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Something panged inside her. “Hey. I’m sorry, I should have texted you and told you not to wait up.”
He patted the couch. “Not a problem. I wanted to see you before I went to bed. Can I pour you a glass of wine?”
She flicked a glance at the clock. If she hurried, she could manage a quick shower and about six hours of sleep before she got back up for work. Enjoying a glass of wine with him would take at least an hour—and most likely would turn into something that took far longer. Something she’d greatly enjoy in the short term, but that would leave her overtired tomorrow morning when she needed to be at her best to solve a colleague’s homicide.
Not a great way to start things out…
Arnett’s words kept echoing through her head, stirring a cabal of worries and experiences she’d hoped she’d dealt with, but which had apparently just been hibernating.This is why, those voices said to her.This is why you’ve guarded your space so carefully. So there were no hard choices to make and nobody’s feelings got hurt when your priorities had to be elsewhere. Except someone had always gotten hurt, regardless. And by inviting Matt into her life, she’d made a promise to him that she’d find a work/life balance that included him.
She dragged up a smile. “That sounds lovely. I’ll get the glass.”
Once the wine was poured, he grabbed one of her hands and gently ran his thumb over the top of it. “How did it all go?”
She caught him up as she sipped the pinot noir. “So, the good news is, we have suspects. The bad news is we need to be moving faster. So I’ll be up early in the morning again.”
He continued to stroke her hand. “It’s good the DA has confidence in you.”
“Sure, absolutely, except Hayes doesn’t want to be overshadowed by me, so that ticks her off. What I really need is a calm, neutral, middle-of-the-road place to hang out in until she finds another outlet for her angst.”
Matt swirled his wine. “People like that don’t get distracted from feeling threatened. They dwell in that space, and can only feel better by pushing you down. You’re going to have to find a way to pull her over to your side.”
“Yeah, well, for now I’ll have to put that miracle on hold, since I’m going to need every ounce of ingenuity I have to narrow down this suspect pool.” She raised her glass. “Here’s hoping the blood Sweeney found on the tree wasn’t left by some wounded raccoon. Or that the underwater team pulls up a gun with fingerprints intact. And, hell, while we’re at it, why not hope he engraved his name right on it, too?”
He laughed as he clinked her glass. “Sounds like I may not be seeing much of you for the next few weeks. And that’s what’s so great about living together—whenever you get home I’ll be here waiting, and we’ll be able to curl up together for at least a little while.”
“Mmm.” Suddenly she felt like someone was encasing her in shrink-wrap. She tried to hide it behind another sip of wine. “How wasyourday?”
“I finished the unpacking, and I got in touch with David. He didn’t have much, so he’s already in.”
“Good to hear, I think?” She rubbed the bridge of her nose.
Matt stroked her hand. “Don’t worry, everything’s going to work out. Your sister will figure this out, and you’ll catch this bad guy.”
That was the thing about Matt—somehow when he said it, she believed it. And a wave of guilt washed over for feeling anything other than complete joy at coming home to him, because if she couldn’t find a way to get over herself when it came tohim, she’d never be able to get over herself withanybody. The problem resided well and truly withinher.
She smiled up at him, letting the warmth of the wine seep through her. Then she stood and held out her hand to him. She’d regret it in the morning—but what the hell.
DAY TWO
CHAPTERTWELVE
Winnie Sakurai’s eyes popped open minutes before her alarm went off—they always did. She’d asked herself a thousand times why she even bothered to set it, but deep down she knew the answer. She’d never been able to take the chance that tomorrow was the morning when her early-bird nature would fail her, and she’d find herself in a desperate race against time.
Not that she had to race these days. People had warned her about retirement, that when you had a long, fulfilling career that formed the basis of your personal identity and gave your life meaning, the empty days could be a death sentence. Everyone had an example of a loved one who’d slipped into a depression and died within a year of retiring. So, during the year prior to her retirement, she and Nate had written out everything they wanted to do together, now that they were both free. Big things like vacations, yes, but more so all of the little things. Places they wanted to take their grandchildren. New recipes to try over moonlit dinners in their backyard. Books they’d never had time to read, hobbies they hadn’t had time to indulge, documentaries they’d never gotten around to watching. New rituals to establish, like solving crosswords together over morning coffee and taking strolls to pick wild blackberries in the woods.
Which meant she woke every morning happy and excited, mind brimming with possibilities for the day. But Nate was an inveterate night owl, so most days she’d bake and read and wake him with fresh muffins for breakfast. But twice a month on the days when Burkefeld Gardens was open, she’d sneak off for a glorious early morning of birdwatching.
She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake him, and pulled on the waiting clothes in the dark. Downstairs she hummed to herself as she filled a Thermos with strong coffee, then slipped a leftover muffin into her pack next to her binoculars and her journal. The temperatures had turned cold, so she chose a heavier coat and gloves. She always seemed to be hot these days, but it was better to be safe—she could always take off the coat if she needed to.
As she clicked the front door into place behind her, she let her mind wander over the magical birds waiting for her.
* * *
I’ve always been invisible.
The sort of person people don’t notice. The one people cut in front of at the Costco food court, not because they’re rude but because they truly don’t see me. When I object, they glance around confused, realize what they’ve done, then turn red and apologize profusely. When I smile and reassure them, they smile back, grateful to be let off the hook and happy to forget me again. If you asked them half an hour later to describe me, their brow would crease and their mouth would wiggle like a fish gasping for air.
And not just visually forgettable. I was the student whose name the teacher couldn’t remember until it was nearly time for Christmas break. The cousin nobody remembered when making up their wedding-guest lists. The co-worker people would walk right past in the supermarket, unrecognized. I came to expect it, and learned there are benefits to it, too. People say and do things around you that they shouldn’t, give you insights into their real states of mind.
