“Cross my heart and hope to die, that is Shelly’s cat. Maine coon cats look like lynx.” Shelly had always bragged about how Tarragon was twenty-five pounds. Mr. Bubbles was only ten. Shelly was off her rocker for blaming him for Tarragon’s disappearance in the first place.
For a moment, neither could say anything. Justin crossed himself. He looked to the heavens and said, “God forgive me for my shopping habit. I’ve gone too far.”
Gabby asked, “How much did you pay for him?”
“Five hundred dollars, which was a bargain. You can’t find a taxidermied lynx anywhere, especially ones that have died of natural causes.”
“You didn’t find a lynx!” Because she hadn’t lost her senses, she said, “We have to get him out of here before Shelly sees.”
Justin picked up the cat and started carrying it under his arm toward the back. “I don’t understand how this happened.”
“People are always driving too fast down this street. If your taxidermist was finding roadkill in the area…” It stood to reason, even if it was preposterous.
“I’m putting him at your house, Gabs.”
Gabby didn’t want Shelly’s stuffed cat at her house, but this was an emergency. She needed to save Justin. They hustled out the side gate. Gabby held the cocktails. Justin held Tarragon. Halfwayacross the yard, he paused to reflect. “This is almost the dumbest thing we’ve ever done.” He looked behind her, dead serious, and said, “Don’t tell Hugh.”
She made a zipping motion across her lips.
“I know I’m the fun one, but I’ve been a little too fun lately, if you know what I mean.”
She did. This was what happened when you tested your limits—you ended up displaying your neighbor’s dead cat in the garden and inviting them over for cocktails.
“I got you, Justin. We got each other.” They were trying at least.
Out on the empty street at night, the music and the conversation gone, it was just her and Justin. The smell of magnolia blossoms from Justin’s tree filled the air. Justin inspected his cat and frowned. “Goddamn it, Shelly.”
“How did you not know her cat? She bragged about it constantly.” She was always telling everyone how much better her cat was than any other cat—glamorous, hypoallergenic, looked just like a lynx.
“I don’t pay attention to cats!” he exclaimed.
He was dressed as a cat. She would have pointed it out except her phone buzzed. It was Markus.I know I said Monday, but need to meet tomorrow. Start training ASAP.
“Damn it.” She scowled at her phone. “They want me to come in tomorrow.”
Can’t I call in sick for a few more days?
Nope. Boss said you’re fired unless you show up Monday.
She wanted the weekend to lose ten pounds and get in shape. At the very least, she’d wanted to buy some of those yoga pants that would force her butt into the shape of what she expected a butt to look like. Fabletics assured her that “there are no bad butts,” and she was ready to be convinced.
Justin must have sensed her rising stress level. “Tell me about this job, honey.”
“It just came up, yesterday. They needed me to start immediately.” She sighed. “I’m not sure I can do it, though. I haven’t worked outside the house for ages.” Look how much she’d fucked it up in just one day. She’d pepper sprayed Markus ten minutes after meeting him.
And she didn’t know anything about money laundering. She could barely handle actual laundry. Her shoulders slumped, the voices of all the haters, her own the loudest, echoing in her mind.
“I’m going to text them and say I’m out.” She typed a quick note to Markus:I can’t do this. I wish I could, but I can’t. It’s not you, it’s me. Xoxo Gabby
Her finger hovered over her text breakup with the EOD. This was the first time “it’s not you, it’s me” really applied. She would love to be a superspy, but how could she be? Valentina was right. She’d just get herself killed or, worse, someone else. She hitSEND.
Dressed like a cat and holding Tarragon, Justin looked at her with the energy of one of Oprah’s hand-selected lifestyle experts, someone who was about to start inspiring change. “Gabby, don’t even joke with me. You can do an office job. Make coffee, file, book appointments. How hard can it possibly be?”
If only he knew.
“Throw your shoulders back. Booty in, chest out. Whatever they want you to do, you can do it.” His right hand in the air andhis other hand on his hip, he did some sort of Fosse dance move. “You can do it backwards in high heels!”
She smiled weakly. Justin could but not her.
