Page 65 of The Betrayer
Rita’s voice drifted in from her room, and I moved closer.
“I have no idea. Probably the woman he’s dating.”
“He’s dating someone?” Rita leaned out of her bathroom, and after a moment’s hesitation, I walked in. It felt strange being in her room, again, another step, but the young woman didn’t seem to mind.
“Yeah, for a while now. Maybe four or five months?”
“Huh. What’s she like?” Rita disappeared back into her bathroom, and I heard things shifting around in a makeup bag.
“I haven’t met her, to be honest. I’ve only seen her a couple of times in his office and only at a distance. Paul seems to like her, anyway.”
“But you don’t?”
“I don’t know a lot about her,” I admitted, shifting clothes so I could sit in the single chair in the room instead of wandering around like a creep. “Just what I’ve heard.”
“And what have you heard?”
Rita didn’t seem to spend much time at home—outside of the disorder, there weren’t many decorations up. The rest consisted of a handful of pictures, a single framed painting reproduction in the living room, and a funky lamp on the bedside table that looked like it had seen better days.
“Not a ton, either, although what I have isn’t shining. The tailor you met on Friday isn’t a huge fan. He says she was rude to him, but with Barker, you have to take what he says with a grain of salt. His love of a good fabric is only second to his love of spreading gossip.”
I heard Rita laugh. “Good thing I didn’t give away any state secrets, then.”
“Yeah.” I chuckled.
“Does he like her?”
The question was curious. “Like her? Well, they are dating—”
“No, I mean, are they serious?”
“Oh.” I thought about it for a moment. “I guess he did mention something about the future—”
And we argued because of it. Because I hadn’t heard good things about his girlfriend, and I had warned him against it.
“But we don’t talk a lot about that. I doubt he would share his plans with me.”
I pulled my gaze from Rita’s unmade bed and the thoughts swirling around my head to my watch and realized with alarm that if we didn’t leave soon, we would be late.
“Are you almost ready? We have to go.”
“One more minute, and I’ll be done. Promise,” was the reply.
Not wanting to distract Rita anymore, I wandered back into the living room. Rita had asked a lot of questions about Paul, but I didn’t mind answering them. She seemed interested in my life, of which Paul was a part, which by extension, made me think she was genuinely interested in me.
Anyway, Paul was much closer to her age, not even a full ten years older. That might put me on alert, but I didn’t see either of them being interested in the other. Rita was lively and talkative, while Paul was serious and meticulous—he would find her apartment intolerable. He would probably find her chatter annoying, too. I wasn’t sure Rita would be too keen on my son’s specific brand of seriousness. Paul tended to go for quiet types like himself.
I wandered to the side table against the wall, and the photos lined up on the top: one of Rita with an older man, one of her with two older women, and a few with other young women her age in their graduation robes. My gaze snagged on the one of Rita with the two other women. One had gray hair and was clearly far older. But the other had dark hair, and though she was older than Rita in the photo, it was difficult to tell her exact age.
Something about the other woman sparked something in my mind, but I didn’t know what. I stared at the picture, trying to pull out whatever it was, like a toy on a string. It was nearly on the tip of my tongue when I heard the tap of heels behind me and turned to find Rita striding out of her room.
Whatever I had been trying to remember fell away instantly—Rita looked spectacular. What had been a well-fitting dress at the shop had become something else entirely with Barker’s tailoring.
“You look spectacular,” I said, guiding Rita to the door.
She grabbed her coat and almost didn’t let me take it from her as I reached for it.
“Let me be the gentleman tonight? I promise not to tell anyone.”
