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“Does he have a job?”

“Yes. A good one. Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“He’s currently suspended.”

She closed her eyes. “Of course he is.”

“He’s had some problems.”

She gave a nod filled with resignation.

“Don’t do that. Did he seem awful just now?”

“We didn’t really talk. I glared. He smiled.”

That made me smile. “Sounds about right. He’s a good guy.”

“You said that about Carl.”

“And I was wrong. I’m not this time.”

“And when Baxter steals your bed?”

“Actually, he bought me a bed.”

She frowned. “You hadn’t replaced the bed. Why didn’t you tell me? We would have helped you out.”

“I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you.”

She abandoned her chair and joined me on the sofa, averting her gaze so sharply it was a wonder she didn’t give herself whiplash. “Please fix your robe. I don’t want to spend years in therapy because I’ve seen parts of you I never wanted to see.”

Heat flooded my cheeks as I rearranged the folds of fabric. “I was in a rush to get down here.”

“I get the impression he can look after himself.”

“Yes and no…”

She sighed. “Okay… I’ll bite. Tell me all about Baxter.”

I did, making sure not to leave anything out. The moments when she expressed incredulity were unsurprising. I’d done the same. When I finished, there was a long silence while she processed everything. “I’m not mad,” I said when it dragged on long past being comfortable. “I know it all sounds batshit crazy, but it’s true.”

“So if he’d lived, he’d be…?”

“Forty-three.”

She considered that for a moment. “And he can read minds? It’s not some sort of con?”

“He can.”

“So he was probably reading mine earlier?”

“Probably.”

She frowned. “That’s invasive.”

“You get used to it.”