“That I needed more time. To leave, to stay, to admit I wanted to stay.”
“And every time she asked?”
“I told her I’d come soon.”
Aaron lowered his eyes.
“How did it end?” I asked.
“She called one night and said she couldn’t keep waiting for someone who wouldn’t choose.”
“And what did you say?”
Patrick swallowed.
“I told her maybe she’d made the choice for both of us when she left.”
Aaron stared at him.
Patrick didn’t try to defend himself.
“I was wrong.”
Then I remembered an old photograph I’d found years ago tucked inside one of Patrick’s books.
He’d been standing beside a dark-haired woman.
When I’d asked who they were, he’d said, “Just old friends.”
“That photograph.”
Patrick went still.
“The one I found in your book years ago. Lana was in it, wasn’t she?”
He didn’t answer.
Aaron looked between us.
“What photograph?”
I kept my eyes on Patrick.
“I handed it to you and asked who everyone was.”
“I remember.”
“You told me they were friends.”
Patrick rubbed a hand across his jaw.
“I didn’t want to explain who she was, Jess.”
“So you gave me a version that required no explanation.”
Patrick looked toward Aaron again.
“Did she ever talk about me?”
There was desperation in his voice now.
“Not enough for me to connect you to anything tonight.”
I looked at Aaron.
“You said Lana mentioned Patrick once. What exactly did she tell you?”
Aaron thought for a moment.
“That she’d loved someone before my dad. Someone she thought she’d build a life with.”
“Was she happy afterward?” I asked.
“Yeah. Very.”
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