DISCLAIMER:
This book contains mature subject matter and triggering topics that may not be suitable for every reader.
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"What is it that I always tell you, Winona? You'll always come back to me. A bird never forgets its home."
Winona Horton ha...
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August 2010 • • •
"How can I help you, detective?"
Joanne rolled her eyes but held up a white paper bag. "I wanted to stop by and see how you're doing. Is that such a bad thing?"
"And why would you care?" Contrary to his instincts that told him not to, he let her into his house and closed the door. "Detectives don't cozy up to the people they're investigating. Why are you really here?"
"Like I said: to check on you. I figure with Winona still missing and the investigation into Abigail's case, you're still high-strung. But I'm not here as a detective today. Just an acquaintance."
He didn't believe her for one second, but it wasn't like he had an option to deny her. The faster they could get over this case, the better. His top priority was getting Winona home and if that meant opening up to Joanne, he would play along. "Can I get you anything to drink?" he asked her, trying to keep his annoyance under wraps.
"Some tea would be great," she said. "Here, have this." He caught the bag she tossed at him, opening it to see two plain donuts inside.
"How's the case going?"
"Well enough," the detective responded cooly, her eyes wandering around the living room as they headed for the kitchen. He knew she was looking for something. And when she stopped walking, it was obvious she found it. "Is this her?"
Harry joined her in front of the fireplace and stared at the picture she was enamoured by. It was a school photograph she had taken in the twelfth grade, so it was more recent. Her black hair fell straight past her shoulders like silk, and her big brown eyes that were so innocent smiled at the camera like her lips. She had matured into such a beautiful person, inside and out. It wasn't her appearance that he adored the most though. It was her soul. It burned like a gentle flame and its warmth was her love for all things, even those she didn't understand. It was what made her susceptible, but it was what defined her.
"Are you okay?" Joanne asked after noticing his distant gaze. "You really love her, don't you?"
He forced himself out of his heavy trance and folded his arms over his chest as though it would contribute to his unbothered façade. "She's lived with me all these years. Of course I care about her."
She scoffed lightly and lifted a perfectly manicured eyebrow. "I'm a detective, lies hardly get past me. And I know you don't just care about her."
"Maybe you should hone your skills because that's exactly how I feel." He felt his face heating. Goodness, he was behaving like a prepubescent child! "Do you want your tea or not?"
"When did you first realize you had a thing for Abigail's daughter?"
It was like he was getting interrogated all over again. People just loved to put him on the spot about things that were too complex to be summed into words. He didn't just 'have a thing' for Winona. The way his heart hummed, the way his soul swayed, paved the way for much deeper, more real emotions. It wasn't just love. It was... something else. He couldn't even describe it himself. That woman, Annabelle, the one he had met when he was sixteen, taught him what it meant to love somebody.
