Page 115 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
“I think,” Soren says now, “I could go the rest of my life without hearing the wordmurderand be very happy.”
“Agreed. Let’s talk about something else for a while,” I say, shoving the last bite of scone in my mouth.
“Just—one last thing,” he says.
I nod, raising one brow at him.
He takes a deep breath. “Remember the little green book that was on Carmina’s bookshelf?”
It takes me a second to place what he’s talking about. “Oh,” I say when it clicks. “Yes. I remember.”
“Well…” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I kind of…took it.”
“You what?” I say.
“Yeah,” he says. “I took it. I probably shouldn’t have,” he goes on, “but you were right; it was a journal. I guess I just…wanted to know more about her life and her thoughts. I grabbed it in all the commotion of the police and the ambulance.” He watches me for a second, and I can tell he’s feeling me out, seeing how I’ll react to this news. When I don’t say anything, he speaks again. “I was going to read through it soon. This weekend, probably. If you want to join me.”
I don’t have to think about it for very long. “Yeah,” I say. “I do.” Because I feel the same pull—to learn more about Carmina. To remember her—and then to put this whole thing to rest. “This weekend sounds good.”
“Great,” he says. “Also. Want to date me?”
“I’m already dating you,” I say with a little smile as I chew.
“Want to date me some more?”
“Yes,” I say as my smile grows. “What did you have in mind?”
“Hot springs,” he murmurs, weaving his fingers through mine. His eyes sparkle. “Just you and me this time.”
I nod, ducking my head to hide the blush blooming in my cheeks. “Let’s do that this weekend, too.” Then I stand up, pulling my hand away from his. “I need to get back to work,” I say. “Wait for me?”
“Always,” he says.
I think I might just take him up on that.
30
FROM THE DIARY OF CARMINA HILDEGARDE
August 5
I don’t understand how I could have birthed such an idiot.
I’ve certainly never been as gormless as my offspring, and my darling Errol was nothing short of perfect in every way. But we did something wrong with that boy.
He’s forgotten my birthday again.
It’s days like this that I miss Errol more than ever. He would know just what to say if he were still here; he would know just how to make this day special.
I did buy myself a muffin this morning from the little café in the town square, though I do that most days. That horrid blond man was there, the one with the unseemly hair, and he took the seat closest to the restroom again. My bladder isn’t quite what it used to be. I like to stay close to the ladies’ room when I go out. Perhaps I’ll try to go earlier next time.
I suppose it doesn’t matter how this day turns out; not really. I don’t imagine I’ll live much longer anyway—not with the way I’m getting on in years. But I did make a lovely birthday meal for Philip and Elsie and I to eat together, and they forgot that they’d promised. So I ate by myself and left the dishes for them.
I’m not sorry.
I think I’ll take a bit of a birthday nap.
October16
