Dr. Harr’s eyes widened slightly but went back to normal so fast Mike almost didn’t catch the reaction.
Almost.
“And all those years we never knew. All those years she pretended to be someone she wasn’t. Who does that to a person? To two people? We were a threesome. She deceived me and Dylan. Who was she?” Mike said with a choking sound at the end.
Dr. Harr sniffed slightly, nodding to herself. Warm, bright brown eyes met his. “Someone who was deeply complicated.”
“Conflicted, you mean,” Mike said. An endless weariness settled into his bones, making him feel like cement and steel in human form. The relief in him was clear: he’d finally told someone about Jill.
Too bad he only had three more sessions covered by insurance.
He clapped his palm against his forehead and began to laugh.
“Mike?” Dr. Harr asked, brows knitted in curiosity.
“I—insurance,” he said, gasping. “I was just thinking,” he said through a chuckle, “that insurance only covers four visits.”
“I can submit for approval for...” Her voice dropped off. She got it.
“Right.” He made a low, mirth-free laugh. “I don’t have to worry about it. Jill’s death changed my life in more ways than one. I can afford all the sessions I want, to talk about how everything I knew about her was a lie.”
Dr. Harr inhaled slowly, biting her upper lip, clearly thinking through her next words.
Then she nodded, her chin moving up and down like molasses, a rhythmic movement that mesmerized Mike.
“It’s important for you to understand why Jill kept this information from you.” Her eyes remained focused on him.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
He let a puff of air escape and just shook his head sadly.
“That, Dr. Harr, is what I don’t know.”
“It’s why you’re here,” she said. Not asked - said.
“Yes.”
Dr. Harr thought for a moment, then ventured, “Her motivations can’t be known by anyone now that she’s gone.” It came out with a compassionate tone but Mike heard the warning in her words.
“I know,” he said with bitterness. “But I’m stuck trying. Jill didn’t give me a choice.”
“You always have a choice.”
Mike really wished that were true.
Chapter 7
Miss Daisy, Snuggles and Frumpy were fabulous companions, but they weren't two hot, naked guys.
And never would be.
“Genie? Turn into your true form,” she joked as Snuggles gave her a sidelong glare that made Laura worried the cat would eat her face in her sleep. You would think spoiling them rotten with catnip and the best canned food would inspire some loyalty, but no....
No dream last night. Laura stared at the ceiling, warm under the covers, bladder threatening to explode and head ready for some morning caffeine. She had to get to work, but there was still plenty of time.
Plenty of time to procrastinate.
Snuggles hissed at Frumpy, who gave a half-hearted swipe and off they went, spitting and hissing. Laura shoved her foot so they'd get distracted, the furball thumping to the floor, the sound of scampering suddenly in the hallway.
Who needed reality television when you had cats?
Tap tap tap.
A little scream came out of Laura's throat as someone knocked at her front door, the sudden intrusion shocking her. Only Josie knocked, and even then she only did it half the time. Who could that be?
According to her peephole, it was Mrs. Carington from next door. The old lady looked like Betty White minus the smarts.
“This must be yours,” she said with a sneer, handling Laura a small cardboard box with a very nondescript “Wavelength2U Productions” on the box.
Yes, it was a new vibrator.
And apparently, Mrs. Carington had figured it out.
Before Laura could say a word, sirens grew in the distance, increasingly louder until her cats all ran for the back bedroom and Laura and Mrs. Carington ran downstairs, out into the sidewalk, Laura clutching her keys on a long lanyard. Bonded by shared spectacle, they watched as the tall ladder truck set up down the street, five buildings away on the other side of the road, smoke pouring out of a third-story window.
“Can you imagine?” Mrs. Carington gasped, but Laura couldn't match her emotion.
Because she was about to faint from sheer terror.
“My word, Laura, you look like you've been drained by a vampire!” the old woman said, grabbing Laura's elbow with a ruthless efficiency that mirrored how she spoke. Laura leaned against a lamp post and tried to remember how to breathe.
It was impossible.
Flashbacks of her childhood, of hiding in a closet as her grandparents' house burned, how she was rescued by a firefighter all swirled inside her. Over the years, she'd seen plenty of fires, but this one was so close.
Smoke, acrid and chemical-laden, filled her nostrils. The sirens shut out all thought. A man in a soot-streaked mustard-yellow fireman's outfit, complete with a red helmet and an axe on his belt, looked toward them.
For a split second, she swore she knew him. Dark, handsome, with eyes that stood out from the uniform he was buried under, it was as if –
No.
No way that was one of the men from her dream.
“I'm – I'm fine, Mrs. Carington,” she said breathlessly.
“It's Alice, and you're anything but fine. Are you pregnant? Why else would you be so faint.”
“If I'm pregnant, it was an act of God.”
Alice stiffened, then began to chuckle.
“Now the 'adult product' that was mistakenly delivered to my door makes far more sense.”
Not in the mood to joke about battery-operated boyfriends, Laura just smiled, a new bond formed with her prickly neighbor.
“I was in a fire once. As a child.”
“Oh, no! I'm so sorry. You clearly escaped.”
Tears filled Laura's eyes. “Yes. But they scare me.”
“I understand. Trauma leaves proof of existence. You can't control your reaction right now.” A kind hand rubbed her back. “I'll stay with you until you're ready to walk back in.”
“Thank you.” Too weak to say no, she accepted Alice's assistance with gratitude.
As she struggled to recover, she forced herself to watch the fire, marveling at how many firetrucks and first responders were on the call, working hard to save lives and property. People mattered more than anything else in the world, and moments like this reminded her that society existed to make sure people survived.
When you needed to be rescued, someone always had your back.
For a fire, at least.
Out of the corner of her eye, Laura noticed movement, her brain too slow to register that is was Frumpy before the cat ran along the sidewalk, toward the fire.
“FRUMPY!” she shouted.
“Like you're one to talk,” muttered another bystander, who was in his pajamas, but then again, so was Laura.
“MY CAT!”
By the time bystanders even noticed what she was talking about, Frumpy had crossed the street and was going toward the burning house. Logic told her no living, breathing being would put themselves intentionally in harm's way, other than people who view doing so as their life's work.