twenty-five

My phone call to Marcy went about how I expected it to go. “I’m sorry,” she’d said after a long pause. “You want to know what?”

“You heard me,” I said. “What kind were they?”

“Are you doing research or something?”

“No, Harper said that Dan was allergic to latex,” I said.

“Allergic,” she repeated doubtfully.

“Or at least, sensitive to it,” I amended.

Marcy tried to hide her bark of laughter. She failed. “I’m sorry, Nic. I didn’t mean to laugh, but if I had a dollar for every time a guy told some girl he couldn’t wear protection because he had a latex allergy, I could buy a house in your neighborhood.”

I sighed. “I know it sounds stupid, Marcy. Believe me. I know. But I promised Harper that I would ask you.”

“Okay, fine. Hang on one second and I’ll see if it’s in the report.”

“Thanks, Marcy,” I said. “I owe—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Marcy said. “Save it.” A second later, she put me on hold. Easy listening music filled my ears.

I was belting out the lyrics to “All By Myself,” when Marcy came back on the line. “You want me to put you back on hold so you can finish?” Marcy asked.

“No, I’m good,” I said.

“Okay. But don’t say I didn’t ask,” Marcy said. “Anyway, according to the report they were Trojans.” She paused. “And they were latex. Looks like I just got another imaginary dollar.”

I laughed. “I’ll call our real estate agent and tell her to keep an eye out for a house near us.”

“You do that,” said Marcy. “Did you need anything else, or can I get back to work?”

“Well, since you mentioned it, I’d love to get a copy of the coroner’s report,” I said.

Marcy let out another bark of laughter just before the line went dead. Either that or she hung up on me.

It was probably the latter.