Becca turned her head toward the side table. She couldn’t see the little radio or the Spiricom, but the soft crackle of static drew her.
“Mom?” she said softly. The word felt strange in her mouth. It wasn’t one she had spoken aloud often, certainly not as a name. At five, her mother had been “Mommy,” and Becca had been “little girl.”
Jo had said the Spiricom might make two-way communication possible. Becca wondered fuzzily if her mother was awake out there, in whatever shadowed land she inhabited now.
Her lips still vibrated from that kiss, that unexpected gift. She hoped fervently that Jo wouldn’t regret it in the morning, either the kiss or the welcome embrace of her arms tonight. Becca felt a sleepy but powerful hankering to talk to Khadijah or Marty or Rachel, to have a long and thoughtful chat about the fact that she was falling in love for the first time in her life.
She sighed, and her eyes drifted closed. No one could really advise her on the risk of this romantic folly, about whether loving Jo would ultimately heal or hurt them both. Becca’s wandering mind summoned an image of the Lady of the Rock, and she took comfort from the statue’s maternal gaze.
“Becca.”
Becca’s eyes flew open, and she started so hard only the depth of Jo’s weariness preserved her sleep.
Her mother’s voice was different.
She had spoken only her name, but Becca heard the change clearly. For the first time, there was no grief in her mother’s tone, no fear, no pleading. Madelyn Healy was speaking to her daughter as she had never been able to in life, as one woman to another, and her voice was rich with love and a kind of shy, pleased approval.
“Becca…it’s right.”
Becca stared into the darkness, her heart pounding. She felt Jo’s soft breath stir her hair, and she understood.
Becca smiled, spiraling down into sleep, filled with a new, growing faith in two things. Her mother had been a wise woman, and they were both right about Joanne Call.
Chapter Sixteen
“Yes, Pam, I believe I’ve admitted you told us to call you at any time.” Jo grimaced and stepped deeper into the bushes, lifting small branches with one hand and clasping her cell with the other.
“Yeah, and last night would have been a very good time.” Pam Emerson’s voice crackled in her ear. “I could have been there in ten minutes, Jo, damn.”
“Well, I’m bringing it to you now.” Or half of it. If Jo couldn’t find the doll’s stupid head, Pam would have to make do with decapitated evidence. “It will only take me ten minutes, too.”
“You shouldn’t even have touched it,” Pam pointed out.
“Too late for that. Ah.” Jo bent awkwardly and snagged the doll’s head with her thumb through the hole in its eye. At least the hideous thing would be intact.
She straightened and saw Becca across the street. She was standing by her battered Toyota, the sun shining on her hair, regarding Jo quizzically. “You’re right,” she told Pam, “I should have called you last night. I apologize. I was…distracted.”
“How’s Becca?” Pam’s irritation softened. Jo remembered she knew of Becca’s fear of dolls. She had tried to comfort her with one, the night of the shootings. She felt an unexpected flicker of relief as Pam Emerson clicked solidly in place as a member of their clan.
“She had a rocky night, but she’s better today.” Jo concealed the head of the doll at the back of her belt, wincing as her sore shoulder tweaked. “She’s seeing her therapist for breakfast.”
“That’s a good idea. And I’m seeing you at the station in nine minutes?”
“Nine minutes.” Jo folded her cell and walked down the driveway. She gave Becca a brisk wave of farewell, went to the back of her Bentley, and opened the trunk. She slipped the doll’s head into the tarped bundle containing its body, closed the trunk, and walked straight into Becca. “Omph.”
“Whoops!” Becca steadied her, smiling up into her eyes. “Sorry, Batman.”
“No harm done.” Jo liked the feel of Becca’s hands on her arms, and the fact that she kept them there even after she was steady. “You’re off to see Rachel?”
Becca nodded. “I told her I’d meet her at her place. The way she looked last night, I don’t want her out running around. What about you? You haven’t spilled your plans this morning.”
“Well, I’m going by my office to start cleaning up.” Jo considered lying by omission, but remembered her ongoing lessons in Becca School. “But first I’m bringing the doll to Pam Emerson. It’s in the trunk.”
Becca’s hands tightened on her arms, but only briefly. She looked toward the back of Jo’s car, then back at her. “Okay. Sounds like a good plan.”
“Did hearing that trigger you?”
“No.” Becca really did look fine. “It’s a little hard to explain, but if I’m not actually looking at a doll, I can think of it as an abstract. It’s as if you were terrified of spiders — you wouldn’t be crazy about a dead tarantula in the trunk, but at least you’d know it wasn’t going to crawl up through the seats and eat you.”
“That makes sense.” Jo drank in the warmth of Becca’s jade eyes. The light in them deepened.
“It’s Capitol Hill, so I can do this.” Becca’s voice was lower now, silken, as she stepped closer. “But in case you have issues with public displays of affection, I’m giving you fair notice that I’m about to kiss you.”
Jo actually did appreciate that notice, because touch generally was still hard for—
And then she forgot touch had ever been hard for her as Becca’s arms slid around her neck. She lowered her head and their lips met.
It was really, really nice.
Jo didn’t have words for some things.
Becca must have agreed because she wrapped her arms around her, the kind of hug she was so justly famous for among her friends. Jo had never been so warmly and thoroughly hugged in her life, but Becca was pressing her shoulder and she squeaked.
Becca released her. “What was that?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re six feet tall and you just went off like a poodle. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Joanne, if I wanted the stoic butch routine, I’d read fan fiction. What is it?”
Jo grinned in spite of herself and shrugged. “We took a tumble down the front stairs last night. I’m fine. It’s just a bruise.”
The light faded from Becca’s features. “Are you sure? Should you see a doctor?”
“I’m sure.”
Becca looked up at her pensively. “I don’t know whether to trust you with this. You’re not very good at taking care of yourself, I’ve noticed. I’m still not sure what you need, at any given time.”
“Please consider Joanne School in session now.” Jo lowered her head until her forehead touched Becca’s, and the words flowed as naturally as rain. “Don’t you know this is enough? You’re giving me exactly what I need.”
The breath went out of Becca and she seemed a bit weak in the knees, an effect Jo had never had on a woman, to her knowledge, nor had ever wanted to. She kind of liked it.
Becca stepped back and pulled her cell out of her pocket. She flipped it open and tapped keys, then mouthed “voice mail” at Jo. “Rachel? Let’s make it dinner tonight, okay? I’m so much better. And something has come up here that’s kind of pressing. I’ll call you later.”
Jo frowned. “Becca, this is a terrible idea.”
“No, it isn’t. I will check in with Rachel, but it can wait for tonight.” Becca slid her cell back in her pocket. “I want to hear what Pam has to say about the doll. Just don’t let me see it. And you’re not cleaning up all that broken glass in your office alone with a bruised shoulder.”