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He stopped. I bumped into him and looked up.
Um…eek!
“We don’t joke about that either,” he said.
“I wasn’t joking,” I told him.
His hands went to the T-shirt I was wearing, then up, and then it was gone.
“You’ll feel better after the shower.”
He wasn’t wrong.
* * *
I went backto bed after the shower and Eddie went to work.
When I finally woke up and stumbled into the bathroom, I realized after I looked into the mirror that Trixie’s new hairdo did have a weakness. You didn’t sleep on it after it got wet.
One word: scary.
I pulled the bandage off my temple to see the graze had scabbed over. I wet my hair, picked up the discarded T-shirt on the way back to the bedroom, put it on and stared at my bag on the floor. Somewhere along the line, it had exploded. There hadn’t been a whole lot of time to keep things tidy.
Therefore, I tidied.
First, I called Fortnum’s and told them I’d be in late, or maybe not at all.
Then, I stripped the bed, found the stairs off the kitchen that led to the basement and stuffed the sheets in the laundry. I found some more sheets and made the bed, then I cleaned the house.
The whole time I was thinking.
The night before, Eddie took me to the station to talk to Detective Marker and make my statement so they could press charges. Then he took me for a quick visit to Dad who was still asleep and his condition was unchanged. After, we went to Eddie’s and Eddie had chili while everyone put me under the microscope.
Once they’d ascertained that I was okay and not under imminent threat of suffering nervous collapse, they all went home. Eddie gave me a T-shirt and we went to bed.
Now, it was over and I was safe. Slick and Vince were locked up and Dad was hanging in there.
Over.
Safe.
Back to Just Jet.
It actually didn’t take a lot of thought to make my decision. It was easy.
I got dressed, put on some makeup and pulled my hair in a ponytail. I called Lottie to pick me up, packed my bag and all my junk from the kitchen and cleaned out the coffeemaker.
Lottie showed up in her rental and took me back to my apartment.
“You okay?” she asked on the way home, sliding her eyes to me.
“I’d be more okay if everyone would quit asking me if I was okay,” I told her.
“We care.” She sounded kind of pissy.
I sighed. “I’m okay.”
“What’s with all the stuff? You moving back home?”
