Page 48 of Head Room

I didn’t let myself sigh.

It was wrong to be disappointed people didn’t have enemies.

“How did Frank seem the last time you saw him?”

“Busy.Preoccupied.But the same could be said of me.It was the day before the fire.We were both at the supermarket.Said hello and that was it.But it was the time before when I thought something was bothering him.”

“When was that?Why?What was bothering him?”

She held up a hand.“I have no idea what was bothering him.He certainly didn’t say.And, yes, I did ask if something was wrong and if I could help.”

“You are a good friend, Connie.”

“Not good enough that he confided in me.”

“You can’t—”

“I know, I know.”She met my gaze.“Truly, I know, Elizabeth.Why I thought something was bothering him was his expression when he walked right by me.Must have been Monday.That was the day I was at the courthouse to file papers for Burrell Roads.I’d just about reached my truck in the parking lot.He’d come from the side street, and had actually passed me, when I said his name.

“I asked what was wrong.He stared at me a second, then said,Nothing.I said if there was anything I could do, to let me know.But he put his hand on my shoulder, squeezed it, and said not to fret.Called me Mama Connie.He did that sometimes.”Her smile flitted away.“And that was it.”

I blocked a sigh.

It’s not helpful to let someone you’re interviewing know they’ve disappointed you through no fault of theirs.

It’s not nice to do to a friend, either.

“What do you know about Irene’s manuscript, Connie?”

“You know about that?I think that’s what makes me the saddest — that she never got to finish it, that she never got to share it with readers.”

Before I could decide whether to share that it had one reader, anyway, she continued.“And now it’s gone in the fire.”

Apparently, Ihaddecided at some level, because what came out was, “Not entirely.”

I explained about Hannah getting the metal box from the fire scene, that the manuscript mostly survived, and Jennifer’s plan to preserve the pages.

Yes, I skipped the part about Dale laboriously copying page by page and my beginning to read what he’d copied.Not for any reason other than because Connie was busy exclaiming with genuine pleasure about how happy she was that the manuscript still existed.

“That’s amazing that it survived and that Hannah thought to look for anything that survived.Not that Hannah’s not a sweet person...”

As her words trailed off, our gazes met in agreement that Hannah Chaney was not someone so finely attuned to others’ emotions that you’d expect her to execute that thoughtful gesture.

I would have been okay with saying that aloud.Connie reverted to the topic of the manuscript.

“You know Irene didn’t start it until she was diagnosed?Not the writing, I mean.She’d been researching nearly as long as I knew her.In fact, she told me she’d started trying to write several stories before that one, but never finished, sure she wasn’t good enough.

“When she was diagnosed, she said it didn’t matter anymore if she wasn’t good enough.She was the only one who could tell the story in her head, so she had to be good enough.She was so happy telling that story.I read a little bit and I liked it a lot.Sure, I’m not an expert, but I was drawn to those characters.Really drawn in by them.Have you read it?”

“A little.”

Connie rolled on.“That was the thing with Irene.Like I said, she could see through a person all the way to their backbone.And unless you knew to look for it and looked hard, you’d never know that’s what she was doing.You’d never know she had somebody dead to rights.They sure wouldn’t know.”

That could be handy.

I stood, only then remembering the bag with half of my stash of backup cookies I’d left by the door.

“I brought cookies for you all.”