Subtle. “I’m afraid I’ll be flying solo tomorrow night if I can go.”
“Oh,” she says sadly. “Well, maybe you’ll meet someone tomorrow night. A lot of people from the hospital are coming. There’s actually this really brilliant neurologist I worked with in Independence who I’m just dying to introduce you to. He’s one of my oldest, dearest friends, and the sweetest man alive. I think you’ll really hit it off.”
I take a bite of my brownie. “Please stop trying to set me up. Between you, Justin, and Cam’s wife, I think I’ve had dinner with the whole male population of Galilee by now.”
“We just want you to be happy.”
“I am happy,” I say quickly. “I’m happy for you. And Justin. The rest, well, it’ll come when it comes. No rush.”
“Maybe with Dr. Ambrose,” she says with a knowing smile.
“Maybe.”
It’s times like these I wish I could tell the world about Harry. Shout it from the rafters that there’s a descent, hardworking man who thinks I’m worthwhile. But that would be too much like right. Too grown up. Too real.
The rest of lunch is filled with the dreaded girl talk about the wedding, Daisy, and of course Justin. The way she talks about him, and looks when she’s talking about him, grates me. It’s akin to hero worship. Her eyes double in size, she gets a silly grin on her face, and giggles more than any grown woman should. V’s told me I look exactly the same way when I talk about him. Strange to see the same look on your rival’s face. No, not rival. No doubts now. She loves him just as much as I do. No. Stop. Not doing this. Not anymore. She’s not a rival, there wasn’t even a contest. You lost years ago. Think of other things.
I keep a smile on my face and half listen, my mind wandering a tad. If Dodd’s recollections are correct, then Moore was the only one who could open the cell. It is possible that one of the other guards left it unlocked and Ryder waited until night, but I doubt it. Why take a chance that someone on duty would notice? No, Stu Moore just became suspect number one. Ryder killed him so he couldn’t talk, poor bastard. But what if—
“Don’t you think?” Rebecca says, pulling me back.
“I’m sorry?”
“Our hair. I think I’ll have an up-do with daisies, and all the bridesmaids will too. Are you okay with that?”
“Fine. I’ll do whatever you want.”
Her face scrunches up. “I’m boring you, aren’t I?” she asks.
“No, sorry. I’ve just got work on my mind. I actually should get back to it.” I take a final bite of my brownie before rising.
“Okay,” she says, also standing. Before I can stop her, she pulls me into a hug. I hesitate for a moment, my arms suspended at my sides not wanting to put forth the effort, but I force them to embrace her back. “Be safe.”
I pat her back. “I will.”
She releases me, a smile of course there. “Thank you for having lunch with me. I really appreciate it.”
“Of course. Bye.” And I rush out of there before she can say another word.
Veronica remains at her post, waiting for something to report. She perks up when she notices me coming at her like a cruise missile. “Hey,” she says.
I grab her arm and pull my surprised cousin out of the chair. “I promise to answer all your questions if you leave with me. Right now.”
“What? Why—”
Rebecca walks to the reception desk to ask something, but spots us. She smiles and waves. We respond in kind, though the sentiment is different on this end. “Oh,” V says through her smile.
I lock my arm in V’s and pull her away toward the exit. I need a drink.
***
V’s Irish genes are recessive, at least in regards to the desire to consume alcohol. The girl, and I use the term loosely as she’s a year older than me, barely touches the stuff. She’s always been the good one of the family. College graduate, owns her apartment, and until recently was in a long term relationship with a criminal defense attorney. He and I had fun conversations at Thanksgiving.
The story goes that my Pop was dating my hell-beast mother when she introduced him to proud new Papa, Uncle Ray, Aunt Emily, and three-month-old Veronica. Pop held the little baby and that was it. That night he knocked up Mom just so he could have his own little angel. Don’t know if I should thank her or smack her. Depends on the day.
Where alcohol is my drug of choice, V’s is coffee. She has about six cups a day, and since it’s more socially acceptable to indulge her addiction in the middle of the day, we stroll down the riverwalk to a coffee shop a few blocks away. We sit inside as far from everyone as possible in the corner.