Remembrance (The Mediator #7)(112)

“Thank you, Ms. Simon,” she said, giving me a shy look. The crowd in the backyard, which was considerably more sizable—and boisterous—than the one in the chapel, was seeming to intimidate her. Plus Jake had insisted on “treating” us to a live mariachi band—in full costume, including sombreros—and though talented, they were surprisingly loud. “Where can we put this?”

Becca was carrying a large, beautifully wrapped gift.

“Oh,” I said. “On the table over there. Thank you so much.”

“It’s a tortilla maker,” Kelly stated baldly. “You weren’t registered anywhere, so we had no idea what to get you. I figured it’s something he’d like.” Her gaze flicked toward Jesse, who was radiating good looks and happiness in his tuxedo as he laughed with Brad and Dr. Patel at some mischief the triplets and the mini-Patels were getting up to over by the cake table.

“Well, how kind of you, Kelly,” I said. I could afford to be gracious, since I was so happy. “Please help yourselves to a drink over at the bar. Oh, here’s Debbie, she’ll take you there.”

Debbie had hurried over, having spotted her friend’s arrival. “Kelly, oh, my God, it took you forever, was the traffic bad coming over? I’m so sorry. Arthur, come here, my dad wants to say hi. You, too, Becs, I want you to meet my adorable little brother-in-law, David. He goes to Harvard, you two are going to love each other.”

Both Becca and David looked stricken, but only David, who’d been sitting at a picnic table next to Jake and Gina, turned nearly as red as his own hair. He’d invited his “good friend” Shahbaz to be his plus one at my wedding, then made it clear to all of us that they were more than friends by kissing under some mistletoe at Debbie and Brad’s house during Thanksgiving dinner.

The Ackerman-Simon family did not shock easily, however. Brad had remarked only, “Dude, we get it, you’re gay. Now pass the gravy.”

Shahbaz handled the Ackerman family and their many quirks with good humor. He’d even asked me, with a friendly wink, how my research project on ancient Egyptian curses was going.

“Go on, Becca,” I said with a grin, giving her a little push. “Don’t worry, he’s taken.”

“He’s not,” Debbie insisted. “He’s just going through a stage.”

I rolled my eyes. Debbie was the one person in the family who was resistant to change, but I knew she, too, would come around. She’d agreed to mediator school—and even vaccines—for the triplets, after all. “Did you have a good time at Sean Park’s party, Becca?”

“It was okay, I guess. I didn’t win at Ghost Mediator.”

“You don’t always win at Ghost Mediator, Becca. Trust me, I would know. Go hang out with David and his friend. They don’t bite.”

Fingering the horse pendant she still wore around her neck, she said, “Okay,” in the grudging voice my stepnieces reserved for agreeing to try a new vegetable, and gingerly followed Debbie across the lawn, toward David and his boyfriend.

“Nicely done,” said a voice at my elbow, and I turned to see a small, very elegantly dressed woman with bright white hair and even brighter red lipstick standing beside me.

“Dr. Jo! You came!” I leaned down to hug her. “I’m so glad.”

“How could I not?” she asked, hugging me back. “I was so curious as to where you’d disappeared to these last few weeks. We all were.” She released me and nodded at Jesse. “Now I know. He’s the doctor I’ve heard so much about?”

“He’s the doctor you’ve heard so much about.”

“Be still my heart. And this is where the two of you are going to live?” She looked at the back of the house that, from behind, somehow managed to look even larger and more impressive than it did from the front.

“Yes. It’s sort of a long story—”

“And I trust you’re going to tell me about it someday. Well, as much as Suze Simon ever tells anyone.”

I don’t know what made me do it. Maybe it was because I couldn’t believe she’d come. Maybe because we weren’t in her office, but standing in the backyard of the home I’d come to love so much, and feel so safe in. Maybe because it was my wedding day, and I felt so happy.

But I found myself looking into her eyes and saying, “Dr. Jo, I’ll tell you one thing, though I’m not sure you’ll believe it. Your husband Sy has a message he wants me to give you. He wants me to remind you to worry less about your patients, and more about yourself. He says you need to remember to get the tires rotated on your—”

Dr. Jo stepped away from me so quickly I thought she might stumble, so I put a hand on her elbow to steady her. All the blood had drained from her face, except for the scarlet smear of lipstick across her lips.

“What . . . how could you possibly—?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that you said you thought I suffered a trauma in my past, and I haven’t. Not really. I just speak to the dead.”

She reached out to clutch my arm. “I think I need to sit down.”

Jesse chose that moment to come over. “Is everything all right?” he asked.

“Not really,” I said. “Could you get Dr. Jo a chair?”