“That...” Tanya lowered her voice, “dickhead.”
“Which one?” Cali asked. “The cop or Stan?” The more Cali thought about Detective Lowell, the more she wanted to call someone and complain. She wouldn’t though. Partly because her Mom was right, Cali didn’t have enough bitch in her, but mostly because the detective had been right. She’d been stupid to allow Stan to stay with her. She’d brought most of this on herself. But it didn’t excuse his behavior.
“Both of them are dickheads,” Tanya said. “I’d say Stan wins the Big Dickhead award. The cop earns the Little Dickhead award.” She rested a palm on the stack of books. “Where did you stay last night?”
“I started to go to my mom’s house, but Stan knows where Mom lived, so I went to a hotel.” While Stan did know where her mom had lived, in truth, Cali hadn’t felt strong enough to face the Cancer House.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
Cali wondered if Tanya knew how much her friendship meant right now. “It was so late.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Tanya popped off the desk and collected her stack of books. “Tonight you’re bunking with me.”
“No.” Cali shook my head. “I’m fine.” The bell rang.
“No, you’re not. Big Dickhead tried to shoot you. Then the hot-looking Little Dickhead Detective accused you of trying to kill him.”
Cali frowned. “How did you know he was hot?”
Tanya’s smile shot up a degree. “Your eyes went all dreamy when you talked about him. Anyway, you’re staying with me. End of discussion.” A herd of eleventh-grade students buzzed into the room, and Tanya buzzed out through the maze of teenagers.
Suddenly, the room went silent. No chattering. No morning whining. Their gazes sought hers. Cali’s throat tightened at the sight of the sympathy-filled faces. Yesterday, she’d gotten by without most them knowing. Today, she wasn’t so lucky. They knew.
They found their seats like mice who knew the maze. Jami, the designated head mouse, wearing her usual tight jeans and sweater, stood beside her desk. “We’re so sorry, Miss McKay.”
“Thank you.” A knot rose in her throat.
“It sucks,” said another student. “And we promise not to give you grief today.”
“Yeah.” Antonio dropped his backpack beside his desk. “If anyone gives Miss McKay lip today, they’ll answer to me.”
Cali’s throat tightened, but she swore she wouldn’t cry. “Thanks guys. Everyone work on your art journals.” Slipping back into her chair, she started logging grades, anything to keep from crying.
“Miss McKay?” Sara Cane bumped against Cali’s desk. Sara, red hair, green eyes, and painfully shy, seldom spoke.
“What can I do for you?” Cali asked.
Sara pulled at a button on her jacket sleeve. “I. . . It’s none of my business, but what kind of cancer was it?”
Cali put down the pencil, unsure she could talk about it. But Sara’s needy expression loosened the hated word. “Breast cancer. At least, it started there.”
Sara’s breath caught and her emerald eyes brightened with tears.
“You okay?” Cali’s own eyes moistened seeing the emotion.
“My mom found out yesterday she has breast cancer.”
“Come on.” Cali rose from her desk. Wishing with everything she had that she’d kept her mouth shut, she led Sara to the hall. Sara turned and hugged Cali really hard. They both cried. Then Cali quoted every positive statistic on breast cancer she’d heard for the past two years.
Every positive statistic that hadn’t included her mom.
~
Brit walked into his office just after one. He’d grabbed a few hours of sleep, not real sleep, but close enough for his body to remember what it was and to remind him how shitty he felt. Then there had been the dreams. Not just images about Keith, but erotic dreams that involved a blonde in a Mickey Mouse nightshirt. And a blonde out of a Mickey Mouse shirt. He’d reached an all time low—dreaming of victims. He tossed his leather jacket on the chair and ran a palm over his face.
“Back already?” a voice called from outside his door.
Brit looked at Anderson, the officer who’d been at the apartment last night. “You can’t talk. What are you doing here?” Brit sat down. His chair groaned, and so did his muscles.
“Came to wrap up some paperwork. I’m off for four days.” Anderson leaned his thin frame against the door. “I’m taking my girl to Galveston Beach for some action on the sand if it warms up.”
Forcing a smile, Brit looked at his desk where he saw a large brown envelope. Probably images of the jewelry taken from the Goldstein case. He glanced back up. The kid appeared too young and cocky, beaming at the sex he planned to score. Personally, the last time Brit had indulged in beach sex, he’d gotten sand in places where sand shouldn’t be.