The river was tranquil and delicate at night. It was calm enough to mistaken for a lengthy curving mirror, only tiny ripples telling otherwise. Fable always loved coming down to the river at night. In high school she and her friends would camp here. Nights full of alcohol and teenage rebellion. In college, she often studied here along the riverbanks between classes. There was something about the Black Warrior River that relaxed her. She could vaguely recall her father taking her and Beryl there when they were young. He’d told her once how the river had gotten its name. Something about why the Indian tribes that predated Alabama had named it that. She couldn’t remember the story now. She wanted to because she thought Patric might enjoy the tale. She should have written it down long ago with the other memories of her father. Then again, if she really wanted to know that much, she could have pulled out her phone and Googled it. But with Patric sitting behind her with his legs twined comfortably around her own, she didn’t feel much like digging for her phone. She listened to the sound of his heart against her ear as she laid against his chest. Like an excited animal.

  “It’s funny,” she said. “I feel so comfortable with you, even though we haven’t gotten to know each other that well yet.”

  “I know all I need to know about you,” he replied. “I know you can charm the beasts and that your last name is Blanchard. I know that you are the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

  “But I want to know more about you,” she said.

  “Why is that important?” he asked.

  “Because I like you.”

  He laughed, it was a kind of private laugh, like a joke he was the only one in on. “You strike me as the type to like anyone who shows you a little attention.”

  Fable bristled. “What does that mean?”

  He licked her neck with his tongue, an odd thing to do, but she liked it a little. “Just that you remind me of a small cub that only wants to be nestled and cared for.”

  “Everyone craves affection,” she retorted. “You do, too. Why else would you be sitting here like this with me?”

  “You tell me.”

  Fable looked up at him and smiled, “Because you like me, too. You act gruff and brooding, but there is a heart inside there. I can feel it. It pulls at me.”

  “I thought it was my raw animal sexiness that drew you to me.”

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  “That, too,” she laughed. “You are sort of like a lion.”

  “And you’ll be my lioness, I suppose,” Patric replied.

  “Why not?” she said. “What else would you call me?”

  “A playful little appetizer,” he grinned.

  “Very funny. You try to act tough, but I know you care about me.”

  “Perhaps I do,” Patric replied. “But I’m a long way from home and you are a tempting distraction.”

  Fable turned around so that she could see his face better in the moonlight. Through the trees the bright orb in the sky lit his face in blue and gray. “You came all this way to be with your sister,” she began. “And now you’ve found me. I’d call that a bonus, not a distraction. Maybe Fate was leading you all this way to find me actually.”

  “Maybe so,” he smirked. “Maybe Fate led me to Daihmler to find myself a Blanchard.”

  The way he said a Blanchard, instead of saying her specifically, struck a chord inside her, but she suppressed it. It was just an odd choice of words, nothing more. That was the thing about Patric, she was never quite able to tell when they were playfully joking or when he meant something altogether different. She didn’t let it bother her too much. They were still in the getting-to-know-you phase of this very new relationship. Time would iron out the details and confusing parts.

  “You know, I still haven’t met your sister yet,” she said. “Tell me about her. When can we get together?”

  Patric did not respond. It took Fable a minute to realize he had grown stone still, his eyes focused off somewhere in the distance of the river water, yet also looking at nothing at all.

  “Patric? You okay?”

  He jerked upright rapidly.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I must go.”

  “Why?” she exclaimed. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No,” he said. “I am terribly sorry, Fable. There is just something I must attend to.”

  He stood up from the bank, almost pushing her to the ground doing so. She got up herself and dusted off her pants. He was beginning to walk away, but she called out for him to wait.

  “I’ll drive you.”

  Patric refused. “I’ll call a car. I must go now. I will see you tomorrow night, at seven. I’ll pick you up at your home.”

  He was gone as quickly as the words left his mouth, disappearing through a cluster of trees and brambling shrubbery. She wanted to follow him but didn’t. There were more important things to consider. Suddenly Fable began questioning herself. Questioning why it was that she was so attracted to this man. This wasn’t the first time he’d been rude—dismissive. She dated other guys in that past that hadn’t treated her well, but Patric seemed even more off-putting than they had been. And she’d reached her limit with those men and ended things. She had only known Patric a short time, so why was she putting up with his behavior and not sending him packing? She knew why. Because there was something about him that drew her in. A passion inside her no other man had ever awakened. Was this why women remain in abusive relationships? Because they are so pathetically attracted to a man that they will subject themselves to constant humiliation? Fable had always thought so little of those women. Women who would keep going back for more lies, more cheating, more abuse and allow their men to continue to exploit their love were not worth the time in feeling sorry for. They were a joke. To allow themselves one degradation after another was pathetic. But now she recognized she was becoming one of them. She understood them now. She didn’t like the idea. She did not like the fact that she could find justification for demeaning herself. No man was worth that.