[ The mention of her late husband is enough to make his expression sober, and he glances away when she turns her attentions back to the cards. Faraday wonders, sometimes, what it was that brought him back to Rose Creek, diminished though he may be. He wonders if it was luck, good or bad, or fate, or just someone up there paying a dirty trick on him. And he wonders why it was him, of all people, why it wasn’t Goody or Billy or Jack, or hell, even Bogue. Cold son of a bitch that he was, it would almost seem natural for him to escape the clutches of death to terrorize the town again.
And very rarely, Faraday wonders why it wasn’t Matthew.
The thought never lasts very long, considering how little he knew of the man. Teddy Q had mentioned a thing or two, but never much. The sting of loss was still too fresh, Faraday figured, and he never cared to press. But of all of them, shouldn’t it have been him? The man with actual ties to this town, who had buried his roots so deep he was willing to die to single-handedly face down a tyrant?
The noise of the cards snapping together, of the fire crackling softly, fills in the silence between them as Faraday watches her bridge the cards again. Then, quietly (and oh, so carefully), ]
no subject
And very rarely, Faraday wonders why it wasn’t Matthew.
The thought never lasts very long, considering how little he knew of the man. Teddy Q had mentioned a thing or two, but never much. The sting of loss was still too fresh, Faraday figured, and he never cared to press. But of all of them, shouldn’t it have been him? The man with actual ties to this town, who had buried his roots so deep he was willing to die to single-handedly face down a tyrant?
The noise of the cards snapping together, of the fire crackling softly, fills in the silence between them as Faraday watches her bridge the cards again. Then, quietly (and oh, so carefully), ]
Did he teach you to play, too?