Page 38 of Heidi Lucy Loses Her Mind
Maybe it’s a weird time to be thinking about all this, but I can’t help it. Life is short. I’m not going to waste any more of it.
So when she turns her big hazel eyes on me and asks the question I’ve been waiting for, I only have one response.
“Will you help me?” she says.
I nod, squaring my shoulders. “Absolutely.”
9
IN WHICH HEIDI AND SOREN GET MUCH, MUCH CLOSER
My laundry seems to have multiplied.
I sit on my couch, trying to get a good amount of folding in before Soren gets here. I’m not a messy person, and I’m not a slob. How do I have so many clothes that are all dirty at the same time?
Be more productive, a little voice whispers in my mind.Earn your keep.I try to push it away, try to ignore it like my therapist taught me all those years ago, but I can still feel the words embedding themselves, needling under my skin. I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut and opening them again. Then I resume my folding.
After the policemen collected the blood sample and then left yesterday, Soren and I agreed to meet this morning at ten-thirty to make a plan and figure out details. If we’re going to look into what happened to Carmina, we need to strategize.
“‘Find, pick, lock,’” I mutter to myself as I fold mindlessly. “That’s definitely what she said.” But how on earth am I supposed to know what lock she wants me to pick? She was very much mistaken if she thought pickinganykind of lock was part of my skill set.
I’ll talk to Soren, and we’ll figure it out. It’s not how I would normally spend my Saturday, but Carmina’s last words are propelling me just as much as my desire to learn what memories I’ve lost. She looked right at me and said those things; how can I not take them seriously? So we’ll figure out everything we can today; Mel and Gemma can handle the shop fine.
Speaking of my best friend…
I hold up the t-shirt I’ve just reached, snorting with laughter. It feels good, and I test the smile on my face, pushing it further until it’s stretched unnaturally wide. I look like a maniac, I’m sure, but I read once that the action of smiling can improve your mood. So I keep it there, forcing it to stay, while I look at the shirt.
After devouring Soren’s first book—and immediately preordering the second—I kept telling Gemma about it. I tried to get her to read it multiple times. I begged. I pleaded. But she never would. Instead she started teasing me about being such a fangirl, and on the day Soren’s second book released, she presented me with this t-shirt: bright, vivid pink, adorned with block letters that readI WANT TO MARRY S. MACKENZIE.
It’s not something I would ever make or choose for myself, but…well, I’d be lying if I said I don’t wear it to sleep sometimes when my other pajamas are in the wash. I cringe at myself in the mirror, but I wear it.
I fold the shirt quickly and then lift a pair of pants off the top of my stack, placing the shirt underneath so that it’s not visible. Then I sigh.
I’m tired. I’m so tired. I slept horribly last night.
That, combined with the trauma of the last few days and the still-healing lump on my head, might be enough for me to justify a nap later this afternoon. Just a little one, maybe?
I hurry through three more shirts before I hear a knock on my door.
I jump up, grabbing the pile of unfolded clothing and rushing to my bedroom. I dump it all on the bed—which I’m positive I will regret later when I’m ready to sleep—and then hurry out, closing the door behind me so Soren won’t get a peek at my mess.
“Hi,” I say when I open my front door, stepping back to let Soren in. Then I blink at him. “You trimmed your beard,” I say, surprised.
“I did,” he says, rubbing his hand over his shorter facial hair. “Do I look handsome?”
“I—what?” I heard him. I heard him fine. But maybe if I pretend I didn’t, I won’t have to answer.
He takes a step further inside, a little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I asked if I look handsome.”
Well. So much for that.
I clear my throat. “That’s random.” I press my hand to my chest, frowning absently—why can I hear my heartbeat whooshing in my ears?—and then say, “You look fine. Normal.” I clear my throat again, more aggressively this time, like a motorcycle revving its engine. “Normal fine.” It’s a lie; he looks neither normal nor fine. He just looksgood. His plain blue t-shirt is tight enough that I can see muscle definition, but not so tight that he looks obnoxious, and his jeans hug his thighs perfectly.
Soren hums, nodding slowly as he cocks one eyebrow. “I look…normal fine?”
“Yes,” I say, because at this point I have no choice but to embrace my made-up phrase. I smooth my hands over my own loose t-shirt. “Normal fine.”
“That’s an interesting term,” he says, still looking down at me with that little smile. My pulse hasn’t slowed; it’s still trying to jump out of my veins, and the look he’s giving me isn’t helping. His gaze is brimming with a quiet amusement, and it makes his eyes sparkle. “But a bit of a downgrade. You saidunnecessarily hotlast time. Can’t I at least havehandsometoday?”
