Blackjack

52

I walked with Daphne as she spun the white silk parasol above her head, keeping the hot afternoon sun off her face. We strolled on for a long time without talking. Then she laced her arm around mine and we walked a while longer without talking.

“She’s something else,” Daphne said.

“Allie?”

“Yes.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“She likes you, you know?” Daphne said.

“What’s not to like?”

“No, I mean she likes you.”

“She likes you, too,” I said.

“No,” Daphne said. “I’m a woman, I know.”

I laughed.

“No,” I said.

I looked to her as we walked. She looked to me from under her parasol.

“You like her, too?” she said.

“Of course I like her.”

“Yes,” she said. “That is evident.”

“She’s my friend.”

We walked for a moment.

“Allie and I have a special friendship,” I said.

“I know...”

“No... not like that,” I said.

“How is it?”

“We have a certain kinship because we are both partners with Virgil.”

“You have known her a long time.”

“Long enough.”

“I can tell.”

“But she belongs to Virgil.”

“You say that like she is his possession.”

“She belongs to Virgil and Virgil belongs to her.”

Daphne shook her head a little.

“What?” I said.

“You don’t have to get defensive, Everett.”

“I’m not.”

“I like her, too,” she said.

“Good.”

“And she likes me.”

“She does,” I said.

“What’s not to like?” she said, then looked at me and offered a delayed smile.

“I have to agree,” I said.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “But I’m glad you do.”

“Pleasure is all mine,” I said.

“Not entirely,” she said. “But thank you for walking with me.”

“It’s quite difficult.”

She looked down as she walked. She kept looking down, then...

“Can I tell you something, Everett?”

“Sure.”

“It’s a confession of sorts.”

“I’m right here.”

“I’m very... concerned with what is happening with this trial...”

“I can understand.”

“Yes,” she said. “Well, not fully. I’m not sure you do understand, not completely, anyway.”

We walked a bit, and she waited until she spoke again.

“Before, when we talked,” she said, “I was not fully honest with you.”

“About?”

“Well, let me rephrase that, I was not dishonest, but I was not forthcoming.”

“Go ahead.”

“You know when you asked me previously if I were ever married?”

“So you have been?” I said.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “That’s not it, and no, I have never been married.”

“Okay.”

“When I told you before that I was engaged, I left out that it was... Bill Black that I was engaged to.”

I stopped walking, and then she stopped and turned back to me, staring at me from under the silk of her parasol.

“Not that you owe me any details of your diary,” I said. “Or need any kind of explanation or accounting of your past, but under the circumstances, that’s, well... I’m not sure what that is.”

“I know,” she said. “That’s precisely why I felt I should confess this to you.”

“Glad you did.”

“It was a long time ago,” she said.

“And you changed your mind,” I said.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why?” I said.

“Because... he frightened me,” she said.

“How so?”

“Not by one particular action,” she said. “But there was something about him that was ultimately frightening.”

“Why did you warn him?”

“What?”

“You let him know,” I said. “He said it was you that told him he was being accused of the murder.”

“How did you know that?”

“Just part of his baring up...”

She nodded.

“I care for him,” she said.

“Obviously.”

“No,” she said, “not like that, not anymore.”

I didn’t say anything.

“How could I not?” she said.

“I don’t know,” I said. “And I’m not judging you for doing so.”

“In many ways he is like a little boy.”

“Far from little.”

“No, he is,” she said. “He’s a child, really.”

“Do you think he killed her?”

She thought for a brief moment, then shook her head.

“No,” she said.