Page 113 of Absolution

“The perfect eggnog. And not only that, but the fire, the blanket, the weather. Perfect conditions.”

I eye him suspiciously. “For what?”

“For a moment of real peace.”

I’m quiet. I’m bad at that. At taking it easy. I rush from this to that, avoiding time for thought, time for reflection. It’s a habit I’ve perfected over the years. I had no idea he did things like this. I wonder what he and Cece do when they’re alone. Suddenly, I’m jealous. They have something I don’t take part in. I take a larger sip and enjoy how it warms my chest. This is nice.

“Are you all right now, Christian?”

He glances at me and smiles. “Sure I am.”

“What happened out there? You were exhausted. I’ve never seen you like that.”

“I was.”

“Why? What had you been doing?”

“Nothing.”

“You said—”

“Nothing now. It happened a year ago to be precise.”

Canada. “I think you need to explain that.”

He drinks from his glass and licks his lips before he continues. I force myself not to get lost in the sight of the wet trail on his lips.

“After I’d been in the river, I developed a pneumonia that almost killed me. I was slipping in and out of consciousness. I don’t remember much of it, just… that I couldn’t get enough air.”

“I had pneumonia too.”

“Yeah, but you were treated in a hospital, with antibiotics.” He doesn’t care to hide the bitterness in his voice.

“So…”

“When I finally got care a lot of the damage had already been done. I live at half capacity at most. My lungs are badly scarred. I’ll never run a marathon again.”

“You’ve run a marathon?”

He is quiet.

“Are you ever gonna tell me more about yourself?”

“I just did,” he answers softly.

“Did you run a marathon?”

He smiles and suddenly the heat from the fire seems hotter on my cheeks than a moment ago. “Yes.”

“Wow,” I say as I wave my hand in front of my face, trying to cool myself off. “That’s impressive.”

“Yeah, it is. It was exhausting. But fun.”

I sit and contemplate that for a few moments, taking another sip from the creamy yellow liquid. I’ve never thought he had an actual life outside of the killing business, and it hits me hard how little I know about him. How is it that I feel like I know him so well? I know how he reacts to things, what makes him smile and—God, yes—what makes him angry, what triggers him, his preferences in bed... I have no idea, though, what has shaped him, what made him into the Christian I met a little more than three years ago. For the first time I realize I want to know.

“Huh,” I say, and take another swallow. The bourbon burns in my chest and makes my heart beat faster. I sink deeper into the chair and close my eyes, listening to the wind that pulls and tears at the old house. I jerk as he suddenly speaks.

“What? A little more information than you wished for?”

I open one eye and peek at him, finding him grinning. “Oh, no, no. I’m sorry. I got lost in thought.”

“You want pajamas to go with that toothbrush?”

“Yes, please.”

“Sure. I’ll get you something. If you tell me what you were thinking.”

I regard him. “How very you. There’re always terms.”

He spreads his hands. “I’d be helpless without them.”

---