“The other night.” I sip my scotch. “Was unexpected.”
“I’d agree with that.”
“But not entirely unpleasant.”
“Not entirely.” He smiles and sips his drink; then he points to his plate. “You want a bite of this? It’s incredible.”
My stomach growls, and I nod. Grant hands me his fork.
I take a bite, and it feels as if someone has wrapped their arms around me and hugged me. “Damn,” I say.
“Right?” Grant says.
I eat several more bites, and this urge comes over me to finish all of it. I have to stop myself. Old habits are knocking. But I tell my body it needs this food. I’m going to need fuel to get through everything that is happening.
“Do you think Johnny would talk to me again?” I say, handing the fork back to Grant.
He takes a bite and swallows. “Probably.”
“When?”
“Maybe at the hotel before I check out.”
I shake my head. “Too much press there.”
“Maybe the bed-and-breakfast in Natchitoches where I’m headed next.”
The fact he’s opted for a bed-and-breakfast makes me like him even more. Something about it hits different. I’m used to men who want to flaunt their wealth with fancy hotel suites. They would turn their noses up at a small-town bed-and-breakfast.
“Sounds good,” I say.
I rub my hands together. The shaking has stopped, but the pit in my stomach has expanded. Erin would not be pleased if she knew I was setting something up with Johnny. I need to include her. She’s included me.
“Would Johnny be willing to meet with my colleague as well?”
Grant shakes his head. “Let’s not push it. One reporter at a time.”
“I won’t be talking to him as a reporter,” I say.
Grant takes another bite. “That’s good. He doesn’t need to be grilled.” He sips his drink. “Promise me.”
“I promise.”
And it will be an easy promise to keep. I don’t want to talk to him for a story or an award; the next conversation I have with him will be for me. And for the man sitting at the kitchen table downstairs.
I scan the papers on the floor. “I buried Poison Wood,” I say after another sip. “I buried it deep inside of me. I didn’t want to think about it, any of it. I really didn’t want to think about Heather.” Grant is watching me closely. I know he’s wondering where I’m going. Thing is, I don’t even know where I’m going. I feel like I’m on that windy path to the graveyard behind Poison Wood with confusing switchbacks and forks and dead ends. “Do you know what it’s like to just want to pretend everything is fine?”
Grant sets his drink down. “Yeah. I know exactly what that’s like.”
I study his face, his eyes, and I see what I saw in him at the bar at the Kingston. An understanding.
“Who’d you lose?” I say.
He exhales. “My dad.” He sighs. “He and my mom divorced when I was kid. He was in and out of jail for years. His last stint, though, was the longest, and when he was released, he was never the same. He couldn’t acclimate. It was like he wanted to go back to prison. After he died, I swore to myself I was going to help people.”
“I understand.”
He touches my hand. “Who’d you lose?”
