Torn apart.
“I’d be interested to hear your opinion on something.” I drop my hands to my lap. They’re trembling again. I’m about to make Gwen feel very uncomfortable and it could go one of two ways. “I assume you heard about our accident.”
She licks her lips. Glances away, just for a moment. “The shooting?”
“Yes.”
“I read about it.”
“There’s been a lot of speculation on the subject, and a lot of that speculation centres on the idea that it was deliberate. That I meant to shoot him.” I find her carefully made-up eyes and peer right into them; they’re nervous and watery, maple syrup and mud. “Now I imagine you read our side of the story. That he didn’t know I was carrying the gun and happened—happened to…” I inhale deeply. Let it out. It’s all in the things I don’t say. “Then we found ourselves in very unfortunate circumstances.”
“Yes,” she repeats. “I was so very sorry to hear about that.”
I give an abrupt little laugh. It’s sharper than I intend, and the sound sends ribbons of panic snaking down to the small of my back. “It wasn’t pretty. But I digress.” Beneath the desk, my hands are clasped together so tightly they’re starting to ache. “What do you think? Did you think it was deliberate, when you heard?”
She blinks. “Are you asking me if I think you shot Mr Lore on purpose?”
“Yes.” My voice is so cold. “I am.”
“Well I don’t—I’m not really sure how to answer that. I mean, I wouldn’t be here right now if I thought that was the case.”
“I’m curious to know the thought process behind that. Nobody was there, of course. Nobody knows what went on except for me and Aeron.”
Gwen straightens up and fixes her gaze on me. There’s a very sudden, fluid transition in the way she holds herself. “I guess…I guess I figured he knows how to take care of business, and that if you’d really shot him, he’d have to be the mother of all pussies to take you back. I’m sure he’s a lot of things, but not a *.”
At that, I find the corners of my mouth turning up in a cool twitch of a smile. “I understand you’re currently between jobs?”
“My boss retired, and it felt a little wrong to me to stay around for his replacement. We had a special kind of relationship. I worked with him for five years, and everything was going to change…” She shrugs. “Seemed best to let the new guy do things his new way.”
“Fair enough. So when would you be available to start?”
“I—uh. Let me see.” She’s trying not to look flustered, suddenly reaching down for a diary clad in purple velvet. It plops open on her lap, silky pages scraping against her fingertips. “I’d need a week just to take care of a few loose ends.”
“A week, then. I’ll have your contract couriered over.”
She’s gone all stiff. Perhaps she’s waiting for me to offer a handshake, but then she’ll see how I’m barely holding together, how I’m struggling. Cracked ice.
“Do you have any questions?” I ask.
“I…no.” She slips the diary back into her tote, and knots her fingers together—a swift, elegant move. “Can I just say something?”
“Go ahead.”
“I know I’ll be working for Mr. Lore. And that’s amazing, honestly—I’m psyched and all—but I love what you’re doing with SilentWitn3ss. I mean, if we’d had access to something like that during Ferguson, things could have been different. A lot different. You get me?”
There was more than one conspiracy theory about Tuija’s death, the most popular being that I’d somehow orchestrated it myself. I was jealous, trigger-happy, unhinged; I wanted Aeron’s “ex” out of the picture, and perhaps he even helped. A cynic might say that Gwen, more than aware of these possibilities, is already attempting to get me on her side. Just in case.
Not that I’m a cynic.