Page 100 of Hunt for You

This strange, double-sided man stared at me for a few seconds, then his eyes narrowed and his entire bodyquiveredwith rage. “Is that true?”

Welp. “I mean, there’s people who get paid to care. And they’re diligent. They’d notice if I was gone. But the biggest gap I’d leave would be in their calendars. And there’s a few people who’d show up at my funeral. But their lives wouldn’t miss a beat. I don’t have family. I don’treallyhave friends. Not the kind that fly in when you’re in the hospital, or whatever.”

I shrugged, feeling uncomfortable because his eyes were very intense, and he looked like he might launch out of that chair and come to me, which I definitely didn’t want. I never wanted to be touched after I talked about my dad, or any of that shit.

“You aren’t a hugger, are you?” I asked him warily when he didn’t speak. I was also struggling with his fuckingsilence.

“I can be,” he said, but his voice was dark, flat.

“No, no, that’s not… I mean, you’re good. You just looked like… like you were about to move.”

Sam’s jaw rolled and he clawed a hand through his hair. “Seems like maybe you’ve needed more people to move faster for you your whole life.”

I had to fight not to roll my eyes. But he kept going.

“So, did that step-uncle or whatever he was ever get convicted?”

“No. First I took his girlfriend, and then her money. Worst punishment for both of them.”

Sam’s eyes went flat. “Debatable,” he muttered. “Are you still in touch with your aunt?”

Ugh. “Only once a year. She’s the executor of my parents' estate. She can’t touch the money anymore—that’s mine until Idie—but that bitch knows she gets the money if I go, so she has to have proof of life every year.”

“Proof of life?”

“Yeah, she legally has to have proof that I still breathe. So every January she flies into the airport, I drive there and walk past her, flip her the bird, then walk away. It’s a very sweet reunion.”

“That’s fucked up.”

I spluttered. “Don’t you have to do a hail mary now, or something?”

“Not a priest, remember?”

“So you’re allowed to sayfuck?”

“I’m not supposed to,” he muttered, grimacing and looking away from me like he was mad at himself. “I told you, I’m not good at normal people.”

“That’s okay, I’m not normal.”

He looked back at me and there was something in his eyes that made my belly-button flutter. For a moment we just stared at each other.

Then I realized I wasn’t pacing, that I’d just been standing there while we were talking for the past little while, and that was weird. Especially because I didn’t feel like I was caged anymore. Didn’t feel like Ineededto move, which is how I usually felt after these conversations. Even ones that weren’t as revealing as this. Usually I couldn’t sit still forhoursafterwards.

“Bridget?”

“Yeah?” I bit my lip nervously and his eyes cut to that, then back up to mine.

“That whole story… that really sucks. Like… I can’t believe you’re still here. So… well done.”

My head jerked back. No one had evercomplimentedme about that story before. I snorted, because I didn’t know what else to do. “You’re right. You don’t do normal well.”

He shrugged. “What would be normal?”

I gave it some thought, because I’d only done this a few times. “Either, ask for increasingly gory or private details about all the fucked-uppedness, or to put your hand on my arm and tell me how awful that is and how much you care about me because of it.”

“I guess I’ll skip the part where I’d weep quietly about the girl you could have been then?”

I did laugh then. “Oh dear, so you’ve been through this too?”

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