The Bad Daughter(46)

“Do you really have to ask?”

“I take it this is the fiancé,” Melanie said, not waiting to be introduced as she walked past them to the front door.

“Nice meeting you,” Blake called after her.

“When did you get here?” Robin asked.

He checked his watch. “About half an hour ago. I knocked, but no one answered. I debated going to the hospital, then decided I might as well just wait out here.”

Robin glanced toward Landon’s room, saw him staring down at them from the upstairs window. “You must be broiling.”

“I’m okay. How’s your father?”

“Not good.”

“I’m sorry.”

“But Cassidy seems to be getting stronger, so that’s something.” Robin looked toward her father’s house, surrounded by its yellow fence of police tape. “That’s the house…”

“I figured.”

“Sorry. I guess it’s pretty obvious.” As obvious as the distance between us, Robin thought.

“No need to apologize.”

When had they become so stiff, so formal, with each other? Robin felt a line of perspiration dribble down her neck, although Blake seemed comfortable enough. He looked as cool as ever in his crisp blue shirt and khaki pants.

“How are you holding up?” he asked.

“Me? I’m fine.”

“You look exhausted.”

Robin’s hand flew to her hair, as if her unruly curls were the source of her fatigue. “Are you thirsty? Do you want to come inside, have a drink of something cold?”

“No. I’m okay. I think I’d rather take a walk, stretch my legs a bit, if you don’t mind.”

“A walk sounds good.”

Robin strode down the long driveway, Blake falling into place beside her. She longed to take his hand, to hug him close, but settled for the occasional graze of the back of his hand against hers as they walked. We might as well be strangers, she thought.

Maybe that was what they were.

“You seem shocked that I’m here,” he said after a few minutes of strained silence.

“I guess I am.”

“Why does it surprise you?”

The question caught her off guard. Maybe because we haven’t spoken in days. Maybe because you haven’t returned any of my messages. “You didn’t tell me you were coming,” she answered, the safest option.

“You didn’t tell me you were leaving,” he countered.

“What?” Why was he bringing this up now? “I called your office,” she reminded him.

“And left a message with my assistant. Told her you had to go back home because of a family emergency.”

“Which was true.”

“It was also something of an understatement, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes, okay. But at the time I didn’t really know what was going on and I didn’t want to worry you…”

“So you were thinking about me?”

“Well, no, I probably wasn’t thinking at all.” What’s happening here? Why are we having this discussion? Why do I feel as if I have to defend myself? “Okay. Look. Maybe I should have insisted on speaking to you before I left. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, but we’ve spoken a number of times since then and…”

“You think this is about hurt feelings?” he interrupted.

“To be honest, I don’t know what this is.” She stopped when she realized that Blake was no longer beside her. She turned around to see him standing several paces back, not moving. “What’s wrong?” she asked, returning to his side.

“You tell me.”

Really? “Well, Tara is dead and my father is barely hanging on. My brother’s car was photographed in Red Bluff on the night of the shootings, and he seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth. The sheriff obviously considers him a suspect, along with my nephew. Then there’s some guy named Donny Warren who may or may not have been having an affair with Tara and…”

“All very interesting, but that’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

“Tell me what you don’t understand,” Robin said, adopting a more conciliatory tone and picturing herself leaning back in her office chair, pen poised over her notebook, encouraging a shy client with a friendly smile.

Blake shook his head, clearly picturing the same thing. “You’re doing it again.”

“What am I doing?”

“Whenever I try to have any kind of a serious discussion with you these days, you turn into a therapist.”

“I am a therapist.”

“You’re also my fiancée. We’re supposed to be on the same page. We’re supposed to tell each other things, to be there for each other. Why are you cutting me off?”

“I’m not cutting you off.”

“The hell you aren’t.”

“You’ve been very busy at work, with meetings…” With your new assistant.

“You’re saying this is my fault?”

“I’m not saying this is anybody’s fault. I’m not even sure what you’re talking about.”