The Big Rewind by Libby Cudmore

Author:Libby Cudmore
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2015-12-14T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 28

COUNTING BACK TO 1

I still hadn’t eaten by the time Sid pulled up in front of my building in Terry’s green Volkswagen. I huffed myself into the car and he passed me a cup of coffee.

“I heard all about it,” he said. “Mac’s already called a boycott on Egg School that’s got about two hundred ‘likes,’ and Natalie Instagrammed a lovely photo of your ruined breakfast. Looks like a destroyed morning straight out of the seventies.”

I was grateful for the coffee, but his chipperness about the whole awful mess made me want to strangle him. He reached into a brown bag in his lap and pulled out a maple-frosted doughnut. “I know it’s not French toast, but I hope it’ll do.”

The doughnut made me forgive him. I took a bite and balanced it on my knee while I peeled back the tab on my coffee and took a grateful slurp.

“I went ahead and booked us a room at the Marriott on the Vestal Parkway,” he continued. “I wish you’d let me go with you to meet him.”

“I doubt he’ll want an audience,” I said, my mouth full of doughnut. “It’s kind of a private thing.”

Sid sighed. “So what do you think you’ll say?” he asked.

I finished the doughnut and took a sip of coffee. “Not sure yet,” I admitted. “My gut tells me it wasn’t him or Bronco, but I don’t know anything about the wife. Still, I found that tape, I listened to it, and the least I can do is be the one to tell him that she’s dead. If he can fill me in, that’s great, but if not, well, he deserved to get the bad news in person.”

I drank my coffee and stared out the window. The truth was that I wanted to give up, go home, forget the whole thing. Bronco had a good lawyer and cops on TV always got the bad guy in the end. I was not Detective Olivia Benson. I was not Vic Mackey. I was just a dumb girl with a mix tape and a dead friend who wanted to believe there was some justice in a world that seemed so utterly fucking devoid of it.

Sid reached over and put his hand on my knee. “You know, Binghamton has a bunch of carousels,” he said. “They’re free, all six of them. Maybe we can go ride a few before we leave.”

“Maybe,” I said. But it wasn’t the promise of carousels that took my mind off what was yet to come. It was Sid’s long fingers spread out over my knee, a gesture warm and delicate and tender. Sid and I had always had a generous friendship when it came to the physical, leaning against each other during a movie, him touching my waist to pass me in a narrow room, me reaching for his hand in a loud drunk crowd, but I found myself imagining his fingers moving up my thighs, between my legs, inside my panties. I sank into the seat and exhaled luxuriously.

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