To Hiss or to Kiss (21 page)

Well, that wasn’t what I was expecting. “The douche who broke your heart? I can’t believe you keep in touch after he up and left you.”

She holds up her hand in appeasement. “Yeah, yeah, I know. It’s infrequent, but he sends me an e-mail every six months or so to touch base.”

“More like string you along,” I mutter, getting a sharp look from Naomi.

“Give me some credit. I’m not on anyone’s hook.”

“Does he know that?”

“Doesn’t matter. I know that.”

I shrug. “Guess that makes sense. As long as you are OK, I’m OK.”

“Thanks for your concern. I’d do the same for you. But I will be fine, and turns out his computer skills can come in handy. So he can think what he wants, and I’ll use it to my advantage. Might as well get something besides heartache out of the relationship.”

I nod, taking a sip of my wine. “So, what are you researching?”

She shrugs. “Just a hunch.” She sips her wine, a sad look shadowing her eyes. “It brought up bad memories to call Kevin. I’ll get over it. I mostly am. But what about your relationship?”

I can tell she doesn’t want me to push, and I have a whole new respect for needing to avoid talk about painful relationships when you aren’t ready. Looking at the slight frown on her usually smiling lips, I pray I won’t end up with a broken heart. “Jorge isn’t returning my calls—psychic or with the cell. And he hasn’t been back to his house since our falling-out.” I sound calm while I say that, but my hands are shaking and I almost spill some wine trying to hit my mouth.

“No, I’m sure he’ll be back. I can tell you believe you have something real with him, and, well, I think we’ve established that neither of you is the most emotionally stable ever.” She puts a note of teasing in that last part to soften the words, and I’m glad to see my Naomi resurfacing. She’s tough.

“Maybe.” I hand her a plate. “Our food’s getting cold. I got you tandoori chicken and veggie biryani.”

We’re both uncharacteristically quiet while we get our food.

We take our loaded plates to the table, then I grab the wine and she gets the naan. All the dinner essentials gathered, we sit down and start to eat.

Naomi twirls her fork in the biryani. “So what’ve you been up to the last few days? Besides not finding Jorge.”

“I’ve been camped out on Jorge’s porch.” I shovel in some mutter paneer to cover my embarrassment.

She starts laughing. “Really?”

A smile blooms on my lips as I swallow. “Pathetic, right? I even did some weeding and cleaned the barn.”

“Damn, girl. You’ve got it bad. This jerk better come back soon and appreciate you.”

“Yes, I’ve got it bad, as you say.” I sober, suddenly feeling so vulnerable I have to fight the urge to go hide. “I hope he comes back soon and appreciates me. And he isn’t a jerk.” The waterworks are close to turning on. I bite my lip to hold them at bay. I’ve been crying way too much lately and I’m done.
I’m done.

“Oh, honey.” She comes over and hugs me. I let her. After a moment she pulls back. “Hey, we’ve got Indian food and wine to finish. We better get cracking.”

“Yeah, I also got gulab jamuns. I think we might have to reheat them. And I haven’t even told you about Gracie yet.”

“What, there’s more? You’ve been busy.”

“Interestingly, not busy enough to avoid too much overanalyzing and sulking.”

“Yeah, well, I think you’ve earned it.”

“Yeah, I probably have. But none of that for the Gracie story. It’s all good.” I tell her about the appearance of Gracie’s ghost and my first tip to the police. “So hopefully there will be a big story on the news by Monday morning.”

“That is so cool. I want a crime-fighting, ghost-dog partner.”

“It is pretty cool. I’ll let you know if you can ever help me. Who knows, maybe you’ll get some hunches I can pass on to Gracie.”

She smiles at that. “Maybe.” After a sip of wine, she cocks her head to one side as she sets her wineglass down. “You know, there’s no going back. We’re in a whole new world now.”

“And to think I used to be sure life couldn’t get stranger than you having hunches and me talking to animals. Guess I was wrong about that.” I laugh, but it’s a bit hollow.

“Yes, you were definitely wrong about that.” Her laughter dies away into a more serious silence.

We sit there contemplating how complicated our lives are, how much weirder and stranger our world has become. And for me at least, I also wonder how much more heartache I can take before I start to heal. Or will I ever?

I take a sip of wine, not sure I’m up for dessert anymore. But I hate to let good food go to waste, so I rise and heat up the gulab jamuns in the microwave.

We both pick at the dessert until I finally suggest we go out again. Naomi jumps at the idea. Wow, going out twice in one week. It’s like I’m in college again. Maybe I’ll drink like I’m in college again too. That’s what taxis are for.

I sigh. At this rate, I’m going to need an intervention.

Chapter Fifteen

I am proud to say that I overcame my desire to drown my problems in alcohol and instead took the high road. Naomi and I went to a club, had only a few drinks, and danced our way across the floor and back again until my feet ached.

We had fun, and it may have been the first time I have since Jorge left. I still hope he comes back, but if he never does, I’ll be OK. I will heal. I may shatter into a million pieces and I may not go back together the same way, but I will heal. And just knowing that is healing in and of itself.

With Naomi’s encouragement, we make Sunday a pamper day. She finagles us last-minute appointments at the day spa and salon she frequents. We get massages, followed by mani-pedis, facials, and cuts and styles. Afterward, Naomi drags me shopping and makes me try on what feels like a million outfits but is probably only a dozen or so. Despite my general aversion to shopping, it’s kind of fun to do something so girly. I leave with only two new outfits. I can’t completely get rid of my aversion to spending money on clothes.

The whole day keeps me from dwelling on the impending dogfight, which will hopefully end in a major police bust and no dogs hurt. A thrill of excitement and worry courses through me at all times though, even after I’m home alone and in my pjs, curled up on the couch in front of the TV.

As usual, there is nothing on, and I don’t feel up to concentrating on something from my increasingly crowded Internet queue. I decide meditation is the way to go, but again, I find it hard to concentrate and settle. After a few minutes, I give up in frustration, instead pacing restlessly around the room. I start straightening the books on the shelves around the living room and even consider dusting—a sure sign I’m on edge. Finally, I resolve to try a Reiki treatment again and head to bed.

I sink down into the softness, connected with the Reiki energy. It flows into my hands and I settle in, resting my hands lightly over my eyes. A wonderful, peaceful feeling envelops me, and my mind finally quiets.

After a few minutes, my arms are tired, so I move my hands to rest on my chest. I imagine myself on a cloud, a warm breeze tickling my face. And then I hear my father’s voice calling me. In my mind I sit up and look around. He is gesturing to me, and I rise to walk to him.

When I am almost to him, he turns and gestures for me to follow him down a hallway. We pass several closed doors before he pauses before one. When I stand next to him, he tells me to open it. I look at him, unsure what to do, but at his nod of encouragement, I take a deep breath and open the door wide.

I’m suddenly standing in my dad’s bedroom in the house I grew up in. He downgraded to a condo a few years after I left for college.

I look around and call out, but my dad doesn’t answer and I don’t see him. Then my mother runs into the room. She is crying, and my father follows quickly behind her. I wave, but they don’t see me. I realize that they look like they did shortly before my mom left. I forgot how beautiful my mother was. She is a classic Scandinavian blonde beauty. Once in a fit of rage, I tore up every picture of her I could find in our house.

“Connie, it will be OK. You can control this. You have your whole life. I’ll help you.” My father reaches for my mother’s arm and tries to get her to turn around.

She shrugs him off roughly but spins to look at him, her eyes and tone raw. “No, it’s not OK. It’s out of control. Don’t you see what that means?” She chokes on a sob.

I watch, fascinated. What the hell is she talking about?

I turn my attention back to the scene playing out before me.

“Connie, let me help you.” He pleads with her, looking so lost, his anguish plain on his face.

“No, you can’t. I can’t risk it.” She resumes sobbing again, sinking onto the bed.

My father goes to her. “It’s OK. We’ll find someone who can help.” He tries to put his arm around her, but she jumps away as if burned.

“No, don’t touch me. What if you’re next? Or Chloe?” The despair in her voice kills me.

My father’s shoulders slump, but he doesn’t get up. “We’ll go to your family. Your mother can’t turn you away when you explain what’s happening.”

My mother grunts sarcastically. “Oh, yes she can.” She runs her hands through her hair, a gesture I find myself doing all the time. I didn’t remember my mother did that.

Her sigh draws me back to her. She turns to face my father. “You’re right, though. I have to go back. I have to try.”

A glimmer of hope flickers over my father’s face. “We’ll leave tomorrow. Chloe can stay with the Mastersons.”

“No.” My mother’s voice is filled with resignation and sadness. “I have to go alone. You know she never approved of you, of us. It’s better if I go alone.”

“No. We do this together.”

My mother shakes her head. “No, Gary. You know this is how it has to be.”

My father hangs his head in resignation and my mother sighs, but determination fills her face.

“I will go to them for help, but I’ll come back. I’ll come back to you and Chloe. I promise.”

Her eyes get watery again when my father says nothing, simply shakes his head. She walks toward him, bending like she is going to kiss his head, but pulls herself back at the last second, a look of panic on her face, then sorrow. “Take care of her, Gary. I love you. I love you both.”

The scene fades out, and slowly I come back to the present, lying on my bed, my hands still resting on my chest.

I sit bolt upright, sending the cats scattering. What the hell was that?

* * *

A few gulps of air lower my heart rate, and my brain starts to function again. That is not how I remember my mother leaving, yet…I do remember. Slowly that day comes back to me. I’d snuck into my parents’ bedroom to play with my mom’s jewelry, which was strictly forbidden. Our gray tabby, George, sat on the dresser watching me put various necklaces over my head and preen in the mirror.

Then I heard my parents’ footsteps on the stairs. I panicked and hid in the closet. But that can’t be right. I remember seeing my mother and father, and I couldn’t see them from the closet. No, it was George who saw the scene. I connected with him and watched through his eyes while I listened, trying not to cry because my parents were so upset.

Back in the present I stare at the wall blankly. Why had I buried that memory? I always told myself my mom just decided to leave—that she ran away.

Because I didn’t want to believe she broke her promise to come back.

Well, shit. And no wonder my dad withdrew after a few years. He’d given up on her coming back. But why the hell didn’t he fight for her? Why didn’t he go after her? He knew where she went.

Maybe I also blocked this memory because I didn’t want to hold any blame toward the one parent I had left. Not that I didn’t harbor some anger at his withdrawal from life, from me.

But I’m not blameless in this. I withdrew from him too.

Fucking hell, this self-reflection shit is rough. Part of me wants to bury my head under the covers, but another, stronger part of me stands up. I think of Jorge and know I need to try one more time to reach out to him. And if he doesn’t show up, I’ll go hunting for him. I can get Gracie to help look for him. If I really focus, I’m sure I can narrow down his location. My dad may have let my mom go, let her never come back, but I am not going to live with regret when it comes to Jorge. Maybe things won’t work out, but by God, we are going to see each other again and talk this all out.

Before I can chicken out, I call his cell and, of course, get his voicemail. After the beep, I put all my bravado into the message. “It’s Chloe. This is ridiculous and we need to talk. I’m going to your place again. You’ve got twenty-four hours to show up or I’m coming after you. And I
will
find you.” I hang up before I lose my nerve and start babbling. Already my hands are getting a bit shaky.

I take a few deep breaths to steady them and then send Jorge a text.
Please listen to your vm.
Then for good measure I give him a mental knock, which he duly ignores. But I know he feels it. He’s felt them all. He has to have felt them all because I’d feel him knocking and our bond is two-way whether he likes it or not.

I take a moment to marvel at that thought—that I have such a strong connection with another human being. Even if—no, when, since I plan to meet everyone Jorge knows and loves—I meet another shape-shifter, I don’t believe the communication will be the same. The bond I share with Jorge is something more than just my ability to communicate with animals. It’s born of love, mutual understanding, and trust. Ah, that’s the crux isn’t it? Trust.

Determined, I gather supplies for another overnight on his porch. It’s after eleven, so I check the local news sites to see if there’re any reports of the dogfighting ring being broken up, but there aren’t. Probably too soon.

I tell Enoki and Sashi good-bye for the night. They wish me luck. Then I’m out the door and driving before I can talk myself out of it.

This is the right thing to do. He will come back.

Chapter Sixteen