Page 86 of Cruel Delights
“The way you posed that question, I’m assuming yes is the only acceptable answer.”
She hooks her arm into mine and then laughs. “Kaden, you’re a mystery.”
“That wouldn’t be the first time I’ve heard that.”
“Why did you pretend to be someone else?”
“Lyra… we’ve been over this…”
“Your personality,” she clarifies. “When you first met me, you were acting like a different man.”
“Is that your way of saying I’m not warm and kind?”
Another short laugh leaves her. “Yes.”
“I admire your honesty.”
“But,” she continues, “I like this you more.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. It’s more real.”
“And the other man you met wasn’t? That was my best foot forward.”
“I prefer this foot. At least I know what I’m getting. A part of me sensed it—something was off about you.”
You have no idea, little lamb. You still don’t know.
“You were too perfect,” she thinks aloud, frowning. “No one’s that good-looking, rich, successful,anda good person.”
I laugh this time. “Your cynicism is refreshing. Which of those did you eliminate to determine the real me?”
“Take a wild guess.”
“I let the elderly go in front of me in lines. I feed strays when I see them. On occasion, I help piano players with crippling self-doubt land career-changing auditions.”
“I can’t imagine who that last one is about.”
“Take a wild guess,” I quip, and she shoots me an amused glance.
We walk for so long I’m questioning where she’s leading us. We’ve reached a more desolate pocket of the city, where corner stores abound and trash scuttles by. I look ahead at the dead end street and notice the tall iron gates.
“You’re taking me to the cemetery?”
She nods. “I used to telework from here.”
“That’s very… morbid of you.”
“Not morbid. Very relaxing. I’ll show you.”
Lyra’s arm stays looped with mine. I allow it for the occasion. It’s better than a hand hold. A gesture she hasn’t dared try. She tugs and tugs at me, leading us down narrow pathways of gravestones and commemorative monuments. Some are admittedly eerie in the vacancy of the cemetery. Giant angels of chiseled stone with harps and chunks of their faces missing.
Still, we keep going. We wander past a domed mausoleum collecting moss and webs spun by spiders. At the far end, we begin climbing a grassy knoll. On the top sits a giant elm tree with branches spread out to resemble an umbrella.
A look of contentment lights up Lyra’s face when we reach the top. “See. Isn’t it peaceful up here? It’s quiet and no one’s ever around.”
I stare at her. “There’s plenty of places in the city where you can find the same.”