"What makes you think—"
"Honey, you don't stress-bake for your neighbors unless something's eating at you."
I wrap both hands around my mug. The ceramic burns my palms. "There's this guy."
"Not Daniel."
"Definitely not Daniel."
She listens while I explain. Julian. The robbery. The support group. The lie I told Daniel.
"You're playing with fire," she says, but her tone's gentle.
"I know. I'm stopping. One more meeting, then I'm out."
She studies me. "What does your gut say?"
"My gut's an idiot."
That earns a laugh. Then her expression clouds. "Speaking of idiots, the police still haven't made any progress with Claudia's case. I check in every week, to no avail."
My heart clenches. "Nothing?"
"They think she ran off with Dylan. That waste of space dealer boyfriend." Her voice cracks. "But Claudia, she's troubled, yes, but she wouldn't just disappear without telling me. Would she?"
I reach across and squeeze her hand. "I don't know, but I know you did everything you could for her.”
"Did I?"
"You did. She's lucky to have you as an aunt… letting her live with you, and being there for her. If I had an aunt like you growing up, maybe I wouldn't have turned out so messed up."
She smiles. "You're not messed up, sweetie."
"I'm not?" I counter. "I have Daddy issues, I date too many bad boys… and can't settle down to save my life."
She laughs. "You're spirited."
"Well, that's one way of putting it."
"Seriously, be careful with that new guy."
“I will," I promise, "and you stop worrying so much about Claudia. I'm sure she's fine." I don't say out loud that I agree with the cops, but I kind of do. Although it is weird that there has been no contact.
"I'll try," she tells me. "I've closed her bedroom door—I can't bear the sight of it right now."
My heart aches for her. We sit in silence, two women drowning in different kinds of guilt.
We finish our coffees and cookies, and when I leave, she hugs me tight at the door. "Be careful, sweetheart. With Julian. With all of it."
"Thank you. Call if you hear anything?"
"Promise."
I walk down the stairs back to Daniel's apartment, wishing I could do more for her. But what can I do? I didn't know her niece too well—she seemed very introverted, and always appeared a bit sullen. Quiet and serious. But she was a looker, just like her aunt.
Perhaps I could hire a private investigator or something—maybe Daniel would agree to pay for it. I hate asking him for anything, but this would definitely be a good reason to step out of my comfort zone.
A sharp stitch on my side makes me still in the middle of the stairwell—I get them when I'm stressed.
