‘It suits you.’ She rolled her bottom lip between her teeth. ‘Though I kind of miss the rough look.’
‘Do you two know each other?’ Her supervisor joined them, oblivious to the heat flowing between their eyes. ‘Adam, this is the student I was telling you about, the one who’s still looking for an internship.’
Adam nodded, still looking at her. She didn’t want him to stop. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Maybe the two of us can discuss it over coffee?’ he suggested to Kitty. She nodded, her eyes wide, still not able to form any useful words on her tongue.
‘I can’t join you, I’m afraid,’ her supervisor told them. ‘I have another lesson in a moment. But if you need any references, I’d happily supply one.’
Adam nodded, finally pulling his gaze from Kitty’s. ‘I’ll let you know.’ Then he turned back to her. ‘Are you free now?’ he asked her. ‘Shall we grab a drink in the library café?’
‘Sounds good.’ Her voice, when it finally came out, was as rough as sandpaper. Holding her bag closely against her chest, her fingers holding tightly onto the leather, she followed him out of the lecture theatre.
33
Hear my soul speak: the very instant that I saw
you did my heart fly to your service
– The Tempest
If LA had different seasons, Adam would have sworn that spring was almost in the air. The weather was warm, even for the start of January, and the campus was full of students wearing jeans and T-shirts, with only the occasional jacket to be seen. The trees that lined their route to the library were verdant and leafy, casting dappled shadows on the footpath as the soft breeze made them dance.
There was a silence between them that didn’t feel at all awkward. She was walking close enough for him to reach out and place his hand in the gentle dip of her back, his fingers spread out to feel the warmth of her beneath her T-shirt.
She didn’t protest at this. He took it as a good sign.
It was strange being back on campus again. Hell, it was strange being back in LA again. His attorney had spoken to the LAPD to allow him back into the state, evidencing his regular attendance at therapy to show his commitment to change. And he had changed. He didn’t feel like that angry guy any more. Didn’t recognise the man who had trashed an office, didn’t even recognise the guy who had hit his brother on Christmas Day. Maybe because then he didn’t know what he had to lose.
The café was half empty when they walked inside. They bought th
eir drinks – latte for Kitty and an Americano with room for him – and wandered over to a table in the corner, where Adam slid the tray onto the white plastic-coated table.
‘You sure you don’t want anything to eat?’ he asked Kitty.
She shook her head. ‘I’m not hungry.’
No, he wasn’t either. Hadn’t been for days. Strange how the body worked – the nutrition it so desperately needed had tasted like ashes in his mouth.
Then they were sitting opposite each other, and there was no more action to stand in the way of them talking. Adam stared at her for a moment. Here in LA she looked so much younger – she fitted in with the students that surrounded her in the lecture theatre. And yet there was a depth to her eyes that reminded him of who she was – and why he’d missed her so much. She wasn’t the unopened notebook, her pages had already been written on.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she blurted out, her hands cupped around the Styrofoam mug. ‘I should never have lied to you, and I know that’s what it was. A lie. I thought I was protecting you, but really I was protecting myself.’
His mouth was dry. He licked his lips to be able to form the words. ‘It wasn’t you, it was me.’ He wanted to laugh at the cliché, even though he saw little humour there. ‘I was a dick. I didn’t let you explain, I didn’t let you even talk. I just assumed the worst and ran away.’
She lifted the cup to her mouth, her lips forming an ‘o’ as she sipped from the hole in the lid. Her blue eyes gazed at him as she swallowed, as though she was thinking on his words.
‘I don’t blame you for reacting like that,’ she said, putting the cup back on the table. ‘I would have, too. You must have thought everybody was lying to you.’ She frowned, pulling her gaze from his. ‘I’m sorry that you’re hurting.’
But she was hurting, too. He could see that. And not because of some script that really meant nothing right then, but because of the way he’d treated her. As though she was expendable.
‘I want to tell you a little bit about Colombia. Is that OK?’ He’d gone through this in his mind a hundred times, when he tried to imagine how he’d explain himself to her. In the end it seemed simple – start at the beginning. Documentary-making 101, right?
She looked up, her eyes wide. ‘Really?’ Then she nodded quickly, as though afraid he would change his mind. ‘Of course, I’d be honoured to hear about it.’
He let out a mouthful of air. His chest felt tight, but not suffocatingly so. More of a reminder of a feeling he used to have. ‘I’m not sure how much you know about the documentary I was making over there. I’d been researching it for years. I wanted to show the human side of drug trafficking, concentrating on the kids that are used every day to smuggle drugs into the US. Some of them younger than ten. That’s how I started investigating the Garcia gang. It took a few months for us to find somebody who was ready to talk, but when we did, we knew we had a story.’
Kitty leaned her elbows on the table, resting her face in her palms. She was listening avidly, as though every word was pulling her in. ‘Who did you talk to?’
‘His name was Mat. Matias Hernandez.’ Adam shook his head. ‘He told us he was fifteen years old, though from the start he looked a little young for his age. It turned out he was actually twelve.’