Serious Moonlight(66)

“Depends on the revelation.”

“Let’s just say, on the scale of revelations, it’s not as if you thought they were a cultured psychiatrist who appreciated gourmet food but later found out they were Hannibal Lecter.”

“Not a cannibal killer, then?”

“Definitely not,” I said, giving him a quick smile. “It’s . . . more like you thought their life was perfect, and then they confessed some things to you about their past, and now you’re not sure if you can handle the weight of those things.”

“No one’s perfect, Birdie.”

“I know that.”

“And when you pin impossible ideals on someone, nobody wins. That was what your grandmother never understood. Judging other people unfairly doesn’t define them; it defines you. And in the end everyone will be disappointed.”

“I’m not judging at all. I’m just overwhelmed.” And I was a little scared that I wasn’t strong enough to handle Daniel’s emotional burdens.

“Most of us are just living our lives, trying the best we can. Accepting people for who they are is hard, but in the long run, it’s easier than sitting around, wishing they were something they’re not.”

I wasn’t sure he was getting what I was saying, but I also didn’t feel comfortable telling him everything.

“You’re going to be fine,” he said confidently, as if he hadn’t been listening to a word I said and was only now deciding that his fishing trip was a kosher idea. “In the meantime, if you get any good Raymond Darke leads while I’m gone, be sure to text me.”

I assured him I would.

I thought about everything he’d said while I climbed the attic ladder to retrieve his fishing gear, and I realized he was right about one thing: expecting Daniel to be a magical sunshine boy was unfair to both him and me.

Maybe I just needed to put on my detective hat and think about all of this logically.

It wasn’t that I was scandalized by Daniel’s suicide attempt or his battle with depression. What made me nervous was that even though he said he didn’t need saving, he also talked about all the people who’d bailed on him because they couldn’t handle his emotional baggage. He never tried to pass any of it off as unimportant or trivial. It was a big deal, and he knew it when he told me—so big that he couldn’t tell me that night after Clue. So big that he pretty much was handing me an out, relationship-wise, suggesting I text him if I didn’t want to continue.

He needed someone he could lean on during dark times. Could I give him that? How could I commit to being his rock when I’d never been in a real relationship before? I couldn’t even maintain a long-term friendship with anyone—and hadn’t since my mother died. On top of that, I didn’t even know anyone in a healthy relationship. Mom dated a million guys whom I almost never saw. Mona’s dating record was less prolific, but none of them stuck—except stupid Leon Snodgrass, the bane of my existence. Even Grandpa and Grandma, when she was still alive, seemed to merely tolerate each other. He had work and his hobbies, and she was busy controlling every aspect of my life.

And what if I failed Daniel? What if I didn’t know the right things to say if he ever started struggling again? I was afraid I wasn’t strong enough for him. Not cheery enough. Just plain not . . . enough. And what if my inability to help led to him falling down a black hole? What if he tried to hurt himself again and no one was there to stop him?

I could lose him like I’ve lost everyone else in my life.

That terrified me.

I tried not to let irrational fear cloud my thoughts. Maybe I was just getting ahead of myself with all these future what-ifs. We’d only been on one real date. Technically. Minus all the sleuthing.

And the sex.

The unspoken thing lurking ten steps behind us in the shadows, always present.

Sure, we’d talked about it a little at Kerry Park, but what did we even learn? That it was a mistake? That we had communication problems? Daniel seemed to think we could start over, but what if we dated for a while and then found out we were just bad in bed together? Does that happen?

Aunt Mona was my go-to adviser for matters like these, but when I texted her about Grandpa’s trip, hoping I could swing by and talk to her about everything tumbling around in my head, she said she was busy meeting with a lawyer and would call later. If she was going to get in trouble for stealing that painting . . . I just couldn’t handle her problems right now. I had enough to worry about.

I wished someone could tell me what to do about Daniel. I wished I believed in something, so I could ask for a sign. Fate. God. Myself. Elvis.

Elvis. I laughed out loud.

So ridiculous.

Yet what did I have to lose?

I rummaged through my desk drawer until I found what I was looking for: the not-a-penny fortune-teller card I’d gotten with Daniel in the magic shop.

I see that you will have a chance meeting with a dark stranger who will reveal great secrets to you. If you collaborate, a bold and dashing adventure will be in your future. But beware of perilous pitfalls that lead to ruin. It takes a level head and determination to survive a run through the gauntlet. In great attempts, it is glorious even to fail, because in conflict you will find common ground together.

Not the most precise advice, but maybe not the worst, either. I slid the edge of the fortune card into the mirror above my vanity table. My thoughts were all over the place, zipping and bouncing around like bees without a hive. And that’s when I realized one thing: no one but Daniel had made me feel so much in such a small amount of time.