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Cassie laughed. “You say that like we found one on the side of a road. We were in a morgue. We were there because of a murder investigation—for which your sister is a consultant, not
a suspect, I might add.”
“I know, I know.” She looked back down at the pot and then returned it to its place on the shelf. “It was just strange.”
“I know.” Cassie moved on from the dinnerware and went to inspect a lavish set of teacups decorated with tiny peacocks. “I guess I’m just used to it these days.”
“Does it ever bother you? Seeing dead people?”
Cassie understood she meant dead bodies and not ghosts, but her answer wouldn’t have been different. “Sometimes. It’s never easy to stare into the face of your own mortality. But it becomes less shocking. It becomes more about figuring out what happened to the person than trying to digest what you’re seeing.”
“I think I’m still digesting.”
Cassie put the peacock teacup down and walked over to her sister. “You don’t have to be comfortable with it. I don’t think you’re supposed to be. I know I’m not. Resigned, maybe. But not comfortable.”
“But you do like it.”
Cassie blinked. “Sure?”
“I saw the way your face lit up. Saw how interested you were in trying to solve the mystery. You live for this stuff.”
“I don’t think I live for it, but I find it… intriguing.”
Laura shot her a look and moved on to a large collection of vintage Savannah postcards. She flipped through them so quickly, Cassie doubted she saw any of them. “I’m just worried about you.”
“You’re always worried about me.” Cassie crossed her arms. “What is it this time?”
Laura pretended to be engrossed by the postcards. “You’ve surrounded yourself with death. You’ve chosen to explore it. To get closer to it. After what’s happened to you, I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’m worried that you’re not allowing yourself to move on from him.”
“You mean Novak?”
“Yeah, him.”
“Why am I the only one who will say his name? I want to remember who he was. I want to remember what he did to me. I can never forget it, Laura. Never. I’m not holding onto it because I can’t move away from it. I’m holding onto it because it’s part of who I am. It’s shaped me. The more I try to push that away, the harder it is for me to accept it. You’re a psychologist, you should know this.”
Laura’s head snapped up. “There’s a difference between accepting what happened to you and going out and looking for trouble.”
“You think that’s what this is? Looking for trouble? You think I want history to repeat itself?”
“No, of course not.”
Cassie didn’t have any words. She shook her head and walked down the next aisle, fuming, not seeing any of the antiques in front of her. She stopped at a display of vintage typewriters, but she had no interest in figuring out what made them so special.
Laura rounded the corner and stopped at Cassie’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.”
Cassie turned to face her. “Then what did you mean?”
“I guess I meant I don’t understand why you do this. It can’t be easy for you. You’re either the bravest person I know or the stupidest.”
“Can’t I be both?”
That made Laura laugh. “Yeah, I guess you can.”
“You could just ask, you know.”
“Ask what?”
“Ask why I do this.”
