Girls Like Us(6)

“I get it.”

“We need you back, Nell. I need you back.”

“Are you begging?”

“I would if I thought that would help.”

“Can’t you get Ginnis to sign a form or something? I don’t want to lie on a couch and talk about my childhood.” My voice has taken on a petulant tone that annoys even me.

“No one has asked you to do that.”

“That’s exactly what he wants me to do. He has an actual couch. I’ve seen it. I lay on it. Once. That was enough.”

Lightman chuckles despite himself. “Well, he’s a psychiatrist. They all want a little of that. You might feel better, you know.”

“How about we find the guys who blew off a piece of my shoulder? I’d feel better then.”

“We all would. We’re working on it.”

“Work harder. Or better yet, let me come back to work and I’ll do it for you. I spent eight months hunting Novak. No one is closer to that case than I am.”

Lightman sighs. “I’m worried about you, Nell. You’ve had a hell of a month. I can’t in good conscience send you back into the field on such a dangerous assignment. You know that. You need to take care of yourself. I can get you other names if Ginnis isn’t the right fit.”

“Ginnis is fine.”

“Then talk to him. That’s what he’s there for. You know, Ginnis lost his mom when he was young, too. He was raised on a military base. Just him and his father.”

“So?”

Lightman sighs. “So I think you have some stuff in common.”

“Fine. I’ll talk to him. Don’t expect a miracle.”

“I don’t. I’ll give him your cell number. You can call me, too. I know what it feels like to take a life. It’s brutal, Nell. It stays with you. It can really fuck you up if you aren’t careful.”

I hear the rumble of a car approaching on Dune Road and then the crackle of tires on the gravel outside the house.

“Thanks for the pep talk. Someone’s here. I gotta go.”

I hang up before Lightman can protest. My hand falls to my firearm. It’s daylight. The driveway isn’t too far from the parking lot for the local beach. Sometimes folks get the two mixed up. Still, I’m not expecting anyone, especially not this early. In my situation, unexpected visitors aren’t exactly welcome.

I hear the gate at the back of the house creak open. I move across the deck and flatten my body against the corner of the house. The wooden shingles press into my shoulder blades. A fly, trapped between the screen door and the window, buzzes overhead. I steady myself, ready my weapon. A rustle of birds shoots up from the dune grass, startled by the visitor. They’re as skittish as I am, and as unaccustomed to guests.

I count the footsteps. Five will take you to the top of the stairs. A tall male figure appears. For a brief second, I panic. From behind, he looks like Dmitry Novak.

My heart rate spikes. My finger grazes the trigger. I step out of the shadows.

I don’t need to say anything; the man raises his hands slowly in surrender. “It’s me, Nell. It’s Lee.” He turns slowly.

When I see his face, I lower my weapon.

“Lee Davis. Jesus Christ. You scared the living shit out of me.”

“Hi, kid.” Lee has always called me kid, even though we’re the same age. I think it has something to do with the fact that he’s a solid foot taller than I am. He moves in and hugs me so hard that I groan in pain.

“What’s wrong?” He withdraws, his face pinched with worry.

“It’s nothing. Just a flesh wound.” I tap my shoulder, feeling the color slowly return to my face. “Lightly grazed by a bullet a month ago. Still a little sore.”

“Lightly grazed. That sounds like something your dad would say. I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Never better.”

He nods and looks me up and down; I do the same. He hasn’t changed much since our days together at Hampton Bays High School. Tall and thin as a pencil. His shoulders hunch inward, like he can’t quite hear people talking down below. His hair, once jet-black, has a few strands of silver in it now. He probably hates that, but I think it makes him look distinguished. His face, freckled and lineless, is still boyish enough to carry him. He’s handsome in a quiet sort of way that I find appealing. I glance at his ring finger. It’s bare, which surprises me. He always seemed like the sort who’d be driving his kids to soccer games by the time we were in our thirties.

Lee dated nice girls in high school, field hockey players and cheerleaders who smiled a lot and flipped their hair when they laughed. The kind of girls who pretended I didn’t exist. I tried hard to convey that the feeling was mutual, but no one at Hampton Bays High School really cared one way or another what I thought about them. I was just the quiet, skinny girl who wore a black leather jacket to class and was taking college-level math by the time I was in ninth grade. The girl whose dad was a homicide detective; whose mom was a homicide victim. My mother’s brutal murder was well publicized in our area. For years afterward, there were whispers about it, about her, about us. Suffice it to say, I was given a wide berth at school.

“Sorry about the greeting,” I say, running a hand through my hair. “Occupational hazard.”

Lee waves me off, like a gun in his face first thing in the morning is no big deal. “How was the service? Dorsey said it was nice.”