Chapter 32

Needless to say, by the time the good officers finished with me a second time that night, Ryan was pacing in the entry of Poste de quartier 26. My phone had almost run out of battery power, but I’d managed to text him earlier to meet me at the police station. Now I ushered him outside to talk, needing the fresh night air, even though it was mixed with exhaust fumes from the three lanes of the Décarie highway directly in front of that police station.

“What happened?” Ryan said, raising his voice to be heard above the whooshing tires.

I tried to focus on the big terra cotta planter at the front of the station. Someone had planted pink geraniums in an effort to light up this wasteland. And I did my best to explain what had happened.

“What? You solved Elvis’s case—and then you nearly got yourself killed at St. Joe’s on your way home? Are you insane?” he bellowed.

“Probably,” I whispered. I checked my watch. It was 11:35 p.m. Only twenty-five minutes until my birthday.

“Aw, Hope.” His face softened. “I’m sorry. You sent that text that you were okay, but with the police, I just thought—”

I nodded. I was still numb. But not so numb that I didn’t appreciate how Ryan looked exactly right to me. It was like, every time I turned and saw his beautifully shaped eyes, or the cut of his cheekbones, or the way his lean body was outlined in his loose shirt and jeans, my heart contracted.

Oh, the irony. This was the second man I’d stood with outside a police station in the past three hours, and I still craved the exact same thing: safety. Then sex. Safely. And more sex.

“You want a ride home? I’ve still got your surprise. I think.” He touched the phone in his pocket, with a frown, but I was too tired to care. If Ryan would just sleep beside me tonight, it would be the best. Birthday. Ever.

I didn’t mention that my car was still parked outside St. Joe’s. Tomorrow was Saturday. I’d worry about a ticket in the morning. Maybe the cops would give me a break. Stranger things have happened.

I actually fell asleep in his car. Ryan shook me awake, and I stumbled up to my apartment doorstep. While I fumbled for my keys, Ryan said, “Happy birthday, Hope. Your surprise is here.”

He pointed to the right, at a Honda Civic pulled tight to the curb in front of the building. But not a new car. A few years old, and sapphire blue, just like my parents’.

And then my dad opened the driver’s door and stood up, stretching out his arms, before he walked over to me with a smile. “Happy birthday, baby girl.”

“I love you, sis!” bellowed my eight-year-old brother, Kevin, popping out of his door and racing toward me.

Ryan beamed at me. “I know how much you miss them.”

I smiled back in the seconds before Kevin torpedoed into my stomach. I’d braced myself a little, but still had to grunt at his weight before I circled my arms around him. Kevin grabbed my hands, walked up my legs, and clamped his legs around my waist before he let go of my hands. He started to bend backwards, turning his upper body upside down.

“Watch out!” my mother clucked, but I was already counterbalancing him and dragging him upright.

“Pretty good, huh? Bet you weren’t expecting that,” said Kevin.

“Bet I wasn’t,” I said dryly, but actually, he used to do that kind of stuff all the time. Except now he was almost shoulder-height on me, which was crazy, because he’s only eight.

I hugged my mom. She was wearing a heavy sweater that scratched my cheek and she looked like she wanted to kiss me, so I gave her one on the cheek.

“You look tired,” she said.

Mom, you have no idea. “I just got home.” I hugged my dad, last but never least. He looked the same as ever, his handsomeness disguised in a schlumpy blue and black checked shirt and loose dress pants. “How was the drive up?”

“We got stuck in an accident,” he said.

“We were supposed to leave an hour before, but...” Ryan shrugged and glanced at my mother.

She lit up. “I made you some won ton soup. It’s nice and fresh, the shrimp were good, but I think it leaked all over Ryan’s trunk. Sorry! The snow peas were really good this week, so I bought a whole bunch. Eat them fast. There was a sale on oranges, but they’re a little sour. If I come up next week, I’ll get you some new ones and switch them for you.”

Kevin pouted. “I want some egg tarts.”

Mom threw up her hands. “So fattening! I didn’t want to make them. I was going to go to TNT at the last minute, but maybe next time.”

“I wanted to take you out to dinner with them,” said Ryan. “That was the surprise.”

“Let’s eat now. Did you have supper yet?” asked Mom.

I shook my head. For once, I’d forgotten.

“Oh, my God. And it’s almost midnight. I have so much food. Let’s bring it inside!”

Between all five of us, we managed to Sherpa the mountain of food inside, past the silent, black security guard. Even Kevin carried the bag of oranges, complaining the entire time. I was still exhausted, but my cheeks hurt from smiling. I’d survived to my 27th birthday, and right now, this was a perfect way to celebrate.

So, while my mom insisted on cooking the snow peas (“I just bought the pork. So fresh! We should use it right away!”), the rest of us feasted on won ton soup, fun (rice noodles) with beef, and oranges.

It was too late for my parents to drive home, although they didn’t think so. “I’m fine,” said my dad. “It’s not that far.”

“No way.” It was bad enough that they’d waited in the car for me for two hours. I’d forgotten that my fancy new apartment wouldn’t let them in to use the couch in the lobby without me accompanying them. “You guys take my bed. I’ll sleep on the futon in the living room.” I glanced at Ryan, wondering if he’d stay with me, even though my family was around. He smiled back and squeezed my arm, so I guessed he was game.

“All riiiight!” said Kevin.

“It’s your birthday,” said Mom. “We’ll take the futon. We’ll go home tomorrow night, after taking you out to supper.”

Dad shook his head. “I don’t mind driving.”

“Dad, please. It’s my birthday. I don’t want you guys driving around in the middle of the night.” My breath hitched in my throat when I remembered that saying, Jamais deux sans trois. Bad things come in threes. I’d handed Lucia and Jeremy over to the police. What if some drunk driver took out my family next?

“Okay, okay,” said my dad, shaking his head once more.

“I want to sleep with you!” said Kevin to me.

“You kick,” I said.

“I do not.”

We argued until Ryan convinced him that a birthday girl should sleep alone. He and Kevin could camp out in sleeping bags on the floor of my office. I’d rather have Ryan to myself, of course, but couldn’t exactly protest in front of my parents. So I just bowed to the inevitable and brushed my teeth.