Page 36 of Cut Off from Sky and Earth
I don’t talk about this with strangers—or anyone really, aside from Dr. Wilde. But if it gets me inside her warm house, I’ll tell her.
I let out a long breath. “Ever since my roommate was murdered. She was stabbed to death during a bad storm, and I found her body. I’m going to have a panic attack if you don’t let me in.” My voice breaks on a sob.
Alex’s face pales, and her eyes go wide. “Your roommate was stabbed to death.”
I nod, swallow, unable to speak and I see her face shift. Her expression is more than pity, but I can’t place it.
She shakes her head as if she can’t believe what she’s about to say and steps back, gesturing for me to enter. “Come on in.”
She closes the door against the storm and my shoulders sag with relief.
Twenty-One
Alex
* * *
Emily sheds her layers. Off comes the scarf, hat, gloves, heavy coat, and not one but two sweaters. She sits on the bench along the wall to unlace her shoes and looks up at me.
“Thank you.” Her voice is soft.
I don’t respond. I let her in, not out of sympathy, but out of surprise and curiosity. It can’t be a coincidence that Tristan’s wife’s roommate was stabbed to death. I want to know the details. And Emily isn’t lying about her mental state. I can see she’s teetering on the very edge of a full-blown panic attack, which won’t do either of us any good.
So I make myself smile. “Well, I can’t resist homemade lasagna.”
She manages a giggle. It sounds forced, but I’ll take what I can get.
“Don’t forget the wine.”
I’m about to say I don’t think it’s a good idea to drink alcohol in her condition, but I stop myself. One, I’m not this woman’s mother, and two, the wine might loosen her tongue and lower her inhibitions. And what I need from Emily is information, as much information as I can glean.
“Why don’t we have a glass before we eat?” I suggest instead. “I’ll uncork it while you warm up by the fire.”
I hold out my hand. She grabs the bottle by its neck and passes it to me, then pads in her socks to the couch near the fire.
As I head into the kitchen to look for the corkscrew, I glance back to see Emily beginning to wrap herself in the blanket I used for my nap. Then she sniffs it and frowns.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
“Oh, um, yeah,” she answers, but she neatly folds the blanket and places it on the far end of the couch.
“You’re welcome to use that.”
“No, that’s okay. I have an aversion to the scent of sandalwood. It’s a long story.”
I shrug then continue into the kitchen. I uncork the wine and grab two glasses from the shelf. “There are more blankets in the chest by the window. Help yourself,” I call over my shoulder as I pour two generous servings of the red wine.
When I join her in the living room, She’s wrapped up in a quilt I bought at a farmer’s market down in the valley. I pass her a glass.
“Thanks.” She takes it with a small smile.
“To homemade lasagna?” I propose with false cheer.
We clink our glasses together and I sit in the rocking chair across from her. For a while, we sip in silence. The storm howls. She watches the flames flicker and dance in the fireplace. I watch her face.
I want to make sure she’s calmed down before I bring up the stabbing. She has, so I take a drink and say, “I’m sorry about your roommate.”
She snaps her eyes toward me in surprise, almost as if she forgot she told me.
