"Good, you haven't left yet." It was Patricia and she carried her things in a heap. I took her shawl and hugged it close to hide my shaking, not caring how obvious my relief and gratitude might be, while she sorted herself out, then I managed to drape the lacy thing across her shoulders without dropping it. If she noticed my lack of composure she gave no sign. "Right here," I said, finally breathing more naturally. "What's that?" She dug her keys from her purse. "She died right here." I couldn't believe I had to explain. "Patty, doesn't that bother you?" "Of course it bothers me, Charles." Her voice was suddenly tight, but when she looked at me, I could see I wasn't forgiven and she wouldn't be distracted. "And so does your behavior." For a vengeful moment I considered having yet another argument. I could always harangue her about blackmailing me into attending this bloody party in the first place; in that sense, it really was all her fault. But even in that light she looked stricken beneath her anger, and I couldn't do it.
