Read Online Watch Me Die by Erica Spindler - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Erica Spindler
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chattering about their creations and already looking forward to the intermediate class. Several of them waved at her, a couple called out a greeting.
Offering classes had been Deni’s idea. She’d designed the curriculum, advertised the classes and now taught them. They’d become so popular that Mira had decided to convert the storage shed out back to a teaching studio. She could hear Chris pounding on it now. Part of deciding the teaching studio made sense was knowing Chris was available to do the job.
She entered the studio. “Deni,” she called. “I’m back.”
“In here,” her assistant answered from the workroom. “Come see.”
Deni wasn’t alone. She and a man were standing in front of the Magdalene window.
Mira stopped short, recognizing him from the back, not believing her eyes. Jeff’s best friend, Connor Scott. “Connor? Is it really you?”
He turned. “Hi, Mira.”
With a squeal of delight, she ran to him and was enfolded in his arms. She hugged him tightly. “Where have you been?” she asked, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You just disappeared. No word to either of us.”
“I’m so sorry.” He released her, drew back and saw her tears. “Don’t cry.”
“Tears of happiness.” She wiped them away with the heels of her hands. “Where have you been?”
“Iraq. Then Afghanistan.”
She saw it then, the shadows in his blue eyes, the new furrows around them. He looked the same but a lifetime older as well. The way she must look to him. They had both lived that lifetime in the past six years.
She shook her head. “But I don’t understand. One day you were here, the next gone. Nothing. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I had some personal stuff going on and I didn’t know what to do. So I ran away. It was either join a circus or the marines.” His lips lifted slightly. “I thought the military might toughen me up.”
It had, she saw. Not just his body, which felt like steel against hers, but his spirit as well. Gone was the spoiled young man whose idea of hardship had been missing out on front-row tickets or having to choose between lobster or steak.
“This explains the buzz cut.” She stood on tiptoes and ran her hand over his flat top. “Grow out the back and you could have the makings for a world-class mullet. Sexy.”
He laughed, caught her hand and kissed it. “You always could make me laugh. Both of you could.”
Her smile died. “He’s gone. You know that, right?”
“I know.” He curled his fingers around her hand. “I should have been here for you. For both of you. I’m so, so sorry.”
He was. She saw the regret in his eyes. And secrets as well. Ones he didn’t want to share.
“Would you like a tour?” she asked, stepping away, slipping her hand from his.
He moved his gaze over the workroom, then brought it back to her. “I would.”
“The old studio was destroyed,” she said. “Everything in it.”
“I figured. When I heard about the Seventeenth Street canal, I didn’t think there was a chance the studio would have survived.” He crossed his arms. “Yet you stayed in New Orleans. Why? You could have gone anywhere.”
“I thought about leaving. But I couldn’t. All my memories, my memories with Jeff, are here. And the windows needed me.”
He cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “The windows needed you?”
“Katrina wrecked them. The city’s entire history in stained glass lay in ruins. You weren’t here. You didn’t see it.”
“We saw pictures. We—”
“That’s not the same. A picture can’t convey the”—she paused—“magnitude of the destruction. Its scope. Everywhere you looked, miles and miles of it.”
She crossed to the Magdalene window. “The windows were just a small piece of the destruction. But they were my piece.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I had the unique skill set necessary for their recovery. How could I abandon them?”
It was a rhetorical question, and he didn’t respond.
Offering classes had been Deni’s idea. She’d designed the curriculum, advertised the classes and now taught them. They’d become so popular that Mira had decided to convert the storage shed out back to a teaching studio. She could hear Chris pounding on it now. Part of deciding the teaching studio made sense was knowing Chris was available to do the job.
She entered the studio. “Deni,” she called. “I’m back.”
“In here,” her assistant answered from the workroom. “Come see.”
Deni wasn’t alone. She and a man were standing in front of the Magdalene window.
Mira stopped short, recognizing him from the back, not believing her eyes. Jeff’s best friend, Connor Scott. “Connor? Is it really you?”
He turned. “Hi, Mira.”
With a squeal of delight, she ran to him and was enfolded in his arms. She hugged him tightly. “Where have you been?” she asked, tears trickling down her cheeks. “You just disappeared. No word to either of us.”
“I’m so sorry.” He released her, drew back and saw her tears. “Don’t cry.”
“Tears of happiness.” She wiped them away with the heels of her hands. “Where have you been?”
“Iraq. Then Afghanistan.”
She saw it then, the shadows in his blue eyes, the new furrows around them. He looked the same but a lifetime older as well. The way she must look to him. They had both lived that lifetime in the past six years.
She shook her head. “But I don’t understand. One day you were here, the next gone. Nothing. Why didn’t you tell us?”
“I had some personal stuff going on and I didn’t know what to do. So I ran away. It was either join a circus or the marines.” His lips lifted slightly. “I thought the military might toughen me up.”
It had, she saw. Not just his body, which felt like steel against hers, but his spirit as well. Gone was the spoiled young man whose idea of hardship had been missing out on front-row tickets or having to choose between lobster or steak.
“This explains the buzz cut.” She stood on tiptoes and ran her hand over his flat top. “Grow out the back and you could have the makings for a world-class mullet. Sexy.”
He laughed, caught her hand and kissed it. “You always could make me laugh. Both of you could.”
Her smile died. “He’s gone. You know that, right?”
“I know.” He curled his fingers around her hand. “I should have been here for you. For both of you. I’m so, so sorry.”
He was. She saw the regret in his eyes. And secrets as well. Ones he didn’t want to share.
“Would you like a tour?” she asked, stepping away, slipping her hand from his.
He moved his gaze over the workroom, then brought it back to her. “I would.”
“The old studio was destroyed,” she said. “Everything in it.”
“I figured. When I heard about the Seventeenth Street canal, I didn’t think there was a chance the studio would have survived.” He crossed his arms. “Yet you stayed in New Orleans. Why? You could have gone anywhere.”
“I thought about leaving. But I couldn’t. All my memories, my memories with Jeff, are here. And the windows needed me.”
He cocked an eyebrow, clearly amused. “The windows needed you?”
“Katrina wrecked them. The city’s entire history in stained glass lay in ruins. You weren’t here. You didn’t see it.”
“We saw pictures. We—”
“That’s not the same. A picture can’t convey the”—she paused—“magnitude of the destruction. Its scope. Everywhere you looked, miles and miles of it.”
She crossed to the Magdalene window. “The windows were just a small piece of the destruction. But they were my piece.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I had the unique skill set necessary for their recovery. How could I abandon them?”
It was a rhetorical question, and he didn’t respond.
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