I kept my eyes on the television.
“She asks about everybody.”
“No, she doesn’t.”
I reached for my beer.
Daniel looked at me.
“You two talked a lot that night, huh?”
“Your dad had just blown up her life.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
My stomach tightened.
I turned toward him.
“What are you asking?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then figure it out before you say something you can’t take back.”
He stared at me.
Then shook his head.
“Forget it.”
But I couldn’t.
Three days later, Karen texted.
Coffee?
I stared at the message for five full minutes.
Then typed:
Sure.
We met at a café downtown in broad daylight.
Public.
Safe.
Karen looked different.
Her hair was shorter.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to make her seem like she had chosen something for herself.
“You cut your hair.”
“Excellent detective work.”
“I’m known for it.”
