"It's not productive."
I took the pen and pad from his hands, and set them on my lap. "You don't need to be productive for the next thirty seconds. Tell me how you feel."
Panic sparked in his eyes, sheer and wild panic, and I was about to give back his pen and paper, return his security blankets, and let him do whatever he needed to get past this. But then he blurted, "It feels like punishment. My life is almost--It's everything I wanted and more, and this feels like punishment. Like someone is saying I don't deserve this, certainly don't deserve more, and..." A shake of his head. "I'm babbling."
"You're allowed to."
"When clients whine that the charges against them aren't fair, I lose patience. The charges are a problem, which we must focus on fixing. Complaining about the unfairness of it is counterproductive."
"There's nothing wrong with taking a moment to whine before you focus on the problem."
"When Rose said she'd handle it, I was glad. I wanted that. I wanted to just say yes, please, do that. And it felt like cowardice."
I reached to take his hand and then stopped, remembering what had happened in the fun house. But he looked over, meeting my gaze, and then took my hand, firmly and deliberately, wrapping his fingers around it as he said, "It's all right."
He didn't mean it was all right to hold his hand. He meant that whatever I saw--whatever memories this might drag back to the surface--that was all right.
He leaned over, his lips going to my ear as he said, "Thank you. For everything." He shifted until his face was right in front of mine and again said, "Thank you, Olivia."
I moved to kiss him, just kiss him, don't think about it, can't think about it, brush my lips against his. If it was quick, I could say it was nothing, just a peck between friends. I leaned in, and he moved forward and--
The gate squealed open. Gabriel only eased back and let out a low growl of annoyance.
"Yes, Ida," he said. "We've returned. However--"
He stopped, and I looked over to see the woman from this morning.
Gabriel's lips parted. "Sea--"
He stopped himself. But I knew. Seeing his expression, I knew.
"Oh, am I interrupting something?" She looked up at the house. "I'm guessing this is your place, Eden?"
"Her name is Olivia."
Seanna continued as if he hadn't spoken. "I remember this house from when I was a kid. We'd dare each other to sneak back here, with all the weird statues." She glanced toward the pond, surrounded by fae and cryptid statuary. "Huh, they're still here. Nice."
Her nose wrinkled, like a sullen teenager's, making sure everyone knew she was not impressed.
"They used to call it the witch's house," she said as she walked toward us. "Kids said Old Lady Carew's ghost still haunted it, and if you saw her, she'd burn your eyes out. They'd dare each other five bucks to come back. I made a lot of money off those morons. Never saw a ghost, though. Old Lady Carew wasn't a witch. Just a crazy old bat muttering and ranting about omens and portents." She looked at me. "You're a Carew, right, Eden?"
"I am," I said evenly.
"So she's a relative of yours. Did you buy the place for sentimental value? Or because you belong here, in your crazy relative's house?"
I laughed. I couldn't help it. Gabriel glanced over, alarmed.
"Seriously, Seanna?" I said. "Is that the best you can do? Try again."
She slowed her approach.
"No, really," I said. "Give me a real zinger. You can do it."
Her mouth set in a way that reminded me of her son's...and yet it didn't. Gabriel's lips would compress only for a moment, an involuntary show of emotion. Hers stayed pressed together until she was scowling.
Gabriel had suggested Seanna wasn't the brightest bulb. That hers was only a feral intelligence--the Walsh survival instinct cranked to eleven. I saw the truth of that as her scowl deepened.
After a moment, she said, "So how are your parents, Eden? Rotting away in prison for butchering eight people?"