“No one ever comes just to say hi,” Lana said. She pulled a pack of cigarettes from her bathrobe pocket and lit one expertly. She inhaled deeply.
She noticed his disapproving look. “Like any of us are going to live long enough to get cancer,” she said.
Sam said nothing, but the disapproval was gone.
Lana looked at him through a cloud of smoke. “You look tired, Sam. Are you getting enough to eat?”
“Well, you really can’t get enough boiled mystery fish and grilled raccoon,” Sam said.
Lana laughed. Then she sobered. “I had some venison last week. Hunter brought it to me. He wondered if I could cure him.”
“Did you?”
“I tried. I don’t think I helped much. Brain damage. I guess it’s more complicated than a broken arm or a bullet hole.”
“Are you doing okay?” Sam asked.
Lana fidgeted and began stroking Patrick’s neck. “Honestly? And you don’t talk to Astrid about it so she comes rushing over here trying to help?”
“Between you and me.”
“Okay. Then, no, I guess I’m not doing okay. Nightmares. Memories. It’s hard to tell which is which, really.”
“Maybe you should try going out more,” Sam said.
“But none of that is happening to you, right? Nightmares and all?”
He didn’t answer, just dropped his head and looked down at the floor.
“Yeah,” she said.
Lana stood up abruptly and went to the balcony door. She stood there, arms crossed over her chest, cigarette burning forgotten in her hand. “I can’t seem to stand being around people. I get madder and madder. It’s not like they’re doing anything to me, but the more they talk or look at me or just stand there, the angrier I get.”
“Been there,” he said. “Still am there, I guess.”
“See, you’re different, Sam.”
“I don’t make you angry?”
She laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Yeah, actually you do. I’m standing here right now and a part of me wants to grab anything I can put my hands on and smash it against your head.”
Sam got up and went to her. He stood just behind her. “You can punch me, if it helps.”
“Quinn used to come see me,” Lana said, as though she hadn’t heard him. “Then he dropped a glass and I…I almost killed him. Did he tell you? I grabbed the gun and I had it pointed right at his face, Sam. And I really, really wanted to pull the trigger.”
“You didn’t, though.”
“I shot Edilio,” Lana said, still looking down toward the water.
“That wasn’t you,” he said.
Lana said nothing, and Sam let the silence stretch. Finally, she said, “I thought maybe Quinn and I…But I guess that was enough for him to decide to move on.”
“Quinn is working a lot,” Sam said, sounding lame. “He’s out there at, like, four in the morning, every day.”
She slid open the balcony door and flicked the cigarette butt over the rail. “Why did you come, Sam?”
“I have to ask you something, Lana. Something’s going on with Orsay.”