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Sarah Blakley-Cartwright

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“For Lucie," Peter said quietly, the flame of a gilded saint's candle fluttering in his hand." "Leave." Peter had anticipated this reaction and was prepared. He cleared his throat. "I'm paying my respects," he said, still trying to be polite. The woman was grieving for her daughter. "I can guess the reason you're here. I've just lost one daughter," she said, her hand on the door. "I won't lose another." "Wait," "She's all I have left," she said. "And you have nothing to offer her." Peter knew that she was right, that Valerie deserved better. But he could not give her up. "I have a trade. The same one as your husband." "I know what a woodcutter earns." Peter began to protest, but Suzette stopped him. "Henry Lazar is her only hope for a better life." Peter looked into Suzette's anguished eyes, her words hitting him somewhere deep. It sank in: He could not give Valerie a good life. "If you love her," Suzette said, her voice cracking, "you'll leave her alone.”

“Peter," she began. He looked up at her, and she could see the pain in his eyes. "I love you," she said freely. With Peter, she was laid bare; he extracted her from herself. Peter didn't know what to say. HIs eyes glimmered, bright and burning. He only let her see them a moment before he turned away. He took a ragged breath. "What were you doing with Rose anyway" she demanded, asking a lot of him. Peter darkened again. He turned his back to her, took a step farther into the alley, and said in a dead voice, "I don't have to like her to get what I want." "I don't believe you," Valerie said, reaching for his face, again. Peter pulled away from her. "You're lying.”