Helping Sarah

Chapter 8

Sarah

Michael was staring at me across my living room. He stood stock-still, the paper he was holding quivering, and all trace of colour had drained from his face.

"Are you all right?" I asked.

"Yes," he croaked. Then looked at the drawing again before he quickly put it back on the desk, his movements jerky. He visibly swallowed. "Your name is Graves?" he asked, almost whispered as he pointed to my signature in the corner; S. Graves.

"Yes, Sarah Connor Graves. Connor is my maiden name, but I work under Graves only."

I had considered making the change to working under Sarah Connor instead after Andrew's death, but by then I already had a few steady clients and I didn't want to confuse anyone when I was trying to find more work. And my old clients were more important than any who would be scared off by the rumours connected to the Graves name.

Michael abruptly turned his back to the desk and pushed his hair away from his forehead. It looked as if his chest was heaving, but it stilled, he stilled, as did his hand on top of his head, hair sticking out between his fingers, when his eyes landed on the photos on the wall beside me.

Another one of those strangled sounds emerged. "That's her."

I followed his gaze to the framed photo in the middle. It didn't sound like a question, but I slowly nodded. The photo was of Lisa, Charlie and me and had been taken in the winter in Helen and Benji's garden just as we'd finished a snowman about twice as high as Charlie. All three of us had red cheeks, and Lisa was chewing on the carrot she had plucked from the snowman's head.

I nodded. "Yes, that's Lisa and my son, Charlie. She's both my best friend and my sister-in-law."

Michael ran a hand down over his face, and the sound that emerged this time was more of a groan.

"Are you sure you're all right?"

"Yes," he rushed to say. He turned halfway away from me, away from the drawings and the photos. Then seemed to gather himself and straightened. Looked at me. "Yes. I'm fine."

"Okay." I gestured over my shoulder. "I'll just get the tea."

He nodded jerkily, his hands seeming at a loss as to what to do or where to be, but when I came back with the two mugs, Michael had moved over to the window and was staring out, his hands in his pockets.

"So," I said, placing the mugs down on the low table by the sofa, "you said you had something to tell me? About Lenny?"

I had no idea what had upset Michael about my drawings or that Lisa had recommended me for the children's books. There was nothing shady about it. She wouldn't have anything to do with the final decision about whether I got the job or not, and she didn't even like Brian Gillett much.

There was another possible reason for why Michael would recognize Lisa, one I'd rather not dwell on. One that made my heart sink. My friend had had quite a few more partners than me, but she was usually able to remember all of them and she hadn't reacted to Michael's name. Though Smith was a fairly common last name.

I gestured to the armchair as I sat in the sofa, and Michael stared at it for a long, silent moment before he left the window and sat down. Elbows on his knees, he clasped his hands between them and his hair fell forward again.

I met his gaze through it.

"Sarah."

"Yes?"

"I'm not..." His eyes closed briefly, almost as if he silently groaned, and then looked at me again. "It's James who's done the investigating about Lenny. Not me."