Less than an hour later, Eric returns laden with four shopping bags. I'd planned to make a seafood risotto, so he obviously got way more than I put on the list.

"Want to help me cook?" I ask as I start to put the food away.

He grimaces like the idea pains him, but then smiles and nods. "Sure. Just don't expect me to learn anything? I will never be able to cook. Believe me, this kitchen is only here because it's supposed to be. The same goes for the one in my apartment."

I'll be content to do all the cooking. I think it, but I don't say it. Because it would sound too creepy.

"I got you something else too," he says, shuffling the bags on the counter until he locates a small, black one.

He pulls out a phone that's still packaged in its original box. "Now you'll be able to call me if you ever get lost again."

It's a high-end phone, something I'd never spend money on. In fact, I'd given up mobile phones when I left the ER. The landline is enough for me.

He unwraps the box, and busies himself with making the phone work.

"It's too much, Eric. I don't need a phone." I take a pot from a drawer and fill it with water to cook the rice. "Especially not an expensive one like that."

"Nonsense," he says. "I want to be able to reach you. And I want you to be able to reach me."

It's a sweet sentiment, more than I can say no to. But I'm still so uncomfortable taking gifts from him. Even though Julie said that…

The second I think of her, all the contentment I felt just a second ago is shattered, replaced by cold, sickening fear and sadness. She's dead. She was murdered while I slept in the house where it happened. I liked her. We could've been friends. Would've probably.

"Do you have any news about Julie?" I ask, unwrapping the prawns he got for the risotto. They're fresh, must've cost a fortune.

Eric doesn't reply, but he's stopped fiddling with the phone. I look up at him, and wish I hadn't. His face is pale, his eyes black, and his expression completely unreadable like he's wearing a mask made of stone.

"No," he finally says.

"They have no leads?" I don't know why I'm pressing him on this, but I feel like I must.

"None that I'm aware of," he says, and turns on my new phone, the chime as it powers on echoing in the silent room.

"But do you think they will?" I ask. Maybe it's not a good idea to press him like this, because that stone mask he still seems to be wearing is about to shatter, I'm sure of it. But I think we should talk about it.

"Look, I don't know, and I'd rather not discuss it. What happened, happened."

"A horrible thing happened," I counter. And your brother thinks you did it. I don't say it, but I also can't figure out how it's possible that all this isn't affecting him more. As a nurse, I was trained to offer compassion, but not let death and pain get to me emotionally. I failed in the end, but I do still have some control. As for Eric, I'm not sure where his stoniness is coming from.

The water is boiling, splashing over the side of the pot, but I make no move to take care of it. I'm too focused on Eric, waiting for what he's gonna say next, afraid I've crossed the line.

"Are you asking me something?" he says. "I already said I didn't do it."

"No. That's not what I'm asking," I say, nudging the pot off the flame. "I just wanted to…I thought you should talk about it. She was your sister-in-law after all, and she was horribly murdered, and we haven't even spoken about it."

"We did speak about it," he says bitingly. "As for Julie, my brother just brought her home one day about six months ago. He didn't tell anyone where he met her, or where she came from. I've only spoken to her about six times since then. We weren't close."

"But she died."

"People die, Joy. Sometimes it's the ones close to us. You learn to cope. There's no other choice," he says, the mocking tone in his voice bordering on anger. "Julie's death was horrible. I hope they find her killer soon. But I hardly knew her."

"Not like Sophia, you mean?" I can't believe that just came out of my mouth. I grab the box of rice and dump too much of it into the water, dumbly, childishly hoping my question had gone unheard.

But when I look up, Eric is staring at me with his mouth slightly open, his eyes wide.

"Yeah, not like Sophia," he says bitingly. "And my mom before her. Terry blames me for those deaths too. But I'm just as innocent of them as I am of this one. Any other questions?"

Yes, tons. But I won't be asking them. Not now. Perhaps not ever. Because his whole face is screaming at me to shut up, to mind my own business, no trespassing.

I shake my head.

"Good. I'm going out now." He turns and walks away.

I want to ask when he'll be back, tell him lunch will be ready in half an hour, but I don't. Because I've clearly already said too much.