I couldn’t quite figure out if Bryant was despicable or just pitiful. “So, you’re
worried that the truth about his mother’s death might set him off again?”
“Yeah.” Gary nodded, “The psychiatrist suggested we take it slow and wait
until Mr. Bryant’s feeling a bit better.”
“Okay.” My response was flat, devoid of any emotion.
I’d rather not deal with the Ferguson family’s drama anymore if it weren’t for
Timothy’s dying wish. But then, getting home and thinking about Bryant’s
plight stirred a faint sense of pity in me. That quickly evaporated, however, the
moment I remembered how he yelled at me in the hospital room. That scant
pity vanished without a trace.
I suddenly found myself loathing my inability to be more decisive, hating that I
couldn’t plan things better.
While I was lying on the couch, zoning out in sheer boredom, Christine
suddenly popped by.
I opened the door. “Why didn’t you just use your fingerprint to come in?”
“Didn’t want to walk in on something I shouldn’t see.” Christine sauntered in,
her hips swaying, kicked off her heels, and slipped into her house slippers,
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glancing at me. “Why the long face?”
“Thought I was striking the snake at its head today.” I tossed her a juice
before sinking back into the couch, laughing at myself. “It turned out that I just
startled the snake instead.”
“You’re quite the poet today.” Christine unscrewed the bottle, moving closer
with a smirk, “Too bad I’m lost. Can you spell it out for me?”
“Margaret’s mother, Teresa, woke up today.” I sighed, “I had the evidence that
Teresa was behind Bryant’s mother’s death and was ready to have Margaret
shipped off.”
“But alas, no dice.” I shared the whole story with Christine in brief.
“Great, the little bitch stays, and now, we’ve got an old one.” Christine rolled
her eyes and sipped her juice. “But Bryant not trusting you? Not surprised.”
I was curious. “Why not?”
“When has he ever trusted you?”
Usually, she’d have gone on a rant about Margaret’s family tree by then. But
today, she was oddly subdued.
I stood up to look at her and saw her eyes were all red. “What’s up? You look
like you’re gonna burst into tears.”
She didn’t hide anything, admitting, “Steven’s getting engaged.”
“Yeah!” Christine nodded vigorously, wiping her tears haphazardly, and
perked up, “Jane, let’s go have a drink, yeah?”
“Sure.” I had nothing better to do anyway.
Christine drove us to a bar she frequented, the early evening lights casting a
warm glow on the chilly early winter streets.
“Stop the car!” I suddenly spoke as we neared the bar, passing a five-star
hotel.
Christine slowed down, pulling over. “What’s up?”
“Those two…” I stared at a man and a woman who had been cozy at the hotel
entrance and were walking inside arm in arm. “They look like Albert and
Margaret!”