Page 77 of A Very Happy Thanksgiving
Hmm, it seemed little Edie wore a mask too. Not as fancy as mine, but I hadn’t heard her speak this way before.
“Do you have any preference on the bridge?” I added a giggle at the end so I could pass the offer off as a joke if necessary.
Heath and Edie looked at each other.
“Uh, I shouldn’t have said anything.” Edie turned apologetic. “I don’t want to ruin your evening, and it’s late, and…”
“Phae prefers dropping people off bridges to making small talk,” Marc told her, also not quite joking. “She came because I asked her to, but dinner parties aren’t her thing.”
I didn’t totally hate them. Spending time with regular people taught me to mask better.
“One day, he’s going to be responsible for her death,” Edie whispered as the evening took a far more interesting turn. “I’ve seen it too many times before.”
And here, in this space Marc assured me was safe, I let down my guard a smidgen.
“My father did the same thing to my mom, and I lived in the middle of it. Believe me when I say I understand what she’s going through.”
This time, Edie reached out for my hand, and unlike my compassion, I was ninety-nine percent sure hers was genuine. The woman bled empathy.
“I’m so sorry for your loss. For the difficulties you went through.”
Her unspoken question: Is that why you turned out the way you did?
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t, because I didn’t know what to say. I thought that maybe I’d been born this way, but my childhood sure hadn’t helped. For years, I’d tried to be a good girl to please my mom, but once she was gone, all bets were off.
“Just give me a name.”
For a long moment, Edie studied me, looking into my eyes as if she might discover my secrets. She wouldn’t. They were buried too deep. I resisted the urge to blink because I was Dusk and I never backed down, and eventually, she lowered her gaze.
“If you drop him off a bridge, he might die, and I don’t want that on my conscience.”
“Then how about I just have a little chat with him?”
“A chat?”
“I can be very persuasive.”
“Are you serious?”
“Always.”
She didn’t answer for a full minute, but finally, she nodded. “His name is Richard Ashcroft. Uh, I’ll look up the address. It’s on the system somewhere—he lives in Hammersmith.”
“Thanks, that’ll save me ten minutes.”
And I wouldn’t have to get Echo out of bed. Although I was tempted to do that anyway because there was no way she hadn’t known about the gift-wrapping stunt.
“I’ll write it down.”
“Don’t. I’ll memorise it.”
“Uh, do you need a hand?” Heath asked.
I shook my head. “Go make Edie a nightcap. A non-alcoholic one, obviously.”
Marc followed me to the bedroom when I went to change into more suitable attire. Sneakers, a sports bra, dark-coloured clothing that said “late night at the office” rather than “wannabe gang member.” The weather was on my side—the London drizzle would help to wash away any evidence as well as letting me use an umbrella to hide my face.
Marc wrapped his arms around me and nuzzled my neck. “Stay safe.”
