“I date.”
“If we’re using the word date the way sex workers do, then sure.”
I considered how hard I’d need to punch him to dump him on his ass. “I’m not interested in Katie Gallagher.”
Bear just stared and then broke out the biggest shit-eating grin I’ve ever seen. “Good.” He turned and went back to work.
I left Bear and walked toward the station, trying hard not to think about Katie and failing miserably. I’d been in love with her since that first summer she’d visited her grandparents. She’d been six years old, and she’d shone like she’d swallowed the sun. Her hair had been a curly fire floating around her head, and her light green eyes had glowed as though lit from within. Freckles dusted her nose and cheeks. I saw her across the church, sitting with her grandparents, and—even at five—I was a goner.
I’d scooted to the end of the pew and started to make my way to her when I felt my dad’s massive mitt grab the back of my T-shirt, dragging me back to my place. She was sitting in a shaft of mottled light from the stained glass above them. I spent the rest of Mass staring at her.
After the service, my parents had stopped to talk with Nellie and her husband George, so I studied Katie up close. She looked exactly like a fairy should. She wore a white sundress, butterflies fluttering all over it, with a matching butterfly headband pulling her corkscrew curls back from her face. I remember trying to peek behind her, looking for her wings.
In the summers that had followed, my obsession with Katie Gallagher grew. She was the one against whom all others were measured and found wanting. The summer she turned fifteen, everything changed. I’d finally built up the courage to ask her out, and before the words could leave my mouth, she walked off, laughing about my being a little kid. It crushed me. And then she left. Never spent another summer with us. The last thing she ever said was “Him? Come on. He’s a little kid.” It took me a couple of years before I gathered the courage to ask another girl out. Then years later, Alice came along and finally cured me of romantic love.
These days, I dated. I had fun. But I didn’t involve my heart or my trust anymore.
I’d just sat down at my desk when Heather’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Chief, you have a call on line two.”
“Chief Cavanaugh.”
“Hello, this is Justin Cady. I’m told you interviewed my wife, Katherine Cady.”
“Yes.”
Silence filled the line. He waited for me to elaborate. As I wasn’t going to do that, I let the silence stretch.
He cleared his throat. “Can you give me the phone number of our house up there? I can’t find it in any of the paperwork.”
I knew Nellie’s number by heart. “I’m sorry, sir. I can’t give out that kind of information over the phone. Why don’t you contact your wife?”
He grunted. “Have you seen what she did to my car? I’m trying to avoid the psycho.”
“Then why would you?—”
“It’s for my lawyer. He needs to get an appraiser out there.”
“Appraiser?” This was not good. It would really hurt Pops to have Nellie’s house sold.
“We’re divorcing. Obviously. That house is the only thing of value my wife has. Real estate prices are good up there, but I’ve never seen what kind of condition the place is in.”
Because he’d never visited. Interesting. I tapped my pen on my open notebook. “I see.”
He paused. “What?”
I shook my head pointlessly. “Nothing. You and your wife can do whatever you choose with the house. I’ll just be sorry to see more changes. I knew Nellie Gallagher. Quite well.”
“Oh, then you can tell me what I need to know.”
I made a noncommittal hum. “I’ll let your lawyer fill you in. House appraisal isn’t in my skill set.”
“Which leads me back to the phone number.”
“And me back to advising you to contact your wife.”
“Ex.”
“Mmm-hmm.”
