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And I’m not turning back to stone. I don’t know what that means. Not yet. But I intend to find out.
chapter
four
Gabriel
I am wearing a pair of gray sweatpants that April found in a box of clothing she’d intended to donate. They belong to her former boyfriend.
I have never met the man, and I already dislike him intensely. And not simply because his trousers are too short.
“They’re the biggest ones I have,” April says.
I look down at my ankles. “Clearly.”
“Hey, beggars can’t be choosers.”
“I am not begging.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because I distinctly remember a very heartfelt ‘please’ about fifteen minutes ago.”
I glare at her.
She smiles sweetly.
I am beginning to understand why her former boyfriend sought companionship elsewhere. That thought is immediately followed by an inexplicable desire to punch the man. I dismiss both.
April has brought me into the sitting room adjoining the balcony.
The room is much as I remember it. And yet so very different. The wallpaper is faded. The furniture is mismatched. A lamp with a crooked shade sits on a table that was once worth more than most men earned in a year.
I look around. There are boxes stacked against the walls. “My God.”
April follows my gaze. “Yeah. It’s a mess.”
“What happened to the mahogany writing desk?”
She blinks. “The what?”
“The writing desk. It stood against that wall.”
She looks toward the empty space. “Oh. I don’t know. Maybe Aunt Eleanor sold it?”
“And the Persian rug?”
“No idea.”
“The bronze sculpture?”
“Gabriel.”
I turn toward her. “What?”
“Your house has had approximately a hundred and fifty years to accumulate and lose stuff. I cannot account for every piece of furniture.”
I stare at her.
She stares back.
