by Emilia Finn
I sit back with a harrumph.
“So, last night, when Mr. Morris invited you to eat and watch a movie with him, what did you do?”
“Well… first, I considered shooting him.”
She blows out a snorting giggle and almost spills her tea. “I want it on record that I do not condone gun violence.”
“After that, I sat with him. Ate with him.”
“And when he insisted you go out and skydive?”
I swallow. “I ended our evening, because I felt uncomfortable.”
Lifting her brows and flattening her coral painted lips, she studies me with shrewd eyes. “Perhaps we should exchange uncomfortable for unable to control the situation.”
“You’re mean.” I scowl.
“And you wouldn’t have me any other way.” She waits for my eyes. “When Mr. Morris was discussing dangerous things, you felt like the situation was spiraling out of your control, so you ended it. And then what happened?”
“I went home, went to bed, and had horrible nightmares. See!” I sit forward. “That’s what happens when I go out of my comfort zone and live a little.”
“Er, no. That’s what happens when you want to control everyone, and someone comes along and doesn’t let you. It doesn’t make you a bad person to want stability in a situation. It’s quite understandable, really, considering your past. But it doesn’t make him a bad person that he doesn’t let you control him. He’s an individual with his own autonomy, his own wants and needs. And you’re just the neighbor with control issues.”
“Why do I even come here?” I snap. “You say I’m here to purge, to unload, to deal with my trauma, but all you do is punch me in the face and tell me my faults.”
“No, honey.” Sitting forward, she places her tea on the little table between us and takes my hand. “You come here to learn. So I teach, I guide. I call you on your bullshit when you try to control this session and everyone in it.”
I wish I could be offended. I wish I could gasp and storm from this room with a dramatic slam of the door. But the truth sits here between us, as clear and obvious as day.
“I just want to be left alone,” I murmur. “I don’t want my routine disturbed, I don’t want my nighttime routine upended. I don’t want to control other people, I just want to control my own world. Which is reasonable,” I add, “since I’m the only one in it.”
“But you’re not.”
“I’m single, I live alone, and I like to be alone. I create my world exactly how I want it – alone! – so explain to me how my request is unreasonable.”
“Because you live in a building with other people. Those other people have their own worlds, their own routines, their own wants and wishes, likes and dislikes. If it’s not Mr. Morris making a little noise on moving day, then maybe it’s your upstairs neighbor deciding to take up Zumba, or your downstairs neighbor hosting a party for her children. You are not the center of the universe, Nora, which means you need to be able to deal in a healthy way when your routine is interrupted.”
I sit back, and release her hand from my lap. “So perhaps I need to move to Texas, buy a ranch where there are no neighbors for two hundred miles on either side of my home. That should fix the problem.”
She scoffs. “And when you buy something online, and you’re waiting on delivery, finally your mailman chugs along your hundred-mile driveway, but, oh no, he hits a pothole that you didn’t fix – because remember, you’re responsible for fixing those on private property – and now his truck is busted.”
“You’re reaching,” I drawl.
“He climbs out of his truck, but oh dear, he’s kind of cute.”
“You’re being ridiculous!”
“Now you have a stranded, cute man on your isolated ranch. He has your coffee delivery, and he won’t pass it over until you say please and thank you.”
“Are you writing a novel? Because I feel like I’ve heard this somewhere before.”
She grins. “Oh, look at that, a snow blizzard. Now he’s really stuck, and the snow won’t clear for days.”
“Pretty sure it doesn’t snow in Texas.”
“It does in romance novel world. So now, after all of your controlling and planning, the ranch you painstakingly selected so you would never have to see anyone, the coffee you splurged on, because damn, a lonely woman is entitled to expensive coffee, the routine you’ve created for yourself; it all comes unraveling because the delivery driver is cute, and you forgot to fix that dang pothole.”
“I honestly have no clue how you’re helping me right now. Did you forget your degree? Are you actually using me to plot your story?”
“All of that planning, Nora, all of that controlling, and you still can’t control the unexpected.” She grins. “Maybe you should go skydiving.”
“You’re insane.” I set my tea down and stand so fast that Galileo’s head whips up with worry. “I came here today because I had a rough night. Despite your unorthodox ways, I seem to be feeling better. I saw the Bishops this morning, they hugged me while wearing sweatpants.”
Sonia’s eyes widen, and her voice changes. “Oh dear.”
“Uh huh. I faced my monsters head-on, and they hugged me. I paid a fortune for a therapy session to help you plot your book, and now I feel better, so I guess we’re done.”
“Do something daring.” She stands too, and pats Galileo’s ears when he trots over. “Not necessarily skydiving, but something. Start small, build your way up, and when you have nightmares, maybe, in your dream, try to hug the Bishops.”
Finally, she snatches my attention. “What?”
She gives a gentle nod, and follows me to the door. “You know you’re dreaming, don’t you?”
“Yes, but—”
“You’ve been doing this for a decade already, so you recognize that you’re dreaming. So right before your sister is hurt, try hugging the brothers instead.”
“That’s crazy! I can’t– They– It would…” I blow out an explosive breath. “I don’t know them in my dream! That would be weird.”
She throws back her head and laughs. “It’s not real life, Nora! It’s not real. You’re afraid of, what? Rejection by the thugs in your dream? They’re not actually there. It’s just you and your subconscious. Abel is already dead, Flynn is dead, Jay and Kane are across town in their own beds. And Lisa—”
“Is dead.” I swallow. “I can’t cheat my dream, because no matter what, she’s still dead when I wake.”
No longer smiling, she pats my arm. “I understand. But you’re in control of your dreams. This is one thing you can control. So instead of remembering how it really went down, why not try to rewrite it? Run to a Bishop, let them save you, let them take you and Lisa out of that room.”
“But she’s still dead!”
“But maybe you can spend a little time hanging out with her in your dream. She’s gone from this world.” She lifts a hand, and gestures around the room. “She’s gone, and she’s resting in peace. She’s not hurting, not sad. You cannot spend time with her here anymore. But here.” She presses that hand to my heart. “She’s right here. If you could focus a little less on controlling the world around you, open up and allow yourself to feel, I think you’ll find she’s closer than you ever imagined.”
When I have no comeback, no argument, no rebuttal for the woman that may be writing a book using my sister’s spirit and my control issues as plot-fodder, I let myself out of her office and past her receptionist.
Galileo stops for another treat, but I keep moving and only slow at the door to wait for him while he trots out with a grin and a proud stride.
“I’ll see you next time.” Sonia stops at the receptionist desk and smiles. “I’m excited for what happens.”
With a shake of my head, I turn away and head onto the sidewalk.
My keys dangle in my hand while Galileo races along the grass pedestrian strip. He cocks his leg, and pees against a tree as I open my door, then, like a greyhound being released in a race
, he gallops toward me at full speed so all I can do is step aside and watch as he bounds across the driver’s seat and slams against the opposite door so hard that the car rocks on the wheels.
“Crazy dog.”
I swing into my seat and slam the door. Tossing my phone and purse into the middle console, I stab my keys into the ignition and turn.
And turn.
Frowning, I push my foot onto the gas pedal, and turn the key again.
“Oh no.”
I frantically wiggle and twist the key. Pull it out, push it in. Turn, whimper, and slam my hand against the steering wheel.
“Goddammit!”
Pushing my car door open, I hit the release for the hood, and step out of my car like I think I know how to fix whatever the hell my problem is.
I lift the hood, set it against the stand, and when Galileo comes around to my side and sits on his haunches, I only place my hands on the frame of the car and sigh.
The door to Sonia’s practice opens behind me, then heels clack against the concrete footpath.
Turning, I study my friend, my therapist, my pain in the ass, and sigh.
She only snickers. “Oh dear.”
Chuck
Unlikely Hero
“You didn’t go out to the tracks last night?” Mac works under the hood of a soccer mom SUV so the click-click-click of his wrench moves with rhythm. “You basically ignored, what, like, five grand?”
“At least.” I stand in the middle of a slip with a wooden broom clasped between my hands, and a pile of dust accumulating in front of me. “Five grand, easily. Probably closer to ten.”
“And you just ignore that kinda cash?” Standing tall, he turns to me with grease on his nose and a shake of his head. “I swear, I feel like an alien in a strange world. Everyone else is so fucking flippant about money. And then there’s me, always crawling on the ground, collecting coins.”
“Oh please.” Starting again, I sweep the heavy broom in long, straight lines. “You won a fucking title just a few months back. One-point-five million fucking dollars injected straight into your bank account. You’re fine.”
“I spent at least half of it before it was even in my bank!” But then he grins. “And the other half looks so pretty sitting there. All those numbers, Chuck. Sitting in such a straight line. Guess what?”
I circle back and sweep a bit I missed. “What?”
“My girl mentioned she wanted to go out for ice cream last night.”
I lift a brow. “Okay…?”
“So I took her out. Bought her the triple scoop.”
I throw my head back and laugh. “You’re ballin’, son.”
“I just tapped my card like a boss, didn’t have to worry about it declining. Didn’t have to worry that she could only eat two scoops and one would go to waste.” Then his smile falters. “I swear, I check my bank every three minutes now, because some motherfucker is bound to clear me out.”
“We told you from the start; you’re broke, you got problems. You’re rich? You still got problems. They’re just different problems, different reasons to worry, different anxiety meds. We’re all fucked up, one way or another.”
“But until then…” He does an actual foot-skipping jig in the middle of the filthy garage. “I got money! Lucy’s wearing my ring, we’re not hiring the same dressmaker Smalls had, and when I back it up and win again this year, I’m gonna keep adding to my slush pile. Oh.” When his phone chimes, he sets his wrench on the inside frame of the car and fishes the cell from his pocket. He checks the screen for just a second – and in that second, his eyes snap to me.
Swiping to accept the call, he brings the phone to his ear. “You okay?”
Turning in stained jeans and a black shirt, he folds one arm over his broad chest, and leans back against the car. “Yeah. I told you to fix it!” His laughter helps my stomach settle.
Since when the fuck do I have a stomachache?
“It won’t start at all, or it’s—” He nods. “Fuck. Okay, we’re gonna have to bring the truck over.”
His eyes come to me. He scans me from boots to hair, then, with a shake of his head, he chuckles. “Yeah, I’ll come now. Yeah, like… ten minutes. Okay. You wanna call Smalls or someone to come hang? Nah, you don’t have to, I’m just… I said fine! Geez, you’re sensitive today, huh? Gimme ten.”
Hanging up, he slides his phone back into his pocket and frowns.
Curious, I lean against my broom and try not to let my imagination race ahead of me. “What’s up?”
“Nora’s car shat itself. I’ll have to tow it.”
I take a step closer. “But?”
“Remind me again why you didn’t go out to race last night?”
“Uh…” I clear my throat. “Because I had better things to do at home?”
His eyes narrow to slits. “And your home just so happens to be twelve or so feet from Nora’s home.”
“That would be correct.” Forcing a smile, I set the broom against the beam of the car hoist and pat my hands on my jeans. “She went out on a date last night. I saw her leave.”
“Yeah, with that dumb shit from the gym. Smalls is on a crusade to set Nora up.”
Stepping away from the SUV, he crosses the garage and knocks on Ang’s door. A fast rap, not because Angelo has a problem with us coming in. But because there have been incidents in the past… incidents that are best left unsaid and never again repeated.
“I gotta take the truck out,” he murmurs to an invisible-from-where-I-stand Ang. “Nora’s over on Chapel with a dead engine.”
He comes out again with a set of keys for the tow truck.
“On Chapel?” I echo.
It takes only one man to drive a truck. Only one man to load a car and bring it back here. But still, I jog behind Mac to keep up, and swing up into the passenger side when he unlocks the doors.
When I slam my door, he turns to me with a lifted brow.
“What?”
“You don’t have any work to do?” he asks.
“Nope. I was sweeping.” I grin. “If anything, you’re kinda busy with that SUV, so I could probably do this and help you out.”
“Help me out, my ass.” He stabs the key into the ignition and starts the thunderous engine. “I don’t know how I feel about this.”
“About what?” I fix my seatbelt, and settle back with folded arms. “It’s an easy job. Load it up, bring it back here, then burn the fucking thing, because we all know her engine is fried.”
“You know?”
I scoff. “Of course. I hear her drive out most days, and even from the fourth floor, from the opposite side of the damn building, I can hear the scraping. There’s no fixing this. There’s just buying a new engine, and installing the fuckin’ thing.”
“So if you knew, why didn’t you force her to bring it in?”
I only lift a brow. An ‘Are you serious?’
“Yeah, nevermind.” He slows at the edge of the driveway, then ambles into the street. “We don’t force Nora to do shit. And yes, she’s on Chapel.”
“Okay?” The way his shoulders sit high, his grinding jaw, and darkened eyes, makes my heart speed. “I don’t get the significance.”
“Chapel is where her…” He cuts himself off. “Don’t worry about it. But I’m telling you, you need to mind your damn mouth. Then, when we’re done here, you and I need to talk about this, because you have never run to tow a car before.” We bounce with the momentum of the truck. We roll to the side when he turns a corner. We roll back to the other side when he straightens up. “I don’t know what’s going on in your head, but you have this new neighbor, she goes out on a date last night, we heard that her date was a bust, and now she’s sitting on Chapel with a fucked engine, and you – the eternal fucking playa’ – are running to come out on a call.”
“She’s my neighbor.”
“Yes, she is.”
“She’s very pretty.”
He huffs. “Maybe so, but that’s not for y—”
“Fucking Chapel.” It hits me as we round the corner and find Nora standing by her silver SUV with Galileo by her thighs, and an older woman watching us with a smile. “I get it now.”
“Not a word,” Mac mouths as we slow by her car.
We take up the street, but it’s not like we’re holding up traffic. Pulling far enough forward that we can push her car out, Mac yanks on the handbrake, and kills the engine. Then, sliding out of the truck and onto the road, he heads around to the women standing on the sidewalk.
I race out behind him, because fuck him for taking the lead when I want to. I slam my door, and fix my pants as I wander toward the group. So when I arrive on the sidewalk, and Galileo comes over to lick my hand, I glance up to find Nora with a sheet-white face, and the woman beside her smiling like she just learned something fun.
“Tucker?” Nora steps under Mac’s arm when he comes closer. It’s like a natural instinct, an action neither of them is aware of. She doesn’t stay under his arm, just a quick hug, a steadying, a touchstone, and then she steps back so her shoulder brushes that of her therapist.
Her fucking therapist.
“Um…” She looks to Mac. To me. Then back to Mac. “If I wanted an audience, I’d have called the shop phone, and not my friend’s private cell.”
“Sorry.” Faking a gentle smile, he nods toward the truck. “We need two men to load up a car.”
Lie.
“We’ll be quick,” he continues. “Are the keys in the ignition?”
“No. Here.” She places the jingling keyring in his hands, and peeks back at me. “Tucker.”
“Good morning.” I take a step closer. Not too close, but not so far away that I don’t feel like part of the party. “You were out early this morning?”
The older woman’s brows wing up.
“No, I slept in,” Nora counters quietly.
The woman coughs. Not a genuine throat-clearing, but an ‘am I fuckin’ invisible?’ throat-clearing.
“Um… sorry.” Nora turns to the woman, then back to me. “Sonia is my friend. Sonia, Tucker Morris is my new neighbor.”
“Not so new anymore.” I take the woman’s hand, and thank the universe that I was sweeping, and not working on an engine when Nora’s call came in. “I’ve been there, what? A month and a bit now?”
