‘You should have worn warm boots,’ Mallory said archly. ‘Without four-inch heels.’
Meredith glanced at her brand-new suede knee-high boots with a happy little grin because Mallory was lecturing her, a small thing, but so normal. The girl had become one of Meredith’s all-time favorite clients. ‘But these are prettier. And they were on sale.’
Mallory shook her head with affectionate exasperation, as if Meredith was a child. ‘At least you needed them. They can keep all the other suede boots with four-inch heels in your closet from getting lonely.’
Meredith’s smile dimmed. Not from the criticism, because A, it was clear Mallory was teasing and B, her friends had given her shit over her overflowing shoe closet for years.
It was because she had needed them. Not the boots necessarily, but she’d needed something. The boots were an early Christmas present to herself, because it didn’t look like she was going to get the one gift she really wanted. Back in the summer it had appeared that things might work out, that for the first time she’d have someone other than her family to snuggle with while watching the lights sparkle on her tree.
She’d been stupid to hope. The hours that she and Adam Kimble had spent together had been precious and few – and obviously not as important to him as they’d been to her. They’d been working the same case. The case had closed and he’d disappeared. Again.
Which took talent and forethought, because they shared a circle of friends. There had been many opportunities over the last four months for them to run into each other, purely by accident. But they hadn’t. Finally, she’d had to conclude that he was purposely avoiding her. And it hurt. A lot.
Except that he hadn’t avoided her entirely. She thought of the envelopes she’d found in her mailbox every few weeks. No name, no return address.
They’d been from Adam. No question. Pages torn from coloring books, the designs having been carefully filled in with crayon or colored pencils. Not a stray line on the page. Detective Adam Kimble was careful to stay inside the lines.
The early pictures were colored in shades of red, but as the weeks had passed, he’d added more colors. One of the recent pictures had been done with watercolor paint. She’d counted fifteen distinct colors. It hadn’t been too bad, actually, as art went. As messages went, his was clear: I’m working on it. I’m getting better. Don’t give up on me.
Or maybe it was just wishful thinking on her part.
‘Meredith?’ Mallory’s voice was timid. ‘I’m sorry. I was just trying to tease you.’
Meredith came to an abrupt halt in the middle of the sidewalk, realizing that Mallory had stopped in front of the café, was watching her seriously, and that they’d walked an entire city block in stony silence. Shame filled her in a rush, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. This is supposed to be Mallory’s day, but I made it all about me.
Meredith forced herself to smile. ‘Oh, I know, honey,’ she assured. ‘It wasn’t you or what you said. Sometimes I get caught up in my own head.’
‘Good to know that it can even happen to you. Makes me feel better.’
Meredith’s lips curved. ‘Good to know that I can help even when I mess up.’ She pointed to the café’s sign. ‘Let’s go in. I hope you like it. They have the best pasta in town.’
‘Good, because I’m hungry. But I do have one question,’ Mallory said gravely.
‘Only one?’ Meredith had to chuckle when the girl rolled her eyes. Again, so normal. Be thankful, Meredith. Don’t pine for what you can’t have. She couldn’t force Adam to want her and it was time she stopped mooning over him. ‘Shoot. What’s your question?’
‘What happens when I get a license and start driving again?’
Meredith paused, her hand on the handle of the café door, puzzled. ‘Please?’
One side of Mallory’s mouth lifted in another teasing smirk. ‘Well, if I can’t say “stupid,” how can I possibly drive? I mean, you said it at least three times when you were looking for a parking place. How do I drive without using that word? Or bastard? Or fuuu—’ She drew the f-sound out, her dark eyes dancing. ‘Fudge?’
Meredith threw back her head and laughed. ‘You little stinker.’
Mallory grinned, clearly pleased with herself. ‘Maybe, but I made you smile. Really smile, I mean.’
Meredith swallowed hard. ‘Get inside before I turn to an ice cube.’ She held the door open, her throat thick but now for a different reason. Mallory had made a joke. To cheer me up. That the young woman who’d been so cruelly abused had somehow managed to retain her ability to care . . . It left Meredith humbled and clearing her throat harshly.
Her voice was still raspy when she told the hostess, ‘Reservation is under Fallon.’
‘Right this way.’ The hostess, a young woman about Mallory’s age, led them to a table by the window. ‘The best place to people-watch,’ she said, seating them with a smile.
‘And to wait for the fireworks where it’s warm and comfy,’ Meredith said.
Mallory’s wide eyes lit up, but she waited for the hostess to leave before leaning in to whisper, ‘Fireworks? Where?’
‘Out on Fountain Square,’ Meredith told her. ‘We’ll have a nice meal, linger over our coffee, then go outside and see them from the street.’
‘Is that why you picked this place?’
‘Oh, no.’ Meredith looked around the café fondly. ‘My gran and I came here after the Nutcracker ballet every year, just the two of us. Back then, the ballet was at Music Hall and very fancy.’ It had returned to Music Hall this year after a long building renovation, and Meredith had wanted to take the girls who lived at Mariposa House, but decided against it. Most of the girls would have panic attacks around that many people. Maybe next year.
‘How fancy?’ Mallory asked wistfully. ‘Long dresses? Gloves?’
‘Not quite that fancy,’ Meredith said with a smile. ‘But I’d be all dressed up in my Christmas dress with a big bow in my hair and Gran would wear her best Sunday suit. And pearls. Gran always wore pearls.’
‘So do you,’ Mallory said. ‘Your earrings. I’ve never seen you not wear them. Pearls’ – she glanced at Meredith’s hands – ‘and bangles.’
Meredith gave one of her earrings a fond stroke, because her wrist bangles were not up for discussion. ‘They were my gran’s. You’d have liked her. She was a real pistol.’
Mallory’s smile was amused. ‘A pearl-wearing pistol.’
‘Yes, indeed. She carried a pistol too. Gran was a pearl-wearing card shark who cursed like a sailor, packed heat in her enormous purse, and still managed to fool everyone into thinking she was just a sock-knitting granny.’
Mallory glanced up from her menu, brows lifted. ‘Don’t knock the sock-knitters. I know lots of knitters now and they carry too.’
Meredith snorted a laugh. Her newest friend Kate was an FBI agent, a sharpshooter, and a compulsive knitter. Kate was quickly winning knitting converts from their circle of friends. Now their monthly movie night included wine, chocolate, and yarn.
Meredith wasn’t a knitter, but she’d quietly carried a gun for years, either in the pocket of her blazer or snugged up into her bra holster. As a therapist to children and adolescents, she sometimes encountered family members who threatened her with violence. She regularly trained at the range, but thankfully she’d never had cause to use the weapon.
‘I miss my gran,’ Meredith said wistfully. ‘She was my rock after my folks died.’
Mallory tilted her head, curious. ‘When did she die? Your gran?’
‘Three years ago,’ Meredith told her, acutely aware that she’d never divulged personal information to Mallory before. I need to transition Mallory to another therapist. Soon. The thought hurt. But it should have been done already. They’d grown too close over the last few months. ‘She had a heart attack. But it was fast, at least. She didn’t suffer. But it was a shock, even though she was in her eighties. I wasn’t ready to let her go.’