I’ve avoided her calls for this exact reason. I don’t wanna talk about it, and I sure as hell don’t want to hear her morose tone. It’s so unlike her. She’s a bubble of energy that has the ability to bulldoze right over the hardest asshole. Tonight, she sounds sullen and pathetic. I’m sure she’s expecting the same from me.
I’ve buried that shit so deep, there’s no way it’s coming back to the surface.
You’d think that six years later, I’d be able to handle a simple conversation, if only to assure my little sis that I’m all right. Not when it comes to this. Avoidance has been my coping mechanism.
“I’m fine. I was busy.”
It’s silent on her end for several seconds—aside from Zoey’s cries—but I don’t say another word. The next to speak loses, and tonight, I’m in no mood to play this game with her.
“She wouldn’t want you to grieve alone, Nick. She’d want you to get back out there.”
My eyes close, the pain duller every year, but still there. Still haunting me.
“I wasn’t alone. My neighbor was here.”
The second I admit that to her, I regret it. Jaclyn West-Olsson is the female cupid, ready to ensure the arrow strikes its target. I’m not even sure she’d take the time to confirm I was truly ensnared before audaciously forcing a union.
“Your elderly neighbor or the single woman?” Her tone makes it clear she’s only fishing because she wants to hear me say it. She knows damn well who it was.
“Jesus, Jack, she’s not single. She’s widowed.” She squeals as though I just told her I’m officially off the market and buying a ring.“Slow down, Andretti. We had some business to discuss.”
She tsks like that’s ridiculous. “What business could you possibly have with her? You’re an exceptional neighbor who keeps his side of the yard pristine.”
She’s not wrong, but I’ve learned to just get to the point with her, or else I’ll be on the phone all night.
“There was an incident at Gloria’s involving Alyssa.”
“Spill.”
There isn’t a choice. She’ll show up on my front door to demand an answer if I hang up on her. So I fill her in on everything. She’s the only person in this world outside the department that I share information with, because I trust her implicitly.
“You should listen to her source and look into things. And then ask her on a date.”
My mouth drops open and some strange sound escapes me. Dumbfounded is my current state.
“You’re unreal.”
She huffs. “I know you, Nick. The second that woman said psychic, you tuned her out. If it doesn’t fit in your limited idea of possibility, you don’t believe it.”
“That’s not true.”
“It is. And let me tell you, many police forces partner with psychics to solve cold cases.”
“How would you know?” I pull the phone away from my ear, checking the time. Twelve fifty. Way past my bedtime. I put the phone on speaker and lay it next to my head.
I wonder if she’d notice if I fell asleep on her.
“Don’t you remember mom watching Montel Williams every time Sylvia Browne was a guest?”
“Who?”
“Just look it up and stop being a skeptic.” She clicks her tongue, a habit she’s had since childhood. “You know everyone is rootingfor you to fall in love again, right? Why not the gorgeous neighbor next door?”
My hands knead my temples, a headache brewing. “I can’t talk about this, Jack. I need sleep.”
I hear her intake of breath and know she wants to argue, but thankfully, she doesn’t push.
“Fine Captain Cranky. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
