"Yeah, well, she wasn't in kindergarten. It was my mom. She was a talent agent in Hollywood for years."
"Your mom was a talent agent?"
"Yes."
"And she let you go?"
"Yes. Not personally, just professionally."
"Cook, I'm so sorry."
"No, trust me." She patted my hand to appease my misgivings. "It was for the best."
"But why aren't you scared? I could be a serial killer."
"I'm pretty sure you're not a serial killer."
"You don't know that. Heck, I don't even know that."
"I know."
And that brought me back to my point. I leaned closer, let a stretch of several seconds pull the tension tight around us, then asked, "Do you know who I am?"
She pressed her lips together, an involuntary reflex, then relaxed them. "Yes," she said, her tone resigned, and a spike of electricity rushed up my spine. "You are my best friend."
She wasn't lying, but that wasn't what I'd asked.
"What is my name?"
With the gentleness of a doe kissing its fawn, she took my hand. "Today, you are Janey Doerr. But I can't tell you who you will be tomorrow. Who you'll be next week. I can tell you that no matter who you are or who you turn out to be, I will always love you."
Again she was telling the truth. I wilted under the weight of fallen hope.
"Honey, do you think I know who you are? Who you really are?"
I lifted a shoulder because I no longer had the energy to lift both. "Do you?"
"I know that you are kind. I know that you are a good person and that no matter who you were in your past, no matter who you'll become, you are incredible. You're special, Janey. God doesn't make someone like you for no reason. You are here for a purpose. A wondrous, beautiful purpose, and someday you will remember what that is."
I kept my eyes lowered as embarrassment heated my cheeks. I'd suspected this incredible person, the only person in my life that I truly trusted, and accused her of deception. She gave so freely of herself, and I hid and scurried and ducked my head every time I came across someone in need. Gawd, I sucked. I swallowed and faced her again.
"I'm sorry, Cook."
She squeezed my hand. "For what?"
"For interrogating you like that. I just thought … "
"You thought what, hon?"
"It's stupid."
"Janey, nothing you could tell me would surprise me."
I dropped my voice to a whisper again. "Okay, I'm just going to come out with it. Are you psychic?"
The shock on her face pretty much told me I'd gone in a direction she never saw coming. If she were a psychic, wouldn't she see everything coming? Maybe it didn't work that way.
She took a sip of her moscato, choked on it a little, then said, "Sweetheart, why do you think I'm psychic?"
"Because you work with the police but have no discernible skill set that would explain why."
She fought a grin. The grin won. "Um, thanks"
"No, I don't mean that in a bad way. It's just, nothing surprises you. It's like you know things. You see them coming."
"Or I'm just not easily surprised."
"But you are. I've noticed things that surprise you all the time."
"Like?"
"Like the time that man offered you a dollar fifty for a tryst. You were surprised."
"I wasn't surprised. I was insulted. A dollar fifty? Seriously?"
"Good point. But every time you spill water in men's laps, you're surprised."
"True."
"Yet when a guy tries to rob the place and shoots a gun, you're as calm as an anesthetized patient."
"Oh. That. Well -" She had to think about it. "I just have a high … danger threshold."
And she did. "So that's it? You really aren't psychic?"
She folded her hands over mine. "I'm really not psychic. I help the police, mostly Robert, with research."
"Oh." It was my turn to be surprised. "You're a research consultant."
"Yes. Though I wish I were psychic."
Her emotions turned on a dime and blurred. "Why?"
"I could help my lost friend if I were. And -" She hit me with her stern face. "- I would know more about you. You don't tell me anything. Even when you're hurting. I feel like you don't trust me."
That stung. "I'm sorry. My life is just really messed up."
"Oh, it's not you, it's me? That kind of thing? And of course it's messed up. You woke up in an alley with retrograde amnesia. But if you opened up to someone, if you told someone what you're going through, it would help."