By the time she and Butch had gone to bed, she’d been so exhausted, she’d fallen asleep as soon as her head had hit the pillow.
But she hadn’t stayed that way.
Her eyes had opened at around three in the afternoon, and she had lain on her back, staring up in the darkness while Butch had snored quietly next to her.
It was just as her hellren had said. Images of that female had played across the blank ceiling, a photo montage that had made her tear up. And the sad thing was, the urge to cry had gotten even worse as she’d thought of her and Butch.
Which was crazy.
There was nothing wrong between them. He couldn’t have been more supportive, taking her out to Havers’s, sticking with her through her efforts with the key, being understanding of everything she was feeling.
“I’m losing my mind,” she said—
“That’s what I’m here for.”
Marissa jerked her head up. “Mary, hi—sorry, I was talking to myself. I’m a little scrambled right now.”
Rhage’s shellan came in and closed the office’s door. “Yeah, I got that impression—I’ve been saying your name three or four times and not getting through.”
Marissa eased back, pushed her hair over her shoulders, and forced a smile. “What can I do for you?”
“You can talk to me.” The female sat down in the chair across the desk. “I’m worried about you.”
“Oh, God, don’t waste a second on that. We’ve got people here who are seriously in need of your help—”
“Good Samaritans like you and I have trouble doing our jobs if we don’t talk about the hard cases. It’s a fact. I’d also like to point out that I’m a friend of yours.”
In the silence that followed, Marissa kept quiet about all the paperwork she hadn’t been able to concentrate on because her head was messed up. And then she remained silent about the day she’d spent not sleeping. And finally, she said nothing about the strange distance between her and Butch—
“I can’t get her out of my mind,” she blurted.
Immediately, tears came, and she cursed as she reached for a Kleenex. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“I know,” Mary said gently. “Trust me, I’ve had a lot of personal experience with not talking. It wasn’t a good strategy.”
“Oh, come on, you’re the most self-actualized person I’ve ever met. You’re like a ten out of ten on the relating scale.”
“You’ve only seen a snapshot of my life, Marissa. You didn’t know me before. And I still struggle, just like everyone else.”
Marissa blotted under her eyes and had to fight a wave of straight-up bawling. “How do you deal with that.”
“The struggling? I talk to people. I talk to Rhage. I write things down.”
“No … the clean cut.”
“I’m sorry?”
Marissa waved her tissue around. “I’m not making any sense. Just forget—”
“You mean the fact that one life ended for me and another began when I got with Rhage?”
God, her heart was pounding for no good reason. “Yes. That’s exactly it.”
Mary crossed her legs and chewed on her lower lip, and as she took time to compose her thoughts, Marissa studied her even-featured face, and her newly bobbed brown hair, and her aura of calm confidence.
Yes, Marissa thought, Rhage was right. The female was gorgeous—not in the flashy, beauty-queen kind of way, or the all-angles, no meat, anorexic model stuff, and not even the girl-next-door standard. Mary was like the glow of a banked fire in the deep vicious winter, warm and sustaining, captivating and illuminating.
No wonder the Brother adored her.
With an exhale, Mary said, “I think it was different for me because I was dying—so I knew I was leaving? Even though I wasn’t aware of the cancer being back for a while, I’d been preparing for the day when they’d tell me it had returned. So I’d checked out. Packed my mental and emotional bags, got my ticket, was ready to go. I mean, my mother was gone, I hadn’t really connected with anyone else on the planet … there was nothing for me so there wasn’t anything to walk away from, if that makes sense?”
Marissa thought about the night her brother had kicked her out for being with Butch.
“If I understand things correctly,” Mary said, “that was not the case for you. Was it.”
Marissa had to look away. “No, it was not. I came back to the house Havers and I shared one evening just before dawn and he…” Now, her tears welled and fell in a rush, one after another, landing on her blouse, her slacks. She mopped up before she could go on. “All of my things had been packed. He told me he didn’t care where I went, he just wanted me out of his house. He put money…” She had to clear her throat. “He put money on one of the bureaus. It was as if he didn’t want to touch me.”
Sniffling, she popped free another tissue and blew her nose. “I kept the cash. I still have those hundred-dollar bills. Sometimes, when I run into them in my drawer, I think, why do I keep them? Why am I—oh, for heaven’s sake.” She had to take a third tissue. “What is wrong with me? That girl is dead, and I can’t find her family or who killed her—and I’m sitting here whining about my stupid-ass brother who’s old news. This is ridiculous.”
“This is past trauma,” Mary pointed out evenly.