I chuckled softly. “That sounds like her.”
“She keeps asking when you’re coming to visit. I told her you’re busy with that fancy new job of yours, but you know how she is. She worries.”
“I’ll come this weekend. I promise.”
“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Pauline. She’d rather you take care of yourself than run yourself ragged trying to be everywhere at once.” Another pause. “You sound tired. Are you sleeping?”
“Just woke up and saw your text, everything is fine,”
“That’s good.” The sound was deeply skeptical, a trait that apparently ran in the family. “Well, I’ll let you go. Call yourgrandmother later—hearing your voice does more for her than any medicine they’ve got in this place.”
“I will. Love you, Auntie.”
“Love you too, baby girl.”
I hung up and sat there for a moment, phone pressed against my chest, breathing through the tangle of emotions that always came with these calls.
I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled toward the kitchen, desperate for coffee. The morning light was golden through the windows, and somewhere outside I could hear birds singing and traffic humming and all the normal sounds of a world that had kept turning despite everything that happened last night.
I glanced out the window as I passed.
My Honda was parked at the curb.
I stopped. Blinked. Looked again.
My Honda. The one I’d left on a pothole-ridden street in the worst part of the city. I’d completely forgotten about in the chaos of sirens and bodyguards and Jack’s hands on my face asking if I was hurt.
It was here. At my apartment. Parked perfectly parallel to the curb like it had driven itself home and tucked itself in for the night.
Jack.
He’d had someone bring my car back. While I was sleeping, he had made sure I wouldn’t wake up stranded.
My chest pounded hard again. I told it to stop.
A knock at my door made me jump.
I crossed the room and peered through the peephole. Purple hair. An expression of barely contained excitement.
I opened the door.
“Oh my God.” Candy’s eyes went wide as she took in my appearance—rumpled pajamas, bird’s nest hair, the general auraof someone who had not slept nearly enough. “You look like you got hit by a truck.”
“That would almost be right,” I said.
“That’s not reassuring. Can I come in?” I looked down to see Meatball’s leash wrapped around her wrist.
I took a step back instinctively. “Candy. The dog.”
“I know, I know, but listen—” She turned to face me, one hand up in a placating gesture. “I have to run to the store and I can’t leave him alone because last time I did he ate an entire throw pillow and the vet bill was astronomical. I’ll only be twenty minutes. Thirty tops. He’ll just sit here and be good. Won’t you, Meatball?”
Meatball looked at me. I looked at Meatball. His tail gave a single, hopeful wag.
“Candy—”
“He won’t move from this spot. I promise. You won’t even know he’s here.”
“I will absolutely know he’s here. He’s the size of a small horse.”
