she?
“Have the sandwich,” invited Leah.
Marnie didn’t want to refuse, even though, oddly, she wasn’t particularly hungry. The sandwich was peanut butter and jelly. She ate half of it while Leah watched. She thought about the seltzer. If she drank just a little, the bottle would still explode nicely. She twisted the cap open, gulped some down, and fastened the cap back into place. Suppose she
was
able to shake it up, aim it, explode it in Leah’s face. What would she do afterward?
You’ll run! Look, the door’s ajar. This is really it! You’ve been so biddable, you’ve got her feeling overly secure.
Panic roiled in Marnie’s stomach.
How many seconds would it take to shake the bottle, aim it? Would Leah have time to react, to evade? To aim the gun? Buying herself time to think, Marnie put the seltzer down beside her on the cot, on its side. She ate the other half of the sandwich. Each bite threatened to congeal in her mouth. Talk, Leah had said. Marnie swallowed the end of the sandwich. She focused her gaze on the top of Leah’s head, noticing suddenly the shiny richness of Leah’s thick brown hair. She took another small swig of seltzer, capped the bottle, and put it down again, careful to do it carelessly, shaking it.
“You have beautiful hair,” Marnie said abruptly, without thinking, without smiling. She could hear the truth in her own voice and knew Leah Slaight would hear it too.
She did. Her eyes flickered in surprise. Her mouth formed a little O. Seemingly involuntarily, she put her left hand up to touch her hair. Marnie thought she could see the other hand, the one that held the gun, loosen its grip a bit.
“I do?” said Leah uncertainly.
“Yes.” Marnie pushed herself forward a little, to get her feet solidly on the floor. Beside her, the bottle shifted against her body again. If she could just keep moving around on the cot so that the seltzer rolled a bit, would that shake it up enough?
“Skye was a redhead,” said Leah.
“Dyed,” said Marnie. “I don’t know what color her real hair was. Probably brown, like mine. Andyours,” she added shamelessly. She was in awe at the sound of her own voice. So matter-of-fact. So calm. While inside …
She swayed and shifted on the cot as if to get more comfortable, and felt the seltzer roll up and down on the canvas before again settling against her side. Her stomach made a dreadful noise.
“Are you still hungry?” asked Leah. “I could bring you more soup.” For someone who’d wanted to talk, she certainly wasn’t in a rush to introduce her subject.
“Sure,” said Marnie, even though she knew it was fear that had caused the rumbling. Right now her stomach was so tight, she didn’t think she would ever have an appetite again. She picked up the seltzer bottle as if idly, and put it back down. Was that enough? She hadn’t a clue.
Leah looked uneasy. “When we’re done here, I’ll warm some for you. Do you like chicken noodle?”
“That would be okay.”
An uncomfortable silence fell. Marnie wiggled some more, and against her thigh the seltzer bottle went slosh, slosh, slosh. Marnie put her hand on it. She kept her eyes on Leah Slaight, who was fidgeting as well. Was the bottle ready to explode? Was now a good time? No. Leah was staring—
“I need a promise from you,” said Leah abruptly. “I need you to swear on—on Skye’s immortal soul. I’ll believe you if you do that.”
Oh, no, Marnie thought. She couldn’t take any more Skyedottir stuff; not at this moment when she was trying to get herself ready to …
“What kind of promise?” Marnie asked. Her legs tensed, feet pressing on the floor. Her hand tightened on the bottle. One more good slosh, and then—
Leah leaned forward. Words spilled from her in a hectic rush. “I was thinking about what you said. About my being entitled to half of Skye’s stuff. When this is over, when—if—I let you go, you have to swear you won’t say it was me. Promise me
“Have the sandwich,” invited Leah.
Marnie didn’t want to refuse, even though, oddly, she wasn’t particularly hungry. The sandwich was peanut butter and jelly. She ate half of it while Leah watched. She thought about the seltzer. If she drank just a little, the bottle would still explode nicely. She twisted the cap open, gulped some down, and fastened the cap back into place. Suppose she
was
able to shake it up, aim it, explode it in Leah’s face. What would she do afterward?
You’ll run! Look, the door’s ajar. This is really it! You’ve been so biddable, you’ve got her feeling overly secure.
Panic roiled in Marnie’s stomach.
How many seconds would it take to shake the bottle, aim it? Would Leah have time to react, to evade? To aim the gun? Buying herself time to think, Marnie put the seltzer down beside her on the cot, on its side. She ate the other half of the sandwich. Each bite threatened to congeal in her mouth. Talk, Leah had said. Marnie swallowed the end of the sandwich. She focused her gaze on the top of Leah’s head, noticing suddenly the shiny richness of Leah’s thick brown hair. She took another small swig of seltzer, capped the bottle, and put it down again, careful to do it carelessly, shaking it.
“You have beautiful hair,” Marnie said abruptly, without thinking, without smiling. She could hear the truth in her own voice and knew Leah Slaight would hear it too.
She did. Her eyes flickered in surprise. Her mouth formed a little O. Seemingly involuntarily, she put her left hand up to touch her hair. Marnie thought she could see the other hand, the one that held the gun, loosen its grip a bit.
“I do?” said Leah uncertainly.
“Yes.” Marnie pushed herself forward a little, to get her feet solidly on the floor. Beside her, the bottle shifted against her body again. If she could just keep moving around on the cot so that the seltzer rolled a bit, would that shake it up enough?
“Skye was a redhead,” said Leah.
“Dyed,” said Marnie. “I don’t know what color her real hair was. Probably brown, like mine. Andyours,” she added shamelessly. She was in awe at the sound of her own voice. So matter-of-fact. So calm. While inside …
She swayed and shifted on the cot as if to get more comfortable, and felt the seltzer roll up and down on the canvas before again settling against her side. Her stomach made a dreadful noise.
“Are you still hungry?” asked Leah. “I could bring you more soup.” For someone who’d wanted to talk, she certainly wasn’t in a rush to introduce her subject.
“Sure,” said Marnie, even though she knew it was fear that had caused the rumbling. Right now her stomach was so tight, she didn’t think she would ever have an appetite again. She picked up the seltzer bottle as if idly, and put it back down. Was that enough? She hadn’t a clue.
Leah looked uneasy. “When we’re done here, I’ll warm some for you. Do you like chicken noodle?”
“That would be okay.”
An uncomfortable silence fell. Marnie wiggled some more, and against her thigh the seltzer bottle went slosh, slosh, slosh. Marnie put her hand on it. She kept her eyes on Leah Slaight, who was fidgeting as well. Was the bottle ready to explode? Was now a good time? No. Leah was staring—
“I need a promise from you,” said Leah abruptly. “I need you to swear on—on Skye’s immortal soul. I’ll believe you if you do that.”
Oh, no, Marnie thought. She couldn’t take any more Skyedottir stuff; not at this moment when she was trying to get herself ready to …
“What kind of promise?” Marnie asked. Her legs tensed, feet pressing on the floor. Her hand tightened on the bottle. One more good slosh, and then—
Leah leaned forward. Words spilled from her in a hectic rush. “I was thinking about what you said. About my being entitled to half of Skye’s stuff. When this is over, when—if—I let you go, you have to swear you won’t say it was me. Promise me
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