February 3
“I don’t know,” I say. “I never really thought about it until just now.” Well, it’s the truth. It doesn’t answer his question in the slightest, but it is the truth.
“Could you, maybe, hazard a guess?”
“I could, but it sounds to me like you would be looking for something more substantial than a guess,” I say. “I wouldn’t want to mislead you.”
He scowls for just a brief, imperceptible moment. It’s enough for me to catch the foul expression, and I think for that instant he knows I’m studying him as closely as he’s studying me. Then, as if nothing had happened, he relaxes his face, and the smile comes back. “Well, you’re right, of course,” he says. “I suppose we can just leave that for now. Moving on, do you know if Mrs. Sanders has any children?”
She does, a son. She doesn’t. She’s never talked about kids. That seems like the best course of action to take. Again, they’re all somehow true, but I think that last one might be the safest answer. Besides, if I weasel out of every question, he’ll know something’s up. “I don’t remember her ever mentioning any children,” I say, feigning nonchalance. “Really, for something like that, you might want to talk to Lou.”
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