More Bitter Than Death: An Emma Fielding Mystery - By Dana Cameron Page 0,105
see if she’d heard it. She was the oenophile in the family.
“Yeah, I guess.” She took another cautious sip, shrugged, and drank more deeply. Booze was booze, as far as she was concerned. “So, I wanted to ask you something.”
“Shoot.” Although I’d slowed down eating, I was still making steady progress through my food. Good thing the hotel plates were sturdy; they were taking a beating tonight.
Very businesslike: “You have a problem with me and Neal?”
I shook my head, trying to finish my mouthful and reassure her all at once. “No, Meg, I honestly really don’t. God, no. Like I said, I think you guys are great together.”
“Then why…you seemed hesitant, when we were out at the site, when I told you. Something more than surprise.”
I sighed, then sat back with my glass of wine. “It’s an old reaction, Meg, that’s all. I tend to think that it’s problematic when people in the same department get involved. It’s me, my own baggage. Nothing at all to do with you guys. I swear to you.”
She nodded, drinking thoughtfully. I think she finally believed me. “So, was it someone I know?”
“Damn, Meg, I don’t know if I want to go—”
“Because I heard something about you and Duncan Thayer.”
Oh shit—but I caught myself. I had to stop treating this like it mattered, like it was a state secret. It was neither material nor secret. “Who’s so stuck in the past that they told you this?”
“Oh, it wasn’t anyone here. It was before I transferred to Caldwell, I was trying to find out about you. It came up. I can’t remember who told me. Someone older, someone senior.”
“And how did it affect your decision?”
“It wasn’t pertinent.” She looked at me, curious. “So was it?”
I sighed. “Yes. A million years ago. I fell hard, and then he dumped me, out of nowhere, as far as I could see. It hurt like hell.” I shrugged and leaned over to work on the salad again. “I didn’t understand then that it wasn’t anything personal, it was just that Duncan always tries to trade up. Girlfriends, colleges, jobs…we met when he transferred to Boston in our junior year. Collided, exploded might have been a better word. But he’s always had one eye open for the next best thing.”
Meg nodded.
I continued. “I hadn’t seen him for ages, actually; out on the site on Wednesday was the first time in a long time.”
Comprehension lit her face. “I thought you looked edgy.”
I nodded. “And the time before—a long time ago—it wasn’t pretty.”
“And now?” she said. “Does it bother you?”
I fished a bread roll out and began to butter it. “I think it’s more that I suddenly remember the emotions, remember things that I haven’t thought about in years,” I said. And I hadn’t thought about them in years, I realized. “It’s kind of like going back to your hometown, after you’ve been away for ages and things have changed. Buildings go up, buildings come down, new houses and roads are built and there’s suddenly a new mall where there used to be a farm stand and a field. But even though none of it seems even vaguely recognizable, you kinda know your way around, and that’s surprising. And then you remember things, and emotions, and you’re surprised by the fact that they’re still there. I’m startled, I guess,” I corrected, trying to keep myself on track, “that they’re still there. And it’s not even nostalgia, just…”
“Muscle memory. Reflex.”
“That’s it. Habit. You wonder why you feel nothing or you remember something suddenly and why it’s still there and how it’s all connected. It’s a bit existential, I guess,” I said apologetically.
“No, I get it. It’s cool.”
“I’m just surprised, that’s all, that the memories are still there, that they’re as strong as they are. I guess I’ve been sitting on them for a long time.”
She nodded. “And now that you’re looking at them?”
“Curiosity, I guess. It’s a little startling—another life. I can live with it because it really has nothing to do with me now.”
“I can see how it would put you off the notion of intradepartmental romance.” She nodded slowly, then looked at me unblinkingly, the way she did when she was challenging herself. “I’m worried about getting married.”
Holy snappers. Well, I’d brought it on myself, I thought. “Is it just the usual stuff, or something specific?”
“I’m not sure what usual is, but I’m just not sure that I know how,” she said. “To be married.”