Page 26 of Night So Silent
“Why would you not have a job?”
“My fucking asshole of a boss—damnit.” She lets out a huff. “My boss is incompetent and gaslighting me like he didn’t know anything about this trip and wants to have a meeting when I return where he’s probably going to reprimand me just so he can save face. And I can’t even stop cursing as part of this New Year’s resolution, so I should probably just forget it. So anyway, to answer your question, as a trauma therapist, I have to be numb tosomedegree in order to be effective.”
I square my shoulders and rest my elbows on the edge of the table. “Are you numb right now?”
Barrett takes a deep breath, but says nothing. And she stays like that for a solid two minutes.
“No, I’m not,” she finally says, this time in a much softer tone. “But part of me wants to be.”
“Why?”
More silence as she moves more pieces across the chess board.
“Because, at some point, Idohave to leave here. I want to get home to my family for Christmas. I’ve never missed Christmas. But I already miss Brett, and I don’t need another reason to be depressed about leaving.”
“Why would you be depressed?”
Barrett continues staring at the board, as if concentrating on her next move. But so am I. And when she finally moves her next piece, I move to rise. As soon as she takes her hand off her knight, I reach down and take her queen.
“Checkmate.” I look down at her with amusement, not even trying to hide the condescension. “You talk for a living, but you can barely speak now.”
She snaps her head up, her eyes turning as dark as the storm clouds looming outside.
“Well, I’m sure you’ll be glad when I’m no longer inconveniencing you.”
I glance out the window, shaking my head with nonchalance. “No.”
“No?” she challenges. “So, this is a normal thing for you? You often bring women up here in snowstorms?”
I step around the table and stroll toward the kitchen, glancing over my shoulder as I go. “Never.”
“Never?” she calls after me.
I slow my pace, coming to a halt at the countertop. Then I turn around, crossing my arms.
“No.” I reply. “I like my space.”
“But I'm in your space.”
“I like you, too.”
It seems to catch her off-guard, though she tries hard to hide it.
“Even so,” I continue, “I'm used to long winters with no one to talk to.Verylong winters. I love the silence. And it seems like you do, too.”
And, with that, I turn and continue to the kitchen where I start preparing a couple of Chai lattes for each of us, which Barrett will gladly drink without protest. She is like a roadmap that I’m reading in real-time, figuring out the best path to where I need to go. And it can’t be rushed. She doesn’t know it yet, but the destination is already set and I don’t divulge my next move.
Especially when it counts.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Four Days Until Christmas
Barrett
I don't want to tell him.
I don't even want to admit it, this ridiculous thought that's been creeping around in the back of my mind since Sergei Mikhailov sat down next to me on Brett and Colson's sofa. And it only intensified when I met his black cat after taking refuge from the snowstorm in his house.
