Famous musician, Cory Hartley, has plans to end his own life. When rekindling an old flame that never died, Cory finds himself at a crossroads, as he copes with the traumatic death of his best friend. Forced to face the past that's haunted him for a...
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Alida's mind raced wildly with questions; all regarding Cory's unexpected return. Nearly an entire decade had passed; Alida presumed Cory to never have the audacity to show his face again.
Not only because he was famous now, or because of what had happened to Aidan, but because of the way he had left her. Cory had broken her heart enough—there was nothing left for him to take—except one thing.
"So what did Cory have to say to you this morning?" Alida asked, trying to seem disinterested. Internally, Alida was on the edge of her seat, conjuring excuses for certain questions if Zora asked.
"Nothing."
"Really? You two seemed to be getting along well—sitting at the table together."
"I told him you didn't let people smoke in the house."
"Did he listen?"
"He didn't smoke in the house." Zora confirmed, watching the trees pass by on the winding road down the mountain. "I have a question." Zora's attention moved to Alida.
She cautiously moved her eyes away from the road, worried of what Zora's question may entail.
"Yes?"
"Why does he smell like hand sanitizer?"
Alida nearly sighed in relief, "Well, that's what alcohol does. You've heard some of the stories Gretchen tells about the people that come into her job—it makes you stupid, annoying, violent and... it makes you stink."
"You drink alcohol." Zora stated; her round curious eyes still watching Alida from the passenger seat.
"I do... in the right setting. I don't drink when you're home though, you know that."
"Gretchen does."
"I trust Gretchen, so it's okay."
"You don't trust Cory?" Zora questioned.
"No... I don't trust Cory."
"Then why did you let him into the house?"
Alida scoffed, "Well, if you hadn't opened the door at 1 o'clock in the morning, maybe he would've thought no one was home and went away."
"But you said it's not okay to drink and drive. If he would've left, he would've driven somewhere-"
"Zora," Alida snapped, "it's not okay to answer the door when I'm not around. It could've been a robber—a murderer, for all you know."
"He wouldn't stop knocking and you weren't waking up." Zora defended her actions, her voice never raising—speaking eerily calm.
Zora's levelheaded nature eased Alida most of the time; the nine year old had more rationality that she did. However, Alida needed her to understand that it was beyond unacceptable to answer the door for a stranger late at night.
