“What? I can’t tell you I miss you without something being wrong?”
“I can hear it in your voice. Something’s going on.”
“It’s just … do you ever think you’ll want to have kids?” As soon as he said it, he knew he had stepped over the line.
“Ben, I don’t even know yet whether you wear boxers or briefs and you’re asking me if I want to have kids?”
He laughed again. Felt some of the tension drain away. He imagined her on the other end. She’d be smiling but shaking her head at him. Probably pacing. He knew she couldn’t stand still when she talked on the phone. If he was really making her nervous she’d be pushing a strand of hair back behind her ear right about now. The one thing he took away from her comment was that she used the word “yet.” She didn’t know “yet” if he wore boxers or briefs. One word could reveal a lot.
“Are you okay?” she asked after a long silence.
“Yeah, I’m okay. This case is probably just getting to me,” he lied.
“You’re thinking about Ali,” she said and it wasn’t a question.
Maybe they actually knew each other too well.
CHAPTER 43
NEBRASKA
Lucy had left the light on for Maggie. The scent of freshly brewed tea and cinnamon filled the kitchen.
When she’d called Lucy earlier, Maggie had suggested she stay in North Platte, find a hotel room. Her suitcase was, after all, in the trunk of the rented Toyota. And she didn’t want to wear out her welcome. Lucy had been kind enough to take her in last night when they were all too exhausted to think clearly, but she certainly didn’t expect the woman to extend her invitation.
“It does take a bit longer to drive out here,” Lucy had said. “I’ll certainly understand if you’d rather stay in town, but I also would enjoy the company.” As if needing to reaffirm that she wasn’t simply being polite, she added, “I just put a batch of homemade cinnamon rolls in the oven.”
Now Maggie found the woman reading in the living room, a small fire crackling in the brick fireplace. The group of dogs huddled around Lucy all got up at once and came to Maggie, wagging and demanding attention, butting each other playfully out of the way.
Maggie sank down into the recliner opposite Lucy and petted each dog. She had never had her own mother wait up for her. Instead, Maggie—even as a twelve-year-old—was the one waiting up for her mother, who sometimes didn’t come home at all. Now suddenly she was struck by how good this place felt—warm, cozy, and safe. Not even twenty-four hours and it felt like home.
Lucy looked up at her over half-moon reading glasses and set her book aside.
“You look exhausted,” she said. “How are you?”
“Exhausted.” Maggie smiled. “But I’m okay.” Jake pushed his snout under her hand, asking to be petted and she automatically obeyed. The others had settled by Lucy’s feet again.
“Someone takes care of your dog while you’re away?”
“Yes.”
“Someone who takes care of you, too, when you’re there?”
“Oh, no.” She shook her head and was immediately embarrassed that she had protested so quickly. At the same time she didn’t want to explain that her FBI partner, R. J. Tully—who was taking care of Harvey—was very much involved with her best friend, Gwen Patterson.
“But there is someone? Someone new in your life?”
Maggie stared at the woman, wondering how she seemed to have the power to look deep beneath the surface.
“Maybe,” Maggie said, still thinking about her conversation with Platt, how good it was to hear his voice. She loved the sound of his laughter. Just sharing with him the events of the last twenty-four hours had made her feel less alone in the world. “Trouble is I’ve gotten used to being on my own. I like scheduling my time without getting someone else’s approval.”
In her mind she added that being alone meant being safe. No one could hurt or disappoint you if you didn’t let them get close. The fact that she missed Benjamin Platt annoyed her. It felt like a weakness, a vulnerability. “Is that being independent,” she asked, “or selfish?”
“There always has to be a balance. It should never be all or nothing.” Lucy hesitated, deciding whether or not to go on. “You should never deny who you are to please someone else. If that’s the choice, then it’s not meant to be.
“My mother was full-blooded Omaha. She did everything she possibly could to deny it, to leave it behind. I think that’s why she married my father. He was the son of Irish Catholic immigrants. A railroad engineer who had dreams as big as a Nebraska sky. But he absolutely adored American history and the Indian culture. He was the one who taught me about the Omaha tribe and my Indian heritage. I think my mother finally learned to love it, through his eyes.