She Wore Mourning P.D. Workman (best novel books to read .txt) 📖

as some of the kids. Some of those kids… they should have been in prisons. Or insane asylums. Sadistic, psychotic kids. The kind of adults they could get to work places like that… most of them just as eager to torture you as any of the psychotic little—”

“Shh,” Kenzie tried to stem the flow of Zachary’s rising rage. He normally did better at controlling himself. The medications must have lowered his inhibitions. Made it easier for him to flap his gums about things he should just keep quiet about. A girl didn’t want to hear that kind of thing. Nobody wanted to hear that kind of thing. They would rather deny such places even existed.

“You had to be really bad to be put in a place like that,” Zachary asserted feeling hollow and empty.

“You weren’t bad,” Kenzie whispered, still trying to calm and quiet him. “You were hurt and traumatized. What a horrible thing to do to a child.”

Chapter Seventeen

Hi there.”

Zachary turned his eyes toward the door and saw Bridget hovering there. Her glance darted around the room, and then back to him. Kenzie was still at work, Bridget didn’t need to worry that they would run into each other at Zachary’s bedside.

“Come on in,” Zachary invited.

She entered the room, walking up to him, but staying just out of arm’s reach of the bed. Like he might reach out and shake her hand or something equally as threatening.

“You’re looking better,” she observed.

He was finally able to sit up instead of lying flat on his back. Able to turn his head and make use of his arms. In a day or two, they would start him on physio for his legs, getting him up onto his feet for the first time since the accident.

“Yeah, glad to be able to move again,” Zachary agreed, rolling his shoulders.

Bridget looked over at the visitor chair, considering. What was there to think about? Did she plan to just stand there beside him, exchange a few words, and then leave again?

“Sit, relax,” Zachary encouraged.

She lowered herself to the seat. She held her purse in her lap, clutching it like she might have to leave suddenly and had to have it in her grasp.

“Did you have a nice Christmas?” Zachary inquired politely. “New Year’s?”

“Better than yours, apparently.”

“You visit what’s-his-name’s family?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “You knew Gordon’s name at Christmas, so there’s no point in playing games with me now.”

Zachary shrugged.

“Yes, we went to see his family for Christmas. They live on a little farm that’s been in their family for generations. White board house. Red barn. Very picturesque in the snow.”

“That sounds nice.”

“It was very nice. Get away from the rat race. From all the stresses. Just enjoy a Christmas dinner with the family…”

“I hope I didn’t make you too late for it.”

Bridget’s mouth quirked. “We did have to rearrange things a little, but it all worked out in the end.”

“Thanks for… looking out for me.”

She got a little bit pink. Zachary didn’t like things being awkward between them, but it was better than being yelled at. At least there was some sign that they might be able to have a normal, amicable relationship someday. She still had bitter feelings, he knew. Feelings that she had never shared with him, but had shared with Kenzie about how he had tried to force the pregnancy upon her. The word force still made him furious at the implications. That somehow, he had done something violent or dishonest, when all he had done was express an opinion.

“I still care about what happens to you, Zachary,” Bridget said carefully. “Even though we’re not together anymore, I don’t want you to…” she chickened out and didn’t say, ‘commit suicide’ or any euphemism, but, “be unhappy.”

She yelled at him for being at a restaurant and called his date to warn her off, but she didn’t want him to be unhappy? Her words and her actions didn’t correlate.

She had called him at Christmas and gone to his apartment to make sure he hadn’t done himself harm.

“I care about you too. I never wanted you to be unhappy,” Zachary told her. “I just wanted us to be happy together.”

“Don’t go over that old ground. We were never compatible.”

Never. Getting married had been a mistake. It wasn’t that they had been compatible and then he had screwed everything up. They had never been compatible in the first place.

She meant it as a consolation, but if anything, it made him feel worse. How would he ever know if someone was compatible? He’d thought they had fit together well. He’d thought she was someone he could spend the rest of his life with. Start a family with. But she’d never been compatible.

Was anyone? Was there some secret combination? Some code that he had to recognize when he dated? This one fits, but this one doesn’t…

He had a feeling that nobody would fit Bridget’s definition of compatibility. No one would ever be compatible with Zachary. He didn’t know of anyone else who shared the kind of background he had come from.

“How are you feeling,” Zachary asked Bridget, moving away from the dangerous ground, “now that you are finished your chemo?”

“So much better. Still tired, but I’m gradually getting my energy back. Knowing I have more than a few months to live… that’s a comfort.”

“I’m glad too.”

She touched her wig self-consciously. She didn’t need to be embarrassed about it. It looked perfectly natural. Just as soft and shining as her own hair. “And I’ll be able to grow my hair back.”

“You look amazing.”

“All things considered,” she temporized for him.

“No. You just look amazing. For anything.”

“Oh.” She played with the fringe of her hair with the very tips of her fingers. “Well, thank you, Zachary.” She looked him over. “When do you think you’ll be back out of here?”

“It depends on how long it takes to get back on my feet. How long it takes for the inflammation to go down. I hope… not too long.”

“You