Gemma looks up, lips parting. Remorse is salient in her eyes again, and it doesn’t make any fucking sense. “I had no idea. Sucks, doesn’t it? Growing up without them.”
“Yeah. It did. It still does.”
“Were you adopted by another family?” she asks hesitantly.
“No. I lived with my uncle for a while, and then he split up with his wife, who wasn’t related to me, but she let me stay with her until college. We haven’t talked in years.”
“I moved in with my aunt and uncle too. They’re way older with grandkids and stuff now. I always felt like a burden.”
“Me too,” I admit. I always knew there were many other kids out there like me, but despite the therapist’s efforts that first year after my parents’ death to get me into groups and talk about my feelings, I never went. Mostly because no one was there to take me. “Do you still talk with your aunt and uncle?”
“Yeah. We’re close. They’re a bit overbearing, which is why I moved into the city. They’re Amish.”
“Oh, cool. But I bet that made being into ghosts and magic interesting.”
She laughs. “Just a bit. So…how did you lose your parents?”
“They were killed.”
“Like, murdered?”
I press my lips into a thin line, fighting back emotion. “Yeah.”
“Oh my God. How? Sorry. That falls into theI’m too noseyrealm.”
“It’s okay,” I say, but don’t go into any further detail than that.
“Did you find them?”
I don’t answer that either.
“Sorry. It’s just…I’ve never met anyone who lost their parents so young before.”
“Neither have I. And yes. I did.”
Her face pales. “I’m so sorry.”
“It was a long time ago.” I catch a dripping bead of condensation off my glass. “So…what do you do?”
“I’m a nurse. Right now I’m at a nursing home and in school again to get my bachelor’s so I can hopefully move to a hospital soon. I like my patients, but we’re so understaffed.”
“I don’t think I have the patience for that.”
She gives a wry smile. “Sometimes I don’t think I do either.” She talks about work, and then we chat about magic a bit. The awkwardness fades away, and as weird as it is to sit here talking to her, it’s nice.
When we get up to leave and she asks if I want to get together again, I say yes. I don’t want to get ahead of myself, but I think I might finally have a friend.
* * *
“I am sosorry for your loss,” I say again, feeling a tug on my heart. Lily Turner’s parents returned home from a business trip to find their daughter missing. With her being nineteen and in college, they didn’t jump to conclusions right away, and it was only after a few hours of calling and texting that they grew to worry and contacted the police.
They just identified her body.
“Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt Lily? Did she have any enemies?” They’re standard questions, but the murder is anything but.
Her mother’s face is pale and she hasn’t stopped crying since she set foot into the station. She looks at me, mouth opening but unable to form any words.
“No,” her father answers instead. “Not that we know of. Everyone liked Lily.”
