Nina snuggled up close to me, her arm thrown over my chest, her head resting against my shoulder.
“Your cuddling skills have improved immensely,” she said.
“Practice makes perfect.”
“I nearly didn’t come home.”
“I’m glad you did.”
“I almost didn’t come home because—should I tell you what I’m afraid of?”
“I didn’t know you were afraid of anything.”
“A couple of things,” Nina said. “Mostly I’m afraid of becoming my mother. I told you about my mother.”
“Bits and pieces.”
“My mother was a whore. For a long time I thought she was a sex addict. Except addicts try to hide their disorder, don’t they? They lie about their behavior; they do their thing at times and in places where there isn’t anyone around to see. They don’t want the people they care about, who care about them, to know that they’re hooked. Isn’t that so?
“Only Mom didn’t care who knew. She even brought partners home with her. To our home. One day my father found her in bed with a man, she didn’t even know his name. Mom told him to pull up a chair and watch. Dad didn’t care for that. She told him that if he didn’t like it, he should leave. So he left. Left me in the care of a woman who neglected me, who often spent nights and weekends away, at least when she wasn’t entertaining guests in the room next to mine. I was fourteen years old going on thirty. I never saw Dad again. I don’t think he actually divorced my mom, because he kept sending her money, enough to keep a roof over our heads, enough to keep me in a good school, enough to help me get through college without any debt. As for the rest of my family, my grandparents and aunts and uncles, apparently their disgust for my mother extended to me as well. Naturally, the first chance I got, I ran off to marry a man who abused and demeaned me every single day. ’Course, you know all about that.”
“Bits and pieces,” I said.
“If it weren’t for Erica, I don’t know what would have become of me. Her birth shocked me into a kind of sanity. From that moment on, I took charge of my life, disowned my mother and the rest of the family, divorced my husband, moved to a different city, built Rickie’s, and lived in such a way that no one would dare call me the names they called Mom. I gave Erica the life that she deserved. And what did she do? She enrolled at a university that’s located twelve hundred miles away; she tried to get as far away from me as she could.”
“How often does she call?” I asked.
“What do you mean?”
“How often does she call you, this wayward daughter of yours? Every day?”
“No. Maybe three, four times a week?”
“Plus texts. Plus Facebook postings. I’m not entirely sure why Erica picked Tulane over the other schools that accepted her. Maybe she did it for the scholarship money they offered so she wouldn’t have to put too much of a burden on her mother. Or because it was ranked in the top fifty among national universities. Or because she simply liked New Orleans. As for going away to college, if I had to guess, I’d say she did it for the same reason most kids go away to college, because she needed to figure out who she was, and remaining home under the watchful eye of her mother wasn’t going to help. It certainly wasn’t to escape her mother, who is absolutely nothing like her grandmother. I mean, the girl comes home and it’s you and her for at least a full day, hugging and kissing and talking and shopping and taking selfies and acting like best friends who haven’t seen each other for a dozen years, so let’s not hear any more of this ‘my daughter doesn’t love me’ crap because that’s what it is.”
“You don’t know that,” Nina said. “I mean the part about not being like my mother.”
“Why are we having this conversation, anyway?”
“My runaway libido has given me cause for concern.”
I started to chuckle.
“You think that’s funny?” Nina asked.
“I just had an image of you chasing your libido down the street and me chasing after.”
“I don’t know why I talk to you.”
“Nina, how often have you left work in the middle of the day because you wanted to have sex with me?”
“I don’t know.”
“Fortunately, I’ve been keeping track. Not often enough.”
“Stop it.”
“I think this is a first.”
“I guess.”
“Trust me,” I said. “I’ll let you know if it becomes a bad habit.”
“It’s just that sometimes, McKenzie—all this talk of psychic mediums, Shelby wanting to talk to her grandfather, all those other people wanting to connect with dead relatives, it reminds me … My mother died a couple of years before I met you. She asked to see me before she passed. I didn’t go. I was too busy. I wasn’t, but that’s the excuse I used. Add that to everything else … Sometimes I become afraid.”
“Of what exactly?”
“It’s hard to say.”
“Hard to say because you don’t know or because you don’t want to speak the words out loud?”
Nina hesitated before she said, “My father abandoned me. He left my mother, I get that, but he also abandoned me. Then I abandoned her and later my husband.”
“Are you afraid that I’ll do the same thing? That Erica will do the same thing? She won’t, you know. Neither will I.”
“You’re in love with Shelby Dunston.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
“You made her daughters your heirs.”
“Yes, I did, right after I came into my money. I also named their father my executor. A couple of years ago, I gave him a copy of a revised will that added Erica to the list. The three of them will share equally.”
Nina raised herself up with an elbow and looked into my eyes. “You never told me that,” she said.
“Yes, I did. Didn’t I?”
“No.”
“Oh. Well, I wrote Erica into my will. I hope you don’t mind.”
Nina settled back against me after kissing my cheek. The fact that her warm body was so close made the conversation easier. If we had been standing on opposite sides of the room, I’m not sure how it would have gone.
“That doesn’t change the fact that you’re in love with Shelby,” Nina said.
“Shelby’s the childhood crush that I never quite got over and probably never will. She and Bobby both understand that. You, on the other hand—you are the woman of my dreams. And my life. I’m pretty sure I’ve told you that many times. Plus, you’re right here.” I pulled her close to prove it. “I am not letting you go. Ever. Is there anything else you want to talk about?”
“Nothing comes to mind.”
“How many times have I asked you to marry me, anyway?”
“Just the three.”
“What have you always answered?”
“Why ruin a good thing, something like that.”
“The last time?”
“It was at the Louvre in Paris. You went down on one knee in the same room where they keep the Mona Lisa.”
“After you said why ruin a good thing, what did I say?”
“You said the next time I’d have to ask you.”
“Are you asking?”
Nina remained silent. She remained silent for a long time. When she finally did speak, she said, “We should get something to eat.”
We were wearing robes, mostly for convention’s sake, sitting on stools at the island in the kitchen area and eating a Denver omelet that I put together in about ten minutes. Nina said I was a great cook. I said if she gave me another thirty minutes I would really impress her. She looked at her watch, paused, and said, “Starting now.” I said, “Are we talking about the same thing?” She said, “Your phone is ringing.” I said, “Don’t change the subject.”
My phone was ringing, though. I had left it on my desk in the office area and went to retrieve it.
“This is McKenzie,” I said, which is how I usually answer my phone.
“Mr. McKenzie, this is Smith down in security.”
“Smith.” I looked at my own watch. “I thought you and Jones were done at five.”
“The bosses have decided to alter the shift patterns, don’t ask me why. Jones and I caught the two-to-midnight shift.”
“That sucks.”
“My wife agrees with you. On the other hand, we now only work four days a week. Anyway, Mr. McKenzie, there’s a woman down here who wants to speak with you.”
I was watching Nina when I said, “You can’t possibly imagine how bad your timing is.”
“Her ID says her name is Kayla Janas.”
“I don’t know a Kayla Janas.”
“She claims to be a psychic medium.”