now, but I kind of liked it. It brought back a good memory. You know? Anything that brings back a memory is a good thing right now, I guess.”
“Be careful what you wish for,” he cautioned and I smiled, a wan, brittle thing.
“The doctor was straight with me,” I said. “Gentle, like you’ve been, but straight with me.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.
I swallowed hard and said with a shrug, “That I was probably…” I groped in my muddled brain for a word that fit the description without being too overtly ugly. “Attacked.”
He stared at me and nodded slowly and I felt my brittle smile return as I forced it back onto my lips.
“She said I might never really remember what happened. That if it’s that new drug or whatever. That girls rarely do. I don’t think I would mind not knowing that part, if it happened or whatever. I definitely will mind if none of the rest of it comes back. She said only time would tell on that.” I wrung my hands for lack of anything to really do with them and shrugged my shoulders.
“Doc said you should rest. You tired?”
“Hungry,” I said. “And yes, tired too.”
He got up and I jumped, which made him immediately still, a hand out in my direction like he was trying to soothe a frightened animal.
“Whoa, hey, I told you – you’re all good. Come have a seat and get comfortable. I’ll make us a couple of sandwiches or something.”
I nodded and edged into the living room. He gave me a wide berth and we sort of did this carefully spaced choreographed dance around one another. I took his place on the couch, far back, tucking myself into the corner against the arm, the room out in front of me, the windows at my back, the night pressing against the glass from the other side.
“Don’t suppose you know if you’re allergic to anything?” he asked.
I shook my head. “Honestly, not that I know of,” I said. I frowned slightly and said, “Actually, I think that is one thing Idoknow, and no, I’m not allergic to anything. I’m fairly confident about that.”
“Anything you don’t like?” he asked, searching my face and I stared back.
“The taste of green peppers and the texture of peas…” I said, and my smile when it came was a little more hopeful and a little less brittle.
“Good, that’s good,” he said.
