Page 68 of Their Will be Done

This is a new record for me. The most I ever puked was that time Mrs. Brady undercooked the hot dogs at the church fete for handicapped people back when I was sixteen.

I half-expect Gabriel to come inside and hold back my hair like Reuben did.

But he doesn’t.

I spend a few minutes making sure there’s nothing left to come out, and then a minute more splashing cold water on my face.

Unfortunately, the purge did nothing to sober me up. I stumble out of the bathroom and have to hold onto the wall as I study the back of Gabriel’s head.

He’s at the window, staring into the darkness.

He turns his head a little, but then straightens again. “Do you need me to help you back to your room?”

My spine stiffens.

We need your help.

“No,” I say icily, crossing my arms over my chest despite how that makes me sway. “I’m p’fectly fine.”

Besides the slurring, of course.

“I like to think I’m blameless, child.”

It takes me a second to focus on him. “Wha’?”

He sighs, closes the window and turns to face me. There’s a cigarette in his hand, and he drags at it till the coal glows red as Satan’s horns.

“You asked if your parents were good people. And they are, Trinity. Truly…they are.”

He walks up to me, a sad smile on his face. “But they’re not blameless, and neither am I.”

His hand is on my shoulder. I don’t like it there, but I don’t want him to stop talking. “What are you sayin’?”

He takes another long drag at his cigarette. Although he ducks his head to blow out the smoke, it piles up between us and still hits my nose. “Why did you go through my things?”

My eyes widen. “I didn’t. I promise.”

He looks to the side, drawing my gaze with his.

The bag I’d shoved under the bed is on top of the mattress, contents spilled out. The laptop is open. Even from here, I can see the email program is open.

It didn’t shut down properly.

He knows I read the email.

But is thatallhe knows?

“I’m so sorry.” I press my hands to my face, trying to hide behind my fingers.

“Shh,” he murmurs.

An arm slides around my shoulder and draws me close.

I shudder against him, my hands still covering my face. “I’m sorry.”

“I understand. I left before I could answer your questions.”

He strokes my head and for some reason that’s all it takes for me to surrender. That, and the half a bottle of wine I’d guzzled before he got back.

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