Page 437 of The Sinner: James

My apprehension grows.

“Who was that?” I ask.

He still looks down.

“Theresa Malcolm-Sexton.”

A bad feeling rams through me.

He slowly turns around, a bitter grin creasing his lips.

“My mother,” he says, looking at me with vacant eyes.

13

RAIN

He crashes into his seat,rubbing a tense hand over his eyes and hair, disbelief gliding over his face.

“It’s been twenty years, and she talked to me like she just left. I couldn’t detect a shred of emotion in her voice. Nothing.”

A sad chuckle falls from his lips as he grapples with an old pain.

“What does she want?”

“She wants to talk to me. Face to face.”

“Here?”

He clicks his tongue before peering at me with empty eyes.

“No. She’s in Lisbon. She flies to Monaco at the end of the week.”

“What else did she say?”

“Nothing.”

I ponder.

“Should I postpone my trip then?”

“No. No need to,” he says curtly. “She’ll be gone by the time you arrive. Or not. It doesn’t matter either way. You don’t need to change your plans because of her.”

I lean back against the sofa and stay quiet.

It’s strange how, after all these years, a buried memory can revive so much pain with a simple phone call.

“She must need something from me,” he says, his voice lined with disappointment, his eyes trailing down.

“Maybe she wants to see you. People change over time.”

He shifts his gaze to me.

“Do they?” he asks abruptly, his anger speaking.

I nod.

“In time, they find the courage to assume responsibility for what they did and ask for forgiveness.”

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