Page 105 of Heartbeat

“I dunno.” I shrugged.

“Thomas, I read the police report.”

“Then, you know.”

She simply looked at me and took a long drag, letting the smoke out through her nostrils and moving her thumb around the bottom of the filter as she waited for a better answer.

“It says I was in the water for two hours,” I told her.

“And how long did you actually remain inside the lake?”

“Five.”

“You were in shock when they found you, correct?”

“Uh-huh.” I nodded.

“Did they ask you what had happened?”

“They’d spoken to Emma and Summer. They knew.”

She took another drag and stared.

“Yes. They asked,” I said, squeezing the pack of Marlboro’s in my hand.

I’d never wanted a cigarette so bad in my life, but I kept feeling as though that was what she was waiting for (aside from me breaking down). That moment in which I would cave and get so uncomfortable by one of her questions that I couldn’t help but smoke. So, naturally, I fought the urge with all my might.

“Did you cry?” She tilted her head a bit.

“What?”

“Did you cry? When you recounted what had happened.”

“Um…I—I dunno.” I broke eye contact for the first time as I let my eyes wander, trying to remember. “No, I don’t think so,” I eventually said as I resumed staring back at her.

“What about when they found his body?”

“No.”

“At the funeral?”

I shook my head.

“When you used the razor?”

“You know I didn’t.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Why didn’t you?”

I shrugged.

“Didn’t you find it sad?”

I didn’t answer.

“When did you cry?” she asked, casually flicking ash into the crystal ashtray on the coffee table between us. “For the last time, not counting the hospital?”

“I don’t know,” I lied.

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