wet dream combined,” I affirmed. “Seriously. The guy is like airbrushed in real life.”
Tess breathed out. “Wow. Okay. So. What now?”
What now? Huh. Good question. “Probably nothing. I mean, we talked, but then we were interviewed separately, and he didn’t ask for my number or anything.”
“Did you ask for his?” Tess asked.
“No. I was a little shaken after the whole shooting issue.” I rubbed my eyes. Should I have asked for his number? “He also sidestepped any question I asked about where he’s been and why he’s back. The cop on the scene really didn’t like him.” Not that Detective Pierce was anybody I knew or trusted. But still. “I don’t know, Tessa. A lot of stuff came up the second I saw him.” Including my libido.
My other line rang, and I glanced at the face of my phone. “Oh. That’s mom. Gotta go.” I clicked off and answered the other line. “I’m fine, Mathair,” I said, using the Gaelic translation for ‘mother’ to calm her down.
“You were shot. Right? Did the bullet hit an artery?” my mom asked urgently.
If the bullet had hit an artery, I wouldn’t be on the phone. I took a deep breath. “No, no, not at all. Honest. It just scratched me. Won’t even scar.” My mom took scars as a personal affront to her mothering skills. “I’m fine.”
“I have a call to your father. He’s down in the mine looking at that new vein. Should I get him up right now? I have the emergency number.” Stress clipped her voice.
“No. I really am fine, Mom.” I gentled my voice. “Honest.”
She was silent for a couple of moments, and then she exhaled. “Thank Mother Mary. That’s wonderful.” Something rustled. “I’d heard that you walked away, so I was fairly certain your arteries were spared, but a mother needs to hear confirmation.”
I took another turn, this one away from the lake and more toward town. “I understand.”
“So your body is all right, and now we must deal with your head.” More papers rustled.
I sat straighter, my heart kicking back into gear. “My head is fine.”
“You were just shot at,” she countered. “I already called. You have an appointment with Wanda Versaccio tomorrow afternoon. You know? Your fourth cousin twice removed on your Uncle Sebbachi’s side? She’s Italian, but that’s okay. We don’t have any Irish psychologists in the family. Wanda divorced a woman who was not treating her right and just opened a practice in the city. She’s taking patients.”
No, no, no, no, no. “I don’t need a shrink, Mathair.” Sure, I’d seen a psychologist while in school to become a shrink, because it was part of the gig. But I’d left therapy in my past when I’d changed my mind and decided to become a lawyer. “I’m fine.”
“No. You must go and, ah, work through it? Yes. That’s it. You’ll have night terrors, and maybe Wanda can help you keep them at bay.” My mother’s voice softened into the pure ability to cause guilt. “Or I can come and stay with you. You know I won’t sleep a wink if I’m worried, anyway.”
I closed my eyes and then quickly reopened them when I remembered I was driving down the main street in town. My Italian grandmother could place a guilt trip with the precision of a sonic drill bit, but even she was no match for my mother. There was something about guilt placed with the soft lilt of an Irish accent that could cut deep. “Mom.”
“I’m texting you her office address. Go after work tomorrow, or I’ll be on your doorstep.” She clicked off.
Two seconds later, my phone trilled with a text. I glanced down to see the map of Disneyland beneath it. Mom was still figuring out texting. I sighed. It probably wouldn’t hurt to talk things through. Sometimes current events brought the past back up, and it’d be nice not to have a bunch of panic attacks this week, especially since work was so chaotic.
Even so, that was yet one more thing to worry about the next day.
For today, the spring sun shone down as I drove through my quaint town and toward my much smaller lake. I pulled into my small drive and parked next to a convertible Bug and a gleaming white Escalade.
My sisters were there.
Surprising tears choked in my throat as I jumped out of my car and headed toward the front door, taking a couple of precious moments to compose myself as I strode past the tulips to