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Directing two men who I suspected could be ghouls to the financial-planning section kept me distracted from this odd customer. There was something not quite right about this woman, and it wasn’t just her taste in old clothes. Her eyes were feverish and bright, and I couldn’t seem to look into them for too long. Her skin was pale even by our standards. She smelled wrong, like liniment and camphor, the combination of which was almost overpowering when she approached the register carrying copies of Love Bites, How to Survive Sire Abandonment, 30 Days to a Healthier Undead You, I’m OK, You’re Undead, and, oddly enough, A Walk to Remember .
“You have a wonderful selection,” she said, her dark eyes boring through me.
“Thank you. Did you find what you were looking for?”
“Not quite. But this will do for now.” Her voice was flat as she handed me cash, which was quickly becoming my favorite medium of payment.
“Well, please come back. And let me know if I can help you find it.”
“I’m sure you can,” she said, smiling at me with an intensity that, frankly, was starting to weird me out a little.
She faded into the crowd (crowd!) of customers and out the door. An hour before closing, my feet were so sore I didn’t even think of asking Andrea whether she’d noticed Creepy Cameo Chick. Instead, we totaled out the drawer, rejoiced over every large bill, and promised each other that Cindy the Goth Good-Luck Charm would be welcome to free lattes whenever she wanted them.
Mr. Wainwright and Jettie reappeared and admitted to a tiny fib. Mr. Wainwright couldn’t stand the idea of missing my big night and had spent most of it watching the sales floor in invisible ghost mode. Mr. Wainwright waxed poetic over every sale and declared that the shop had probably made more in-store customers that night than in the previous year. He declared Andrea and me to be marketing geniuses. Aunt Jettie just smiled and claimed to have “known it all along.” Dick popped a bottle of champagne so expensive I dared not ask where he got it, and we sat at the coffee bar toasting a good night.
All in all, Gabriel certainly picked the right moment to walk back into my life.
“Jane?” he said, tentatively walking toward me, holding a bouquet of fat, vibrant yellow sunflowers tied with raffia and ribbon.
I was surprised at how much trouble I had looking him in the eye as he crossed the room, and at how gratifying it was that he looked like ten miles of bad back-country road. Gabriel was paper pale, the hollows of his cheeks dramatic and drawn. And if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a little nervous twitch to his upper lip. If he felt half as bad as he looked, well, the vindictive part of me thought that was a pretty good start. And I was touched that he knew I would know that sunflowers meant “adoration” and “warmth.” But even after weeks of missing his voice, his face, I found that more than anything, I just wanted him gone. I didn’t want to have this conversation now. I wanted to bask in my success for just a little while longer. I should have known better. If my history has taught me anything, it’s that once I start enjoying a little good fortune, the karmic balance shifts to kick me in the face and restore the status quo.
“Hi,” he breathed, as if he had spent an entire evening planning that single syllable.
“Hi,” I conceded after considerable thought.
“How have you been?” he asked.
Really? We were starting off with awkward pleasantries? Because I was in an “apologize or be destroyed” sort of mood. Hmm. How have I been? Sharpening a lot of stakes. Watching Kill Bill over and over again …
Gabriel pressed the flowers into my hands as I asked, “What are you doing back?”
He shrugged and smiled. “It’s your big night. I wouldn’t miss it.”
“Well, you did miss it. You’ve missed a lot of nights recently. So many nights, in fact, that I started to think maybe you weren’t coming back. Thanks for putting me in that position.”
“Jane, that’s not fair,” he said quietly as Jettie and Mr. Wainwright disappeared. Dick and Andrea had a sudden and overwhelming desire to reshelve misplaced stock.
I sat down and laid the flowers aside. “Look, Gabriel, I’m tired, and I don’t have the patience for empty banter. I’ve had a very long night. A great night, in fact. And you weren’t here for it. I did all of this without you. The funny thing is, I didn’t need you. I didn’t need you to protect me or take care of me or shield my delicate self in your big strong manly arms. I’m getting to the point where I kind of like not needing you. In fact, I’ve decided to start a no-strings-attached, purely carnal relationship with Dick to meet some of my needs, so you don’t even have to show up for that.”
Dick’s smirking face rose over the diet and health-maintenance shelves. “Well, Stretch, if you’re offerin’—ow!” he cried as Andrea’s hand snaked up from behind and slapped the back of his head.
Gabriel pushed through an obvious distaste for the mental picture the words “purely carnal” invoked and said, “Jane, let me explain. I haven’t called because I’ve been stuck in meetings every night for the last few weeks. First, a manufacturing plant I’d hoped to purchase in Leeds had labor problems. And then a real-estate deal fell through in Italy. I had to soothe some very insulted Czech tempers when my interpreter called one of them a ‘horse’s ass’ when I was trying sell them a film-processing plant—”
“You’re lying to me.” At this point, I was thankful for the gut-burning anger that was preventing tears from welling up.
Gabriel started. “What?”
“You’re lying, right now. To my face.”
“No, I’m not.”
“Yes, you are, because when you lie, you get this little wrinkly line between your eyebrows.” I tapped him on the forehead. “You don’t think I’ve noticed, but it happened every time you got one of those fancy linen envelopes and tried to explain it away as business correspondence. It’s like a little exclamation point in the middle of your forehead that screams, ‘I’m lying!’”
“I do not!” he cried.
“You’ve got one right now!” I yelled, pointing to his head, over which he slapped a protective hand.
“I’ve explained to you—”
