"I know. I'm just--"
"Fretting."
"Concerned."
"I'm fine. I've had plenty of time to prepare for it." A few more steps. "This afternoon we could work on the Conway investigation, now that her death is official." He paused, then added, "If you're free," as if just remembering he should check.
"I am. Nothing planned until my diner shift tomorrow."
He checked his watch. "I should get you lunch first."
"Can I buy this time?"
"You can."
"I should probably drive, too."
He bent to open the car door and looked over the top of his shades. "Did I say I was fine?"
"Just to be sure. I'm only thinking of you."
He shook his head and waved me over to the driver's side.
--
We passed the Mills & Jones department store. As we idled at a light, I looked over at the store, taking up half a city block of real estate, a Chicago landmark. I used to be there a few times a week, meeting my dad or hanging out with him. Since his death, I could count on one hand the number of times I'd walked through those massive front doors. I just can't do it anymore.
I felt guilty about that sometimes. Guilty, too, about not taking a hand in the business. I had a seat on the board. Or I did. By now, for all I knew, they'd voted to kick my ass off. Would I care? I don't know.
"Olivia?" Gabriel's quiet voice.
"Hmm?"
He waved at the light, green now. I pulled through.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Under normal circumstances, Gabriel orders an average-sized meal and eats it all, never picking anything out, never leaving anything. But there's no hint of voraciousness. He approaches food the way he seems to approach everything in life: with dispassionate intent.
Usually, he just glances at the menu, and I can never tell if that's decisiveness or a complete lack of interest in the options. Today, he considered. And he ate as if he actually tasted the food.
What was it like to find out that your mother hadn't abandoned you after all? That she'd been dead for half your life? As Rose said, this didn't change anything about the kind of parent Seanna Walsh had been. Gabriel had probably spent his childhood waiting for the day when she would leave for good. When it came, he carried on. At fifteen. Not only surviving, but putting himself through law school. That's an act of will I cannot even begin to fathom.
After walking out of the worst neighborhoods of Chicago and into a life with six-figure sports cars and four-figure suits, did he ever worry that Seanna would find out what he'd made of himself and show up on his doorstep with her hand out?
I'm sure he had. I'm sure, too, that he'd feared what would happen if he refused. That she'd go to the papers, tell them about his past, what he came from. The rumors were already there, and he did nothing to stop them. A defense attorney from the wrong side of town, with a juvenile record, and questionable sources of income? It only meant that he understood some of his clients in a way no Ivy League suit ever could. What Gabriel would fear was a different sort of public reaction to his past. Not condemnation or scorn. Pity.
Now she was gone. Forever. Was he relieved? Yes, I think he was.
As we walked to the parking lot after lunch, Gabriel glanced behind us twice.
"Is someone there?" I asked.
"Perhaps . . ." A slow scan of the busy road. "A reporter most likely." He handed me the car keys. "If we're approached, keep going. I'll deal with it."
When we reached the lot, Gabriel turned sharply, and I saw James striding our way.
"I'd like to speak to Olivia," James said as he approached.