Page 60 of Life and Death
“Right,” I said. “Do you ever consider answering any of my questions, or is that not even on the table?”
“It depends on the question.”
“So tell me one I’m allowed to ask.”
She was still thinking about that when the waiter came around the partition with my food. I realized we’d been unconsciously leaning toward each other across the table, because we both straightened up as he approached. He set the dish in front of me—it looked pretty good—and turned quickly to Edythe.
“Did you change your mind?” he asked. “Isn’t there anything I can get you?” I didn’t think I was imagining the double meaning in his offer.
“Some more soda would be nice,” she said, gesturing to the empty glasses without looking away from me.
The waiter stared at me now, and I could tell he was wondering why someone like Edythe would be looking at someone like me that way. Well, it was a mystery to me, too.
He grabbed the glasses and stalked off.
“I imagine you have a lot of questions for me,” Edythe murmured.
“Just a couple thousand,” I said.
“I’m sure. . . . Can I ask you one first? Is that unfair?”
Did that mean she was going to answer mine? I nodded eagerly. “What do you want to know?”
She stared down at the table now, her eyes hidden under her black lashes. Her hair fell forward, shielding more of her face.
The words weren’t much more than a whisper. “We spoke before, about how you were . . . trying to figure out what I am. I was just wondering if you’d made any more progress with that.”
I didn’t answer, and finally she looked up. I was glad for the scarf again, though it couldn’t hide the red I could feel creeping up into my face now.
What could I say? Had I made progress? Or just stumbled into another theory even more stupid than radioactive spiders? How could I say that word out loud, the one I’d been trying not to think all night?
I don’t know what my face must have looked like, but her expression suddenly softened.
“It’s that bad, then?” she asked.
“Can I—can we not talk about it here?” I glanced at the thin partition that separated us from the rest of the restaurant.
“Very bad,” she murmured, half to herself. There was something very sad and . . . almostoldabout her eyes. Tired, defeated. It hurt me in a strange way to see her unhappy.
“Well,” I said, trying to make my voice lighter. “Actually, if I answer your question first, I know you won’t answer mine. You never do. So . . . you first.”
Her face relaxed. “An exchange, then?”
“Yes.”
The waiter returned with the Cokes. He set them on the table without a word this time and disappeared. I wondered if he could feel the tension as strongly as I could.
“I suppose we can try that,” Edythe murmured. “But no promises.”
“Okay. . . .” I started with the easy one. “So what brings you to Port Angeles tonight?”
She looked down, folding her hands carefully on the empty table in front of her. She glanced up at me from under the thick lashes, and there was a hint of a smile on her face.
“Next,” she said.
“But that’s the easiest one!”
She shrugged. “Next?”
