Everything We Keep

~ Part Four ~

Everything I’ve held back broke free, spewing onto the sunbaked pavement at my feet. The voice mail from James that never came. The lonely nights awaiting word he was still alive. The call from Thomas, the one I had dreaded receiving. James was gone.

Then there was Claire, who’s insisted the funeral take place on our wedding day. Her church had already been booked and her relatives had travel reservations. Why should they have to cancel or reschedule their plans? Another shudder racked my body. I retched until my heart ached and stomach emptied. Then I wept. Gut-wrenching gasps tore through me.

Heavy tears plunged to the asphalt, splattering in the acidic stew. In some remote part of my brain, I understood I’ve reached my limit. If only I’ve shattered at home, hugging James’ pillow. Not here, in the parking lot, with a crowd of people thirty yards away and a stranger hovering beside me.

I sagged against the van and sat on the bumper. Lacy offered a bottle of water.

“It’s new.”

“Thanks.” My hands trembled and I couldn’t wrap my fingers around the narrow cap, so she took the water back and unscrewed it for me.

I drank a third of the bottle before taking a breath. Lacy tugged several tissues from her shoulder bag.

“Here.” She watched me clean my lips and wipe my nose as she fiddled with her purse strap. “Better?”

“No.” I stood, wanting to go home.

Lacy’s forearm disappeared again into the mouth of her bag. She shifted around the contents and pulled out a business card.

“I need to talk with you.”

“I’m not interested in what you’re selling.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I’m not selling anything. There’s something — ” She broke off, searching the parking lot behind us before looking back at me.

I blinked, shocked by the intensity of her lavender-blue eyes. Instinct flared. She knew something.

“I’m not selling anything and I’m very sorry about how I said what I said, but it’s the truth. Visit me as soon as you can.”

She snagged my free hand and slapped the card in my palm. Then she retreated and disappeared around the van. Footsteps approached, the click-clack of heels running on pavement.

“There you are,” Nadia gasped, out of breath.

“We’ve been searching all over for you. Your parents are looking for you.”

Waves of auburn hair spilled around her shoulders. Her updo had come undone, probably in her rush to find me. Kristen stopped beside her, chest heaving. A run in her sheer stockings trailed up the side of her calf. They should have been my bridesmaids.

“What’re you doing over here?” Kristen asked, her voice pitched high, strained from running.

“I was . . .” I stopped, not wanting to explain I was hiding, had been chased by a stranger through the parking lot, and then vomited on my shoes.

“You were what?” She prodded.

Nadia nudged her with an elbow and motioned toward the ground by my feet. Kristen grimaced at the evidence splattered across the pavement like a toppled can of paint.

“Oh, Aimee,” she moaned.

My cheeks burned and I ducked my head. I read the card in my hand.

LACY SAUNDERS PSYCHIC COUNSELOR, CONSULTANT & PROFILER MURDERS, MISSING PERSONS & UNSOLVED MYSTERIES HELPING YOU FIND THE ANSWERS YOU SEEK.

A chill nipped at my core. I jerked my head in Lacy’s direction. She was gone.

“What’s that?” Nadia asked.

I gave her the card and she rolled her eyes.

“Sheesh, the wackos are coming after you already.”

“Who?” Kristen peeked over Nadia’s shoulder.

Nadia quickly folded the card, tucked it away in her handbag.

“Don’t be naive, Aimee. People will take advantage of you.”

“Who will?” Kristen asked again. “What was on the card?”

“Nothing worth Aimee’s time.”

Nadia was right, I reasoned. Lacy was wacked. The nerve of her, approaching me today. She probably stalked funeral announcements in the paper’s obituary section. Kristen twined her arm with mine.

“Come on, honey. We’ll take you to the cemetery. Let’s find your parents and tell them you’re coming with us. Nick’s waiting by the car.”

Nick. Kristen’s husband. James’ best friend. James. I let Kristen tug me along.

“I was going to walk home.”

She eyed my four-inch wedges and popped a trimmed brow.

“Sure you were.”

After the burial, Nick dropped us off at my house. Kristen and Nadia followed me inside. I stopped in the doorway between the entry and the front room of our three-bedroom bungalow and looked around.

There were the caramel leather side chairs and taupe chenille couch. A flat-screen TV propped inside the walnut armoire, doors ajar from the last time I’ve watched, whenever that was.

End of the Part 4!

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