Her house gun, a 9mm Glock, just like the cops used. Unregistered and perfectly maintained, same as the .22. Most likely, she’d never need either weapon. Same for the twin S&W .38 revolvers she’d bought at a gun show in Nevada last year and secreted in the file cabinet at her office.
Nighty-night, beloved instruments of destruction.
Curling fetally, Grace slipped her thumb between her lips. Sucked greedily.
Chapter 8
She rose at dawn, famished, watched through the French doors as a gray pelican dove for breakfast. Shorebirds skittered along the tide line. An intermittent dot caught Grace’s attention and she got up and wrapped herself in the yellow kimono and went outside.
Focusing her eye where the dot had last been, she waited. There it was again, a few yards north. California sea lion, drifting and submerging. Keeping a slow pace, lovely, entitled predator that it was.
Grace watched for a while, made coffee and drank the first of three cups while scrambling four eggs tossed with cheese, Genoa salami, rehydrated porcinis, and garlic chives. Buttering two rolls, she downed every greasy crumb. By seven thirty she was back on PCH, letting the Aston do its thing as she warmed herself with thoughts of the care she’d be giving all day.
Bev, soon to be married, was better dressed and coiffed and conspicuously more put together than the red-eyed young widow who’d first showed up at Grace’s office shaking uncontrollably and barely able to speak. This morning, those eyes were clear, alternating between the warmth of pleasant expectation and flashes of furtive heat that Grace knew meant guilt.
No big puzzle: At a moment when the poor thing felt husband-to-be should take precedence, all she could think about was husband-who-was.
A thirty-year-old Portland firefighter when Bev met him, Greg had the equilibrium and easy confidence of a man whose body worked perfectly. Till it didn’t.
The cancer that had ended his life was so rare there was no treatment protocol. Bev had watched him waste away.
Who could blame her for abandoning hope? It had taken Grace a long time to get the sweet, warmhearted young woman to see that the concept of future could still be relevant. Now Bev was about to embark on a second attempt at faith, good for her!
“I’m not terrified, Dr. Blades. I guess I’m just... anxious. Okay, honest? I’m scared as heck.”
Grace said, “Then you’re ahead of the game.”
“Pardon?”
“If you were totally terrified, it would be understandable, Bev. Anything less than terror is heroism.”
Bev stared. “You’re serious.”
“I am.”
Bev looked doubtful.
Grace said, “When did you start feeling anxious?” Deliberately downgrading from “scared.” It was her job to recontextualize.
Bev said, “I guess... a few weeks ago.”
“As the wedding date grew near.”
Nod.
“Until then, for the most part, would you say you were pretty happy?”
“Yes. Of course.”
“Of course...”
“I’m marrying Brian. He’s wonderful.”
“But...”
“No buts,” said Bev. She burst into tears. “I feel disloyal! Like I’m cheating on Greg!”
“You loved Greg. It’s only natural you’d feel obligated to him.”
Bev sniffed.
Grace said, “To everyone else, Greg is a memory. To you he’s the other man.”
That unleashed another torrent of sobs.
Grace let Bev cry for a while, then leaned in close and dried Bev’s eyes and squeezed her hand. When Bev took a deep breath, Grace settled her back in her chair in a posture of forced relaxation.
In matters of healing, the body initiates and the mind follows. Malcolm had told her that. Only once, but it stuck.
And it worked: Bev’s facial muscles slackened. The tears stopped.
Grace gave her the softest smile she could muster. Bev smiled back.
A casual glance could register them as two pretty young women hanging out in a pleasant, well-lit room.
When the time was right, Grace said, “Because Greg loved you so much, we know one thing for sure.”
Bev looked at her through tear-smudged eyes. “What?”
“He’d absolutely want you to be happy.”
Silence.
Finally, Bev said, “Yes, I know.” That sounded like a confession.
Grace said, “Still, that bothers you.”
No answer.
Grace tried another tack. “Maybe instead of looking at Greg as laying siege to your emotions you could start thinking of him as a partner.”
“A partner in what?”
“The life that awaits you,” said Grace.
“Life,” said Bev. As if the idea was distasteful.
Grace said, “Let’s be clear: What you and Greg had together was profound. And profound things just don’t vanish because social niceties say they should. That doesn’t make you unfaithful to Greg. Or to Brian.”
“But still,” said Bev. “I do feel unfaithful. Yes, you’re right, to both of them.”
“To Greg for letting joy into your life. To Brian because you think about Greg.”
“Yes.”
“That makes total sense, honey. But think of it this way: The three of you — Brian and you and Greg — could tackle the agenda as a team.”
“I... what agenda?”
“The agenda of what lies in store for Bev. The agenda of Bev deserves to be happy,” said Grace. “Approved by unanimous voice vote.” She smiled. “For what it’s worth, I second the motion.”
Bev shifted in her chair. Her lips set grimly. “I guess.”
Grace knew she’d come on too strong. She let Bev sit there and ponder for a while and when Bev hadn’t shifted out of the relaxed position and her facial muscles had loosened again, she took another tack.
“Officially, your wedding’s a celebration. But there’s no need for you to snap into joy instantaneously just because you’ve printed invitations and people will be sitting in church. An emotionally shallow person could pull that off. But you remember what I told you last year: You’re emotionally substantial.”
Silence.
“You feel deeply, Bev. You always have. Those stories you told me about taking care of wounded animals.”
Makes two of us, girlfriend.
Nothing from Bev. Then, finally, a slow nod.
“Feeling deeply is a virtue, Bev. It allows life to take on meaning and at some point your joy will be even greater than if you’d simply drifted with the currents.”
Long silence. “I sure hope so.”
Grace placed a hand on Bev’s shoulder. “Of course you can’t see that, right now. How could you? But it’ll happen, there’ll be joy in your future but flavored with even greater depth than if you didn’t go through this, right now. That will be sweet.”
Bev stared at her. Muttered, “Thank you.”
Grace kept her hand on Bev’s shoulder. Exerting just enough pressure to let Bev know she was cared for. Cared about.
“Take your time. Feel whatever you need to feel. Eventually, you’ll sense that Greg’s on board. That he approves and wants you to be happy because that’s what people who love unconditionally do.”
The outer edges of Beverly’s lips tugged wider, as if manipulated by a puppeteer. “You’re scary, Dr. Blades.”
Grace had heard that so many times. “Me?” she said, innocently.
“Scary-smart is what I mean. It’s like you have a direct view into here.” Patting her breast.
“Thanks for the compliment, Bev, but smart has nothing to do with it. Whatever I know comes from working at understanding people.” Grace leaned forward. “Because once we get past the nonsense, we’re all the same. Yet unique at the same time. No one has lived your life or thought your thoughts or felt your feelings. Even so, if I was in your situation, I’m pretty sure I’d feel exactly the same way.”