Chapter 13 Hannah
Hannah
Monica takes a sip of iced tea and scrolls on her phone, looking for the TikTok she promised to show me about cats riding mopeds in little helmets. I lift my face to the sun and soak in the fresh air, enjoying our sidewalk café table for all it’s worth.
After another long morning of CMA calls with Dominic at my side, scribbling notes on a notepad to guide my ineptness, I’m emotionally and mentally spent.
I know part of the problem is me—I’m a virgin working a phone sex line—but the added pressure of spending day in and day out talking to potential killers has definitely amped it all up to an eleven.
Don’t forget about the fact that you’re now trapped in your sex cubicle with the hot detective who is working the case . . .
“Oh!” Monica squeals excitedly, holding her phone in front of my face. “Here it is!”
I watch with a smile as a cat in sunglasses and a helmet drives a moped in front of his owner, little paws on the handlebars and everything. It’s stupid, but it’s also cute and adorable and one of the best things I’ve ever seen in my life.
After spending the first several hours of today listening to men grunt and jerk and heavy-breathe into my ear, I welcome cute and adorable with open arms.
The waiter sets our salads in front of us, and Monica tucks a napkin into the front of her flowery spring dress. Taking in her sweet blond bob and innocent face, I find myself in disbelief yet again over the way we met.
“Tell me again how you ended up doing this job,” I say, taking a bite of my Caesar salad.
“You mean, how did a sweet girl like me end up doing phone sex as a career?”
“Yes.” I grin. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
Monica giggles as she pours ranch dressing all over the bed of lettuce on her plate and stirs it around, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
“I heard about it from a friend of a friend—some frat guys had been calling for a while just for shits and giggles—and financial aid was only covering about half of my tuition. I went and interviewed with Margo.” She shrugs.
“The money and the flexible hours were too good to pass up.”
I chuff. So basically, the same reasons as me.
“But, like, you’ve been doing it how long now?”
Monica smiles. “Almost a year.”
I shake my head. I’ve only been doing it for nearly two weeks at this point, and she’s been doing it for a year. I can hardly even fathom it.
“Three hundred and sixty-five days of phone sex? And you’re not flipping exhausted from it?”
Monica laughs. “You’re just in the first-month hump.
It’s tough in the beginning, getting used to all the crazy shit and figuring out what to say, but don’t worry.
Pretty soon, you’ll be on autopilot like me.
And it’s so easy compared to, like, waitressing or something.
” She shakes her head. “I sit there and talk. Not so bad, really.”
“Sit there and talk about dicks, you mean,” I expand, and she snorts.
“Among many other things I compartmentalize every day.”
I nod at that. Compartmentalization feels pretty key for survival in this job. “Well . . . I commend your positive attitude.”
I try to come up with something affirming of my own, and immediately Dom’s face appears in my mind. It’s wild to think about how if I hadn’t lost the job at Alliance, I’d never have met Monica or Shane or Dom at all.
Monica’s phone buzzes on the table for the tenth time since we sat down, and she flips it up to check the screen.
A smile catches on her lips as she reads yet another text message.
The first two were from some guy named Cameron she said she’s “sort of dating.” And a few others were from some of her friends, telling her about a frat party on campus that she tried to invite me to, but I had to politely decline because . . . of course I did.
Her fingers move quickly across the screen as she types out a text, and I go back to eating my salad. When she puts the phone back down, I can’t stop myself from asking her a question that’s been on my mind.
“Just curious . . . have you ever felt unsafe working at CMA?”
“Nope.” Monica shakes her head. “No way. The anonymity of it all is pretty great. I don’t tell people I work there, and they don’t ask. No one even knows I’m Diamond.”
I fiddle with my napkin on the table, and she reaches out to pat my hand. “I know you’ve had the cops involved in your stuff because of the last girl, though, so I’m sure that doesn’t feel good.”
“Did you know her?”
“Not really.” She shrugs and takes another drink of her iced tea. “She was pretty flighty, to be honest. She started taking calls from home a few months ago, so I pretty much never saw her.”
I nod in understanding and take a bite of my salad, but Monica leans closer to me to whisper, “So . . . why exactly are the cops involved? Like, I know Heather died, but . . . ?”
I grimace. “I wish I could tell you, but the detectives have given me explicit instructions not to talk about anything.”
“Damn,” Monica mutters. She snaps her fingers in disappointment. “I had a feeling you were going to say that, but I’m just too curious not to ask.”
I grin at her. “Trust me, I wish I could tell you. I wish I had someone else I could talk to about this whole thing besides the cops.”
“The cops, as in”—she waggles her brows—“those two hot men in suits that have been roaming around the building.”
I roll my eyes.
“Oh, c’mon, Hannah,” she says and even reaches over the table to shove me playfully in the shoulder.
“You can’t deny they’re both insanely attractive.
I wish guys who looked like that went to my college.
The things I’d do to them . . .” She pauses and shakes her head as her eyes take on a dreamy expression. “Oh boy.”
“You’re so bad,” I tease, and she just nods in confirmation as she takes another sip of her tea.
“I might look innocent, Han, but I am a dirty, dirty girl when it comes to men in uniform.”
“Now I’m starting to understand why it always sounds like the Diamond line comes so naturally to you.”
“Girl, my line is filled with freaks,” she retorts with a sigh. “Some days, I wish I could scrub my ears out with bleach. I’d take the Ruby line any day of the week.”
“And I’d take anything but the Ruby line.” I snort. “Give me one thousand people to call about extended car warranties? Sign me up if I don’t have to hear another guy jerk it in my ear.”
“Aw, Han,” Monica says with a soft tsk. “I know it’s rough sometimes, but it’s all going to be okay. I mean, just look at us now. We’re out in the middle of the day, having lunch in the sun! What more could you ask for?”
I laugh, nodding along as I fall helplessly into Monica’s bright beam of light. I feel so fortunate to have made a friend like her, even if our meet-cute was highly unorthodox.
“You’re right. Today is a good day. I’m going to change my outlook and—”
My phone vibrates on the table as I talk, and when I get a look at the caller on the screen, I stop, my heart springing into my throat. I can think of only a handful of times Lovie has ever called me when she’s been at my house with my mother, and almost none of the reasons were good.
I hold up a finger to Monica in apology and put the phone to my ear quickly, my voice shaking. “Lovie? Is everything okay?”
“Hannah, honey,” she says in a rush. “Sherry is lucid.”
“What?” I ask, tears instantly hitting my eyes as I shove back in my chair and dig in my purse for some money.
“I know, honey,” Lovie responds, dropping her voice to a calming lull. “And I don’t know how long it’ll last, but if you can make it home, you should. Just . . . don’t rush, okay? Be as safe as you can.”
Yeah. Go slow. Right.
“I’ll be home soon.”
“Okay, hon,” Lovie says, her voice so soft with understanding it nearly breaks me.
These moments don’t come often—in fact, it’s been more than a year since the last one—but the thought of it happening now and me missing it is almost too much to bear.
“I’m so sorry, Mon, but I have to go,” I say, dropping my share of the bill by my discarded salad and frantically gathering myself to step away from the table.
Monica is confused, understandably, but she’s also supportive. “Of course. Don’t worry about it at all.”
I almost promise that I’ll explain later, but to be honest, I don’t know if I will. Talking about my mom—admitting all the things I desperately wish weren’t true—to other people is something I’ve never quite mastered.
And I don’t know if I ever will.
2:05 p.m.
The drive home was long and tense, and the traffic getting out of downtown was nearly enough to send me into a mental spiral, but I’ve made it.
I jump out of my Civic and run for the front door, my mind racing with hope and heartbreak and trying to prepare itself for both.
The door chimes as I shove it open and then click it closed behind me. I take the stairs to the second-floor living area two at a time, practically jumping to ensure my short legs will best the distance.
Lovie and my mom sit at the kitchen table, both of them with a sheen of tears in their eyes. When Sherry’s gaze meets mine, all the air I’m holding leaves me in an overwhelming rush. I drop my keys and purse on the floor, and my mom stands from the table, awareness in her gaze.
Mom.
Both of us rush forward and crash into a hug, and emotion pours out of me like a waterfall.
I clutch her warm body to mine, and her hands squeeze my back as she sniffles into my neck.
I want to stay in this hug forever—when she doesn’t know who I am, it never happens—but at the same time, I’m desperate for conversation with the woman I’ve loved all my life.
I push back slowly, holding on to her arms to keep us close as I do. “Mom,” I say, testing out the rusty word on my thick tongue.
“Oh, baby,” she says, her face dissolving into full-blown tears.
I shake my head and push the hair out of her face, wiping and catching tears as they crest over her cheeks. “No, no, come on. Don’t cry.”
She shakes her head, and a tear spills from the corner of my eye, too, the feelings of how big this is unstoppable. “I’m so sorry, Hannah.”
“Don’t be sorry, Mom.” My voice vibrates with a raw energy I can’t describe. “It’s just so good to see you.”
She nods, and I slide my fingers down her arms to take her hands in mine. I know Lovie is still here looking on, but I don’t see her, and she doesn’t try for a second to change that. She knows what this moment means. She knows.
“God, honey, look at you,” my mom says, tucking my hair behind my shoulders before taking my hands again. “You’re so grown. So beautiful. I can hardly believe it.” Her focused but tearful eyes lock with mine. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-five,” I whisper, and a few more tears drip down her cheeks.
“Twenty-five,” she whispers. “I hate this, Hannah. I hate knowing that I’m missing so much. That I’m—”
“We’re together, Mom. We’re always together, even if you’re not fully aware.” I cut her off with words I feel like she needs to hear.
“Am I a burden, honey?” she asks, and her voice shakes so much it makes my lip quiver.
“No,” I say and mean it. Even on the bad days, even on the days when I don’t feel like I know how we’re going to survive, my mother is never a burden. I love her too much. “Never.”
“You graduated high school, right?” she asks, surprising a laugh out of me.
“Yes. And I got through most of my bachelor’s degree at MTSU.”
She quirks an eyebrow. “Most?”
“It’s just taking a little longer than I thought it would,” I answer, giving her a half truth because I refuse to sour this moment with anything that would make her feel bad. “But I’ll finish it soon.” I hope. Someday.
“I’m so proud of you, Hannah. So proud of you, my beautiful girl.
” She leans forward to press her forehead to mine in the same way she always used to when I was a little girl.
“I’ve always been so proud of you. Your father was too.
” Tears prick my eyes at her mention of my dad.
“And boy, did he love you something fierce.”
“He loved us both fiercely,” I tell her and don’t try to hide the emotion that slides down my face.
“He did, didn’t he?” she whispers, her forehead still pressed to mine. “He was such a good man. Such a good husband. Such a good father. We got lucky with him, that’s for sure.”
Danny May was a one-of-a-kind man. He loved with his whole heart, and not a single day went by without him making me or my mom smile and laugh. He had the best sense of humor, and while he was strong and protective, he was never too macho to show his affection freely.
“We did.” I nod, sniffling. “I love you, Mom.”
“I love you, too, darling. So much.” Her face crumples again, and I pull her into a hug full of emotion I’ve felt for the last year. It’s every moment she’s missed, every conversation I’ve dreamed of. It’s care and compassion and love and longing, and if I had my way, it would never end.
“It’s going to be okay,” she says in my ear, and I soak up every ounce of her words as she pushes back and drops her arms. “Gibbs trusts you. Tony trusts you. You’re finding your place on the team, okay?”
My heart drops, and a sound I don’t understand escapes my throat in a startling gulp. Her smile is still there, but my mom is, once again, gone. Back to the safety net in her mind and away from the reality burning through my bones.
I’m Ziva again.
And my heart is broken.