Chapter 21: Fortunes
Over Chinese take-in for lunch we talk about Barbara Mullen. Trent is still on the sofa with his ankle resting on the nearby ottoman. The swelling of his foot has gone down considerably; the long nap he takes with ice on his ankle certainly proves helpful.
I fork lo mein noodles out of a red-and-white paper container, drop them on a ceramic plate, and insist, “Barbara doesn’t hate you.”
“She does. I can see it in her venomous eyes. That woman loathes me inside and out.”
I watch him take a bite of a shrimp egg roll. “I’ve known her for years and she’s really likable. You’ve just rubbed her the wrong way because of Jessica.”
“I tend to do that with people. A black cloud lingers over me wherever I go.”
“That’s not true. Look at your photographs at The Mural House. S
