On the way to the restaurant, I told Bonnie that I cared for her just the way she was, and she
said she cared for me beyond words, literally. Nevertheless, it was a subdued drive for me, the
meal but a diversion from the awkwardness I continued to feel over my betrayal, as we compared
the challenges and rewards of having cats or dogs as pets.
It was not until we were looking over the dessert cart with our server hovering that Bonnie
turned her attention to personal matters. Even then, it was as a whimsical refrain that she said,
“Your experiences with me should have opened your mind to Intent's propositions by now,” she
grinned slyly, “considering that we’ve talked about the core events of your life.”
Surprising me no more, this idea had just been displaced by darker thoughts of me having
lived a mean, if not meaningless life, so I wasn’t peeved that Bonnie had carefully cajoled me
into a Teyo-like recapitulation of key events to have me see a bigger picture. It didn’t work,
anyway.
Somberly, I said, “I think the path was too intense. I guess I'm not up for any more
adventures, except maybe that raspberry thingy looks like a coronary threat.” I nodded at Evelyn.
"That's understandable,” Bonnie said, pointing at a lemon tart topped with a strawberry hat
seated in meringue. “Seeing everything you came here to see came at a high price.”
Prudently, Evelyn served us without comment, withdrew a step, and wheeled the cart away.
“Months ago,” Bonnie said, focusing on my plate, “Kha-lib told me that your quest was
personally expensive, but I didn't fully appreciate it until tonight on the stairs.” Taking a small
bite, she said, “Umm,” pointing her fork at my plate.
“You know, it's not that I don't want to believe you, especially since I’ve had more strange
stuff happen than I’ve told you about,” I spoke the most honest words I had probably said since
our first meeting. “But I can’t get passed the idea that you’re manufacturing a Universe to suit
your story, and maybe some experiences, no different than you claim I’ve done with mine—
notwithstanding that billions of people would believe my version. No offence.”
Carefully setting her fork down, Bonnie patted the corners of her mouth delicately with a
vermilion cloth, then placing it aside reached across the table to cover my hand with hers. I
studied her cheerless expression for signs of mischief but found only empathy as she softly said,
“When we first met, you delivered your stories with an undertow designed to drag me into
acknowledging your intellect and to conjure courage out of ill-conceived exploits, then you
played down your role to luck while pummelling me with jabs of horror. That only made sense if
you were defending secrets you held about yourself by placing experiences I haven't had in the
way of my reasoning.”
“I’m not arguing, but why would I want to defend something I don’t know about?”
“But you do know, and you gave it away the first time we met: you used death as a job
opportunity in the first story you wrote.” She raised her brow.
I couldn’t muster a cogent rebuttal.
