Page 59 of Edge of Secrets

I twisted my hands together. “Well, my plan is to finish my thesis, get my doctorate, and find a teaching job. At which point, I guess I’ll attempt to have a normal life—Snake Eyes permitting and all that.”

“Let me rephrase,” he said. “By normal life, do you mean marriage? Kids?”

I stared at him. My heart had started to thud quickly, and my palms felt damp. He simply waited. I looked at the streetlights swooping by.

“Of course I dream about love,” I said. “After all those novels and all that poetry, how could I not? But I don’t take anything for granted. There are no guarantees. I’ll do the best I can, try to get over my emotional baggage. Hope I get lucky.” With you was the real ending of that phrase, but my lips and throat shook too much to say it.

He was quiet as he pulled into his parking garage and drove down two ramps to his own slot. He parked, killed the engine, and stared at the concrete wall in front of us.

“You’re special, Nell,” he said. “You should ask for more.”

Warmth softened my chest. I touched his face with the palm of my hand and stroked his cheek gently. “So should you, Duncan,” I whispered. “So should you.”

This was the moment. It could make or break us. He looked like he was poised to say it. He covered my hand with his own. I was poised to hear it. I couldn’t move or breathe. Seconds ticked by, stretched to a minute. Then longer.

But he didn’t say it. I turned my gaze away, blushing hard, feeling like an idiot. Here I went again, projecting my silly romantic fantasies onto an unsuspecting man. And him—bumbling along. No freaking clue. It was too soon for this nonsense anyway.

I tried to cover my embarrassment. “So? I answered your questions, Duncan. Now it’s your turn to bare your soul. Let’s hear some childhood reminiscing from you.”

He looked alarmed. “I don’t know how to do that.”

“You just saw me do it,” I said. “Watch and learn.”

“That’s different,” he said, his voice defensive. “You’re … you’re you.”

“Right, and you’re Duncan—and that’s what I’m interested in. Why don’t you start with your parents? They’re usually at the bottom of things.”

He let out an impatient sigh, as if humoring a child. “My mom’s a piece of work, but tough, and fabulous. She taught elementary school for thirty-five years before she retired. She raised us on her own. She’s a real general. Tries hard to run our lives, and mostly fails. She’s a pretty good sport about it. Usually.”

“How did she feel about you going to Afghanistan? And being a spy?”

He grunted. “She hated it. She nagged and schemed and lectured and admonished. She never let up. But I couldn’t hear her from the other side of the world, so it was okay. I know how to block and fake. I suit myself.”

“I’ve noticed,” I murmured. “And your father?”

His face changed, like a door slamming shut in my face. “I have nothing to say about him.”

I took a deep breath, and tried again. “So tell me what there isn’t, instead of what there is,” I suggested.

He looked baffled. “What the hell?”

“Silence is as revealing as words,” I said softly. “But you already know that. I see it in your photos.”

“Don’t go all poetic on me, Nell,” he warned. “I swear to God, I’ll devolve on you. I’ll start to grunt and snort and scratch my tufts.”

“Stop being ridiculous, and just tell me what happened,” I said. “It can’t be worse than my father. At least you know the guy’s name.”

He looked hunted, scowling down at the steering column. Finally, he started to speak, but his voice was flat. “He fell in love with some woman who worked for him,” he said. “His accounts manager. Sylvia was her name. She was younger than him and my mother. I was thirteen. Bruce was nine, and Ellie was a newborn. Ellie was Mom’s last-ditch effort to tie Dad to her. It was a bad idea.” He shook the memory away.

“I’m sorry, Duncan,” I said softly.

“He tried to explain it to me before he left. How love was this great force he couldn’t resist. It was his dick that he couldn’t resist, but his family paid the price.”

I put my hand on his leg, stroked him.

“He divorced Sylvia seven years later,” he said. “Traded her in for a younger model. He’s done it a couple more times since then. There’s the power of love for you.” The bitterness in his voice chilled me.

“That’s not love,” I said. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s not love.”

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