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“How I’m doing?” Her eyes widened. “Well, Mom is out of rehab and just had her halo taken off. You know about her neck?”
I nodded. “News travels.”
“And she… I guess we’re lucky. Alcoholism doesn’t run on either side, so the whole thing was maybe circumstantial. Maybe she needed grief counseling, but all I know is she isn’t drinking anymore, seems her old self. Except she cooks a lot…”
I touched Maeve’s leg. The warmth of it traveled straight to my chest. “I asked how you were, Fairy. Not your mom.”
Her generic, small-talk smile faded. Our eyes connected. The space between us got smaller, and I wanted to scoop her into me.
Suddenly, sadness glazed over her eyes. She lowered them, and I wondered, would she tell me what was going on in that pretty little head of hers?
She did. Sort of.
She didn’t make eye contact, glancing away at a pair of colleagues having coffees. “I wish I was on your case, Drake.”
Wishing has a purpose. It was like manifestation. Prayer. Focusing on what you wanted so your mind did everything in the world to move in that direction. But when the moment arrived to take what you wanted, you had to use your hands to get it.
I placed my fingers under her chin, easing her face in my direction, forcing her to meet my eyes. “I wish you were on more than my case.”
She bit her lip, and her eyes went from glazed to glassy. Her voice came out barely louder than a whisper. “You’re not mad at me?”
“No. But do we go back to square one again if I tell you I still think you were being stupid?”
She laughed lightly. “I’d just agree with you. In theory. But not out loud, of course.”
I chuckled.
Just then, Hunter’s voice shouted from behind me. “Eh! Drake-o! Your sushi’s getting warm.”
Maeve closed her eyes and shook her head, her voice low. “Drake-o?”
“Right? Trust me. I told him Drake would do.”
“He’s a bit dense to say the least.”
I didn’t want to leave. I wanted to stay there and ride this momentum off into the sunset till it went dark under the sheets on her bed. But there was work to do. “I don’t want go but I’m talking about new evidence with Hunter, so it’s, look, it’s not as important as this, but…”
“I get it…”
I had to take a chance. I only had one. “I’m off back to Seattle tomorrow. I decided while I can to spend time with my mom and help her with the house, I should do that. But,” I glanced at her flimsy papers, threatening to fly away, “if you want to blow off some steam, let’s go to the Santa Monica Pier. I’ll treat you to a couple games of skeeball.”
A soft, genuine smile crossed her lips. “I can clock off at seven.”
“How about I pick you up where I last dropped you off?”
