“You want a drink?” I ask Seri. “I’m getting myself a whiskey.”
“Yeah, maybe.”
I get up and pour two glasses of Jameson. As I sit back down and hand Seri her glass, Solo crawls up and pokes his nose into mine. He scrunches up his nose and cringes at the smell. I push him away a bit before I light a cigarette and blow the smoke toward the fire. I offer the pack to Seri, but she shakes her head.
“I don’t smoke,” she says.
Seri takes a sip from her glass, and her expression mimics the kitten’s. I try not to laugh. She looks at me sideways, scowling, but then grins.
“I’m a little more accustomed to wine,” she says.
“Sorry. I only have the whiskey.”
“It’s all right.” She takes another tentative sip before she continues.
“My parents never got over the whole ordeal. The police were sure they knew who did it, but they didn’t have any actual evidence. They only had the word of a junkie prostitute who said she saw Iris leave with these two guys the night she disappeared.”
“I suppose it’s a lot easier when you find someone standing over the body with the murder weapon in his hands.” My own words cause a shiver to run down my spine.
“I don’t think that happens too often.”
“Sometimes it does.”
“You didn’t even try to clean anything up, Bishop. You were still holding the axe when the police arrived. You didn’t deny anything. There were no signs of anyone else being in the house, and you were covered in his blood.”
“So, you’re my lawyer. What do I do?”
“Take the deal. It’s the only way you’re ever going to see the light of day again.”
Seri looks over at me with narrowed eyes, but I don’t meet her gaze. If I look at her, she’ll know. She’ll be able to stare into my eyes and know I’m a murderer. She’ll start yelling again, probably screaming loud enough that people in Whatì will hear her.
She turns away from me as Solo crawls into her lap and attacks her shirtsleeve. She plays with him briefly before he gets bored of her and runs off to attack a bit of fluff on the floor.
“I shouldn’t have told you any of this,” she says.
“Why didn’t you tell me the truth in the first place?” I ask. “It’s not like I’m going to tell anyone.”
“I don’t know why I lie about it,” she says softly. “Habit, I guess. I don’t want to think of her as a druggie or a lowlife. I don’t want other people to see her that way. She got caught up with the wrong crowd. That’s all. She was my big sister, and I loved her.”
“‘You can’t help who you love.’” The words are ones Margot spoke regularly. To her, that single phrase answered all questions.
“She took care of me.” Seri sniffs, nods, and wipes her eyes. “We took care of each other. I miss her.”
Without warning, Seri leans over and lays her head on my shoulder. I stiffen, not sure how I’m supposed to respond to the sudden, intimate contact. When Margot was upset about something, I just gave her space until she was feeling better, and she seemed to appreciate that. This is new territory for me, and I don’t know what to make of it. Should I put my arm around her shoulder, pat her head, and say, “There, there”? Should I wait for her to do something else? What am I going to do if she grabs my dick again?
I’m clueless.
Before I can sort out what I should do next, Seri starts in with more questions about me.
“Do you have any siblings?” she asks.
“No.” I reach forward to grab my glass from the floor, careful not to move my right shoulder too much and disturb Seri. “I was an only child. My mother was pregnant when I was about five, but she had a miscarriage. After that, she wasn’t able to have any more kids.”
“Oh. That’s sad.”
“Probably for the best,” I mumble but then regret saying anything at all and quickly change the subject. “It sounds like you have a lot of good memories about your sister.”
“I do.” Seri smiles slightly as she stares at the fire. “We were close enough in age that we did a lot together. She would always take me sledding when it snowed—there was a big hill just a block away from our house—and we’d come home freezing and soaking wet. Mom would make us hot chocolate.”