Andy walked into the diner, the bell on the door jangling its unacceptably cheery welcome. She shrugged off the momentary dip in conversation as a half dozen diners looked up to see who had joined them at this late hour. Andy sensed mostly curiosity. A few people shifted in their seats in an unnecessary effort to show their good behaviour and lack of guilt. Andy normally found that response amusing, but right now she didn’t care. Right now she just needed somewhere to sit and something to eat.
Andy walked to the back corner near the windows, one hand resting deliberately on the belt at her hips. She sat down, placing her RCMP hat on the opposite seat. It didn’t matter, she was eating alone. Again. Andy pulled the menu out from behind the ketchup, sugar, and vinegar and fought the urge to put her head in her hands, to feel the pressure of the pads of her thumbs pressing on her eyes. Instead she scanned the menu quickly.
She knew they were out of Vancouver because they didn’t have artisanal bread, a gluten free section, or an organic stamp of approval. Just sandwiches, burgers and fries, two fifty extra for a side salad. Andy slid the menu back and looked out at the headlights of cars coming down off the highway, most of them too fast on this bend, so close to Vancouver, so close to home. She’d parked her car so the drivers could spot the reflective letters of her cruiser. She didn’t have jurisdiction to pull over a speeder, but she hoped it would pull their foot off the accelerator, even just until they were off the mountain.
“Hey there, what can I get for you?”
Andy had heard the waitress approach, but she’d kept her eyes turned until the last possible moment. The waitress was in her early twenties with short, spikey, unnaturally black hair, and a smile she was working to the best of her late night diner waitress ability. Andy felt the girl’s slick look of approval. The waitress cocked one hip in Andy’s direction, her eyes widening with interest, the curled corners of her black eyeliner making her look especially young. Andy wanted to sigh, stand up, and walk out. She wasn’t sure she had the patience for this.
“Club sandwich on whole wheat and a coffee, thanks,” Andy said, her tone polite and completely unengaged.
“Sure thing,” the waitress said, still trying. She wrote down the order, pushed the notepad into the back pocket of her too tight jeans and headed to the rear of the diner. If Kate were here, Andy would have bet her money the waitress was right now sauntering back to the kitchen, showing off her inked back, a suggestively placed tramp stamp showing just above the waist of her jeans.
Kate.
Against her will, Andy’s shoulders slumped slightly. No one would notice, but the momentary lapse of control made Andy feel weak. She deliberately squared her shoulders again, clenched her jaw, and watched the headlights on the highway descend the gradual slope of the mountain.
Seven weeks. Forty-six days since Kate had walked out of the hotel room in Hidden Valley where they had just solved their second case together. Kate had asked for time, and Andy had given it willingly because she had seen Kate struggling—the nightmares, the uncertainty, how she avoided certain topics. How she continually pushed herself for everyone else, including putting her life in danger. But she never paused to think about how it impacted herself. Kate never thought about Kate.
Andy did. All the time. She’d never stopped, really. From the moment she’d walked into Kate’s ER almost seven months ago, Kate had taken up residence in Andy’s thoughts and in her heart. She’d moved in so easily, so unconsciously Andy had almost been unaware of how quickly she had fallen for Kate Morrison.
Andy wished she could smile and feel comforted by the memories of their first few weeks together. How Andy’s heart had hammered in her chest every time Kate came anywhere near her, how she’d seen the same reaction in Kate’s wide, brown eyes, and how hard it had been to resist touching her. Andy wished she could close her eyes, sink into the thought…
The waitress intruded on Andy’s thoughts. “Here you go. Club sandwich on whole wheat and a coffee.” Andy berated herself for not hearing the waitress approach. She hadn’t had time to bring herself back together. “Sugar’s on the table, and I’ll bring you some cream. Though I’ve decided you aren’t exactly the cream type,” the waitress said, flirting shamelessly now.
Andy’s anger kicked her in the stomach, but she tightened her muscles against it. Control. “This is fine, thanks.” Polite, aloof, not a hint of a smile.
The waitress hung around a few seconds too long, waiting for Andy to look up. She didn’t, dismissing her with absolute silence and hoping to God she would get the message. Andy’s patience was thin these days. Her anger was consistently too close to the surface, triggered too quickly by too trivial things.
It wasn’t hard to figure out why. Andy knew she could give Kate all the time and space in the world if only she could be sure Kate would come back to her in the end, forgiving Andy for all the things she had done to push her away. Andy’s certainty slipped a little more with each day that passed. She had initially thought it would be a few weeks, a month at the most. And here she was, December first, staring down the holidays, and Andy had been sure she would have heard from Kate by now. Something. Anything.
Andy bit into her sandwich, not tasting it. Fourteen hours into a ten hour shift, and her body was hungry, empty. She was out on the edges of Vancouver closing up a domestic assault call which had turned into a drug bust that rippled over into the outer boundaries of Vancouver. Andy had been on the first call and was waiting around for the initial evidence gathering at the crime scene so it could be officially handed over to the Greater Vancouver Drug Enforcement Section. She should have given the job to a less senior officer. In fact, the look on the constable’s face as she told him she’d stay up here and wait was nothing less than incredulous. Andy didn’t care. She had her reasons for not wanting to go home.
The last bite of sandwich sat on the plate, surrounded by a pile of pale fries Andy had no intention of eating. She picked up the coffee, staring blankly out the window, counting cars and wondering how long she could sit here with herself.
Her cell phone rang. Andy immediately clenched her stomach muscles again, preparing to not see Kate’s number on the screen. It was her boss, Staff Sergeant James Finns.
“Wyles,” she said into the phone. She pushed back her plate, hoping the waitress would come to clear it while she was on the phone so she had an excuse not to engage.
“Where are you, Sgt. Wyles?” Finns sounded angry, which was uncharacteristic. Her supervisor was usually even-keeled, no matter what Andy threw at him.
“Half an hour north-west of Abbotsford, waiting to hand over the investigation to the DE guys,” Andy told him.
“And may I ask why Constable Jones is enjoying a night off while you’re working overtime? Again?”
Shit. This wasn’t good. “Thought I’d be nice,” Andy said.
“Nice would be if you could put in a regular work week so I don’t have to keep submitting reports to explain your time extensions.”
Andy didn’t say anything, waiting for the directive she could sense coming.
“Constable Jones is on his way back. You’re off the case, you’re off shift. I don’t want to see you until Monday morning, Wyles. Got it?”
“Sir…” Andy wanted to reason with him. The thought of two days off was awful.
“Don’t argue, it won’t get you anywhere. You haven’t had a weekend off in almost three months.” Andy heard him take a breath. His voice had lost the edge of anger by the time he spoke. “I don’t know what’s going on with you, Andy, but take these two days and come back for a new assignment on Monday.”
Andy hated that he could see through her, that he was changing her schedule based on her personal life, not on the merits of her work. Andy wanted to shift against that feeling of weakness again. She sat perfectly still. Just one more try.
“Let me wrap this up, Staff Sgt. Finns. It’s just a few hours—”
He cut her off again. “No, you’re off shift. Make me repeat it again, and I’ll write you up.”
Andy was shocked. Her supervisor had never spoken to her like this, but she’d never given him a reason to before.
“You have two choices. Take the weekend off and meet me in my office at eight o’clock Monday morning or keep pushing and meet the staff psychologist at eight o’clock Monday morning.”
Not really a choice, then. “See you Monday,” Andy said shortly. She couldn’t make a graceful exit from this conversation.
“See you Monday.” The phone went dead.
Andy hit the disconnect button and spun the phone in her hands a few times, a habit she hadn’t gotten around to breaking yet. Then she stood and walked directly to the cash register near the front door, deciding not to wait for her cheque. The owner himself came out to serve her, smiling ingratiatingly, shifting uncomfortably. Andy paid in cash while the man fidgeted, his cheap white button-up shirt stained and frayed at the edges. Andy looked around out of habit more than interest until she saw the liquor license in its plastic frame behind the till. Expired six months ago. The owner handed Andy her change. She wanted to explain to him exactly how little she cared about his expired liquor license, how it barely registered on her radar. How so little mattered because Kate had been gone for forty-six days.
Weak.
Leaving a tip at the register, Andy pushed her hat back on her head and left, the bells jangling her exit. As she walked to the car, she unconsciously scanned the parking lot, probing the night beyond the pools of light surrounding the diner. Nothing moved except the cars down the highway. Andy pulled herself into the cruiser, jammed her keys into the ignition and sat. Where to go? Not home, not back to her apartment. She checked her watch. Already half past midnight. She thought about phoning Jack, knew he’d still be awake trying to hack the universe. But Andy wasn’t sure she could handle his unabashed optimism. No matter how much Andy glared at him, she couldn’t shake his certainty that Kate would be back. It drove her crazy, but it was also a relief. Andy relied on her partner more than she let on.
The only other person she knew would be awake at this hour was her best friend, Nic. Brilliant, funny, more energy than three people, Nic. Andy pulled out her phone and thumbed her a text. Nic and her partner Erika had a nine-month-old son, Max, Andy’s chubby, spirited godson. She didn’t want to phone the house and risk waking anyone. Approximately fifteen seconds after she hit send, her cell rang.
“Andy, what’s shaking?” Nic said as soon as she heard Andy pick up.
“Nothing, really. Stuck in my cruiser outside Abbotsford, and I needed someone to talk to,” Andy said staring out the windshield.
“Oooh, want me to Google Abbotsford gay night life? I’m sure I could find you something,” Nic said excitedly and Andy could already hear her tapping at the keys of her laptop.
“No, Nic, I’m not looking for a bar.”
“Why not? You’re young and hot and you wear a uniform. I’m disappointed in how seldom you put these assets to good use.”
“I’m not exactly single,” Andy reminded her with a sharp voice, her fingernail digging into the soft plastic of the steering wheel. Nic knew about Kate, and she knew how Andy felt about her. Andy had never introduced them though, having been protective of Kate and their time together.
“You’re not exactly not.”
“Look, I’ve already fended off one baby dyke tonight, I’m really not looking for a repeat. I just…” Andy had no idea how to finish the sentence.
“You’re just wallowing.”
“I don’t wallow.”
“Yeah, well I said I’d never produce offspring. Love makes us do crazy shit.”
“I thought you taught political science, not philosophy,” Andy said. Nic was an associate professor at UBC and had been a graduate student and assistant coach for the women’s basketball team when Andy was on the team as an undergrad.
“You’re a funny girl, Andy. Now, get off the phone, find a radio station that will drive you absolutely mad, preferably something with a gyrating bass, and then drive home.”
“That’s the last place I want to go, Nic.” Andy hated how vulnerable she sounded, but surely it was allowed with her best friend.
“I meant your parents’ place. You’re less than an hour away, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then go! You know your dad will be thrilled to see you, and your mom will love nothing more than to spend a few hours using her x-ray vision on you all the while cooking the most incredible food and spoiling you like the youngest and favouritist child that you are.”
Andy cracked a smile. It wasn’t a bad idea, really. “Fine, I’ll go.”
“Good. Say hi to the folks. Come over when you’re back in town. We’ve got a bottle of wine with your name on it.”
“Okay—”
“Wait! Hang on.” Andy could hear her moving through their loft apartment, opening a cupboard, then muttering quietly under her breath. “A…N…D…okay, wait…there! Now the Bin 50 shiraz has Andy, Queen of Wallowing written on it. So you know which one to open when you come over.”
“Nic…” Andy said, only half pissed off.
“What? You prefer king? Chancellor?”
“Bye, Nic.”
“Be good to yourself.”
Andy turned the key in the ignition, checked the traffic both ways and pulled onto the highway, heading towards her parents’ house. Nic may be a pain in the ass, but they’d been friends a long time, and she knew her almost better than anybody. Nic had always looked out for Andy without babying her, something Andy detested.
Andy didn’t take Nic’s advice about the radio, instead turning up the heater and opening her window halfway, creating a natural white noise. This stretch of highway didn’t have much scenery—mostly subdivisions and small towns, but a few early Christmas lights shone optimistically into the night. As she often did, Andy remembered Jack driving Kate home from Hidden Valley while she had stayed through the painfully long process of booking their suspect. Andy had quizzed Jack relentlessly after, wanting to know if Kate had said anything on the drive, how she looked, any indication how she was doing. As if Jack could predict the trajectory of Kate’s breakdown any better than Andy could. Apparently Kate had done almost nothing the entire two hour drive except cry, not letting Jack talk or comfort her. As Jack had pulled up outside her apartment, Kate had looked stricken, and she’d asked him to drive to her mom’s place. Then, she asked Jack to have Andy find her sister’s silver ring, the one Kate had accidentally left in an on-call room at Valley General Hospital.
Leaning back in her seat, Andy reached into her pocket and pulled out the ring, warm from her own body heat. Kate had given no other direction. After a few days worrying over this seemingly trivial item, Andy had stuck it in her pocket and carried it around. She’d watched Kate twist this ring around her fingers so many times, usually when she was nervous or thinking. Andy knew what it felt like under her own fingers when she held Kate’s hand. The warmth of it, the smoothness, the familiarity. It reminded Kate of her sister, Sarah, and all the things Kate was sure she’d done wrong.
Andy sighed and put the ring back into her pocket. It was a reminder to Andy now, of all the ways she’d screwed up. All the ways she hadn’t been able to protect Kate, all the things she’d said and done that had pushed Kate farther away. Andy still couldn’t believe how she’d managed to fuck up this one thing that was more important to her than anything else.
She stabbed at the button for the radio, flipping rapidly and angrily through channels until something loud and obnoxious reverberated back at her. Maybe she’d take Nic’s advice after all.
*
Andy ran the near-dark path through the woods around her parents’ place, the air damp and cold against her already warm face. She was only half an hour in, her muscles now stretched and loose, her breathing rhythmic and unconscious. Time to push, then. She lengthened her stride until she had to pull in her core muscles to balance it out, her heart working a little harder to keep up. Andy focused on the way the air burned on the way in, keeping her eyes two steps ahead on the path, planning her footfall, judging the slight slope down to her right. When she felt comfortable with that, she pushed again and again until she was hours into this run, the sun shining its muddied light through the branches above her. She only let herself settle in on the last turn toward home and she was hurting by then, her fingertips tingling, the now predictable waves of nausea flipping through her stomach.
She hadn’t pushed herself like this since her cadet training at Depot, and that was over a decade ago. Most of the cadets in her troop had been worried about passing the physical exam, but Andy had only been concerned about excelling. Eleven years later, Andy knew she couldn’t push her body the way she had back then. But she had been pushing hard for the past month. It was an outlet, a desperate attempt to keep her life moving. It was punishment. Andy hadn’t run at all the first few weeks after closing up the viral threat case in Hidden Valley. For the first time in a long time, she felt unsure, unbalanced. Her own apartment seemed unfamiliar, and all her old pre-Kate routines seemed wrong. She’d become sluggish and sick. By the third morning of waking up and puking, Andy knew she needed to do something. So she’d run. She went right back to her morning twenty kilometres without a gentle re-emergence. She pushed until she was forced to lean against a tree and throw up the thin, watery contents of her stomach. At least there was no shame in that.
Andy took a turn on the path, slowing her pace, wanting to finish her run on the far side of the house. She was slightly dizzy and knew she was going to be sick the second she stopped. She’d left the house before her parents were awake, but they were sure to be up by now, taking in whatever BC winter sun they could through the large windows in the dining room that overlooked the yard. Andy wanted to avoid her parents seeing her like this. The sprawling, mismatched house came into view, and Andy came to a stop outside the cleared yard. She walked in a large circle, hands on her hips and head back as she pulled in breath after breath of air. The muscles in her thighs reached their peak of burn as she doubled over and threw up, feeling disgusting but almost instantly better. Andy stood straight again, wiped her mouth on the inside of her shirt, and walked to the back door of her parents’ house.
Her mother was at the door, looking her up and down the way only a parent can. Andy was a full foot taller than her mom, but that look had always made her feel small and exposed. Andy stood silently and took it, red-faced and sweating, her body slightly shaky now with exertion and a chill. When she couldn’t handle it any more, she bent down and untied her shoes, letting them drop to the floor.
“Your father is hurt you didn’t wait for him this morning,” her mother finally said, a carefully laid question in the comment.
Andy shrugged and wiped her face on her sleeve. “I was up early.” It wasn’t a lie. She’d barely slept, restlessly moving on the single bed usually used by her nephew until it was morning enough to run. Her answer brought on another long look from her mom, and this time Andy shifted uncomfortably.
“She’ll need something to come back to, Andy.” Her mother pulled Andy’s face down, kissed her cheek, and walked back toward the kitchen.
Maybe this hadn’t been a good idea after all. Or maybe Nic knew exactly what she was doing.
Andy followed her mom through the house, but that feeling of being exposed stayed with her, as if her heart was outside her body, uncomfortable and dangerously visible. Suddenly, Andy’s shirt seemed too thin. It couldn’t possibly offer enough protection. She wanted her softbody armour vest, wanted to pull it over her head and tighten the straps until it sat just right, its layers of bulletproof material all the protection she needed. It was a ridiculous thought. A weak thought. Unworthy of Sgt. Andy Wyles. She took three slow, steadying breaths as she mounted the stairs up to the next level, the sun bright through the dining room windows.
“Look who I found at the back door, Simon,” Andy’s mother was saying, taking her seat at the table.
“Hi, sweetheart!”
Her dad stood, unfolding his long frame and crossing the kitchen to give Andy a hug. Andy let herself feel a moment of comfort. Nothing had ever felt like a hug from her dad. It was exactly what she needed, but it didn’t help that feeling of her heart being outside her chest. He stepped back to take a look at her. He always looked proud, like he couldn’t believe how lucky he was to have her as a daughter.
“You training for something, Andy? Looks like you’re putting on a lot of muscle,” he commented as he sat back down. This was a pretty typical question from her dad, who had also been her running coach. He was the one who had set up her training schedule for Depot.
Andy didn’t answer right away, getting a drink of water from the tap first, the only thing her stomach could handle right now. “No, not training.” She felt her mom’s brown eyes boring into her. Andy ignored it and leaned back against the counter, taking small sips of water.
“I take it you haven’t heard from Kate?” Her dad took a bite of toast, a thick smear of honey on top.
Forty-seven days. “No,” Andy said quickly, wanting to head off any more questions.
“I’m sorry, sweetheart. I guess she just needs some more time.” Andy shook it off. She didn’t want her parents to think she’d come here to wallow.
Andy pushed away from the counter. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“No, come and eat first,” her mom said in the same commanding tone she’d been using on Andy since she showed up at the front door as a two year old holding her biological mother’s hand. She’d inherited her adoptive mother’s steel core, a gift of environment rather than biology.
Andy considered resisting her mom’s directive, but her stomach was now growling its discomfort. So she took her usual seat and pulled a muffin out from under the faded and thin tea towel. Still warm from the oven, the oats and blueberries melted in Andy’s mouth. She hadn’t enjoyed food in a long time.
Without asking, her mom got up and poured her a coffee, bringing it back to the table with the same interrogative look in her eyes. Andy didn’t bother hiding. She knew she was hurting. Nic knew, Jack knew, her parents knew. Probably even Staff Sgt. Finns knew, though she’d avoided the topic of Kate with him as much as possible. Maybe a little outside input wouldn’t hurt. Or maybe it was exactly what she needed. Andy’s mom handed her the coffee and sat down again, saying nothing.
“Are you here for the weekend?” Andy’s dad said.
“I’ll head back to the city tomorrow morning.”
“Well then, before you take your shower, think you could help me with a few roof repairs? I was going to call someone in to fix the flashing, since your mother won’t let me up there on my own,” he said, obviously disgruntled.
“I enjoy the benefits of your income, dear,” Andy’s mother said mildly, picking up the paper and flipping it over.
Andy wanted to smile. The familiar rhythms and conversations of home soothed her. But nothing could quite cover the fact that Kate was still gone, and Andy couldn’t be certain that she was coming back.
“Sure, I can help out with that. Have you had the gutters done?”
Two chores turned into three, then four, and the grey day slipped by as Andy and her dad tackled a never-ending list of repairs to the old house. In an old green slicker and a climbing harness, Andy climbed on to the roof. Her father passed her tools and called out instructions. Even when the freezing drizzle slipped the occasional cold drip through an unseen rip in her jacket, Andy enjoyed the sensation of being outside, her hands and thoughts occupied. Andy didn’t stop herself from thinking about Kate, but she didn’t wallow. She wanted it to make sense, to order her thoughts and events until a logical conclusion could be made. Evidence could be gathered, assumptions broken down, questions asked, pieces fit together. Andy had to discover some line of questioning she hadn’t yet pursued, some fault she hadn’t yet found in herself that had driven Kate away. She could find a way to make up for it, if only Kate would come back and give her the chance.
No. Not true.
Andy had plenty of evidence to suggest whatever was going on with Kate had begun long before they met. Andy could not take responsibility for Kate never dealing with losing her sister or what she had done to try to save her. And Kate had been dissatisfied with her job at Vancouver East emergency room before Andy had walked in last May. Kate’s unwillingness to ever put herself first was an almost ingrained trait. Andy had become all too familiar with Kate’s reaction to something that hurt or hit too close to home. Kate’s shoulders would lift slightly, as if bracing for impact, and she’d give a small shake of her head. Then she’d relax, or seem like she was. At the very least, she’d force her body into a more neutral position, like she was convincing herself and everyone around her that she was fine. Fine.
Andy wasn’t fine, and right now she didn’t mind showing it. She dropped the last handful of rotting, half-frozen leaves from the eaves trough into the bucket below. Standing carefully on the slippery, rough shingles, Andy stretched her back and looked up into the winter grey sky, searching uselessly for the afternoon sun behind the clouds. Eventually, a short gust of wind threw more drizzle against the heat of her neck and Andy decided it was time to climb down.
Andy stood under the hot shower for a long time, her whole body turning pink except the four inch long jagged strip above her left hip, a small, muddled mass of scar tissue Andy fingered lightly. The memory it brought had nothing to do with getting shot down at the wharf in Seattle or the first round of stitches, or even of getting blown up or kicked and the second and third set of stitches that followed.
It made her think of the Montana cabin she and Kate had shared together for three days. She remembered Kate not so carefully pulling off Andy’s bandage, inspecting her wound, touching the stretched, red edges of skin around the dark stitches, her forehead wrinkling with concentration and worry. Andy remembered whining. She really hated to be babied. Her last girlfriend, Rachel, had driven Andy up the wall by babying her. Kate had let Andy carry on as she cleaned the wound, applied a topical cream, taped a fresh bandage in place, and then finally told Andy that if she referred to her chosen profession as babying one more time, they were going to have an issue. Andy had fallen in love just a little bit more with Kate Morrison then.
Andy smiled as she made her way back downstairs, dressed in faded track pants and a worn hoodie from one of her older brothers. It felt good to smile, and Andy tried to hold onto the tenuous bout of confidence. Of course Kate was coming back. She couldn’t possibly come to any other conclusion.
Andy found her parents in the kitchen, her mom rinsing asparagus stalks in the sink, and her dad carefully patting them dry and wrapping each one in a thin strip of prosciutto. A pile of ingredients sat by the stove: olive oil, garlic and a papery white onion, arborio rice, cream, white wine, and a paper bag with what Andy guessed to be mushrooms. Andy could imagine three steaks in the scratched-up glass dish marinating in the fridge right now.
As Andy entered the kitchen, Elaine smiled and gestured to the ingredients. “Would you mind?”
Andy didn’t mind something else to keep her head and hands occupied. Not at all. She poured some olive oil into the saucepan, deftly peeled and diced the onion, and added them to the pan when it was hot. Cooking onions was her favourite smell in the world. As she stirred in the rice, she felt a pang in her chest. Her favourite was Kate’s skin after a shower. Andy’s shoulders dropped again, her confidence from moments ago gone. Forty-seven days and not a word.
“Will it help to talk about it, Andy?” her father said.
Andy concentrated on stirring the rice, watching the grains turn from white to translucent as she poured in the vegetable stock. “Honestly, I don’t know.”
“Well, I’d like to, if you don’t mind,” her mom said, snapping off the tough end of an asparagus stalk and dropping it in the compost bucket. Elaine didn’t wait for an answer. Andy hadn’t really expected her to. “When I met Kate, I thought that I’d never met someone with such extremes of strength and vulnerability.”
Her mother had an uncanny ability to see right to the very heart of people.
“She’s stronger than I am,” Andy murmured, wondering why she’d never said this to Kate.
“I imagine she is, but she has so little self-awareness. Your strength has always been knowing who you are and what you want and not being afraid to show it or seek it out. I have no doubt Kate knows exactly who you are, Andy. But not herself. And that,” she said, pointing her paring knife at Andy, “is not your fault.”
Andy uncorked the wine and added a couple of splashes, watching the alcohol sizzle and burn off. She stirred methodically, not changing speed, moving the wooden spoon around the bottom of the pan. Good risotto took time and patience and an understanding of the balance of liquids and heat and absorption.
With a guilty twist in her stomach, she remembered practically yelling at Kate while they were on assignment, hurling Kate’s lack of self-preservation skills in her face as if Kate was doing it intentionally to piss Andy off. It was her biggest weakness, and Andy had shoved it in her face. It didn’t matter that Andy had been so angry because she’d been scared. It made no difference that she’d been unwilling or unable to see the extent of Kate’s struggle. She was supposed to love Kate, not accuse her.
Andy’s hands shook as she roughly chopped the mushrooms and added them to the saucepan. She flexed her hand irritably, took a long, slow breath, and continued to stir.
“What am I supposed to do?” Andy said into the silence that had fallen. She didn’t look up, aware that both her parents were looking at her. It had been a while since she’d asked them for advice.
“Take care of yourself, sweetheart. I think it’s all you can do,” her father said, wiping his hands on a dishcloth.
“And trust her,” Elaine said. “Kate told you what she needs. So trust her.”
Andy shifted this idea, simple yet new, trying to decide if she could do it. She lifted a few grains of the now-creamy rice, blew on it lightly then tasted it. The seasoning was perfect, the rice still firm. Could she do it? Could she be patient and trust Kate?
Maybe. That was as close as she could get. Maybe.