Chapter 10 #2
Then I do something that surprises everyone, including me. I step between the two of them, pushing into my older brother’s space.
“Wes. Stop.”
As it is, I’m past tired of him trying to walk all over my love life. Letting him shit-talk PJ when I’ve invited him over is something I won’t accept. “PJ’s a guest, and you’re being rude.”
Wes’s mouth drops open. At least he’s silent.
“Hey, it’s fine.” PJ nudges his shoulder with mine. “I told him this should be your decision anyway. Right?” He gives Wes a look I can’t decipher.
Wes sags back against the granite countertop, looking apologetic and also like he’s tried to swallow a lemon whole. “Yeah, bro. Your call.”
It feels ungracious to want my brother to leave when I know he came over here to help. I was the one who texted him after I thought PJ wouldn’t answer. Now his presence feels oppressive.
I glance at PJ, who raises his eyebrows and gestures at me. He’s waiting for my decision.
“I think now’s a good time for those beers.
” Without waiting for an answer, I pull a few bottles from the fridge and slide them across the counter.
I’m not always great about using food before it expires, but for better or worse, the beer is fresh.
There have been too many nights when a couple of bottles helped me get myself to sleep.
Fewer since PJ and I started video chatting at night.
“Wes, if you insist on staying, go upstairs and find us a board game.” My brother looks at me strangely before heading up to the guest room closet where Marina kept them. They’re still there. I haven’t moved anything.
I’ve got to start clearing out her stuff.
As soon as Wes disappears, PJ plunks his unopened beer bottle on the counter and turns to me with a serious expression. “You ready to tell me what’s going on?”
My lungs feel stuck. “What do you mean?”
One glance at the beer bottle reminds me of the morning after our date. Right. He said he doesn’t drink much. I avoid eye contact while grabbing him a glass of water instead.
“Fallon.” He’s not amused. “For weeks, you’ve been trying to hold me in this half-assed friends-who-sometimes-talk-dirty-on-video-chat-zone.
Suddenly you text me that you’re having a rough time, and you want me to come over.
Your brother’s here because he thought you needed him.
You’re tense as shit. Tell me what’s going on. ”
I blame the air conditioning for the shiver down my spine. And…for the sudden urge to fall into his arms.
PJ’s right. I’ve kept him at arm’s length, taking the pleasure he gives me, twisting in jealousy over every date he’s been on but not speaking up. I don’t deserve to burden him with my shit.
Fuck it, though, I need to tell someone. When I think about it, PJ is the one person who might take me seriously. Wes would think I’m certifiable.
Am I? Probably.
I pull open the drawer at my hip and pull out a stack of colorful paper that includes several greeting cards as well as takeout menus for all the places Marina liked to order food from. I haven’t used them in years, of course, thanks to delivery apps.
PJ’s confusion is apparent. Which makes sense, because who gets nervous about a bunch of greeting cards and menus?
I slide the top one over. It’s in an expensive-looking cream-colored envelope with a cute sketch of an orange cat. “This came in the mail today. My name was on the envelope, with no stamp or address.”
PJ slides out the contents.
“It’s Marina’s birthday,” I continue. “I went to visit her memorial site, and when I came back, it was in the mailbox. At first, I brushed it off. I went to stick it in Marina’s filing cabinet in case I ended up going to the police or something, but I found all these others in there.
She’s been getting them for years, I think. ”
“What the fuck?” PJ’s eyes narrow when he opens the first card, and I know what he’s seeing.
Neat block lettering spelling out the words “YOU HAVE SOMETHING THAT BELONGS TO ME.”
PJ’s expression hardens as he opens two more, which I already know say “WISH YOU WERE HERE” and “DO YOU STILL SMELL LIKE MAGNOLIAS?”
There are six in total.
“I don’t…I don’t know who they’re from.”
The only theory I’ve come up with is one I refuse to entertain.
“But I do recognize the logo on the envelopes. It’s from that expensive stationery store downtown.”
“You mean Cotton and Linen?” PJ snorts. “Stupid fucking name. I went in there one time because I needed to buy sheets. They had the nerve to look at me like I was an idiot when they told me they didn’t sell any actual linens there.”
Despite everything, I laugh. “I could see that. After Marina died, her agent insisted that I go there to get some ‘appropriate’ thank-you notes to send to people who had helped with her memorial. The guy working there at the time seemed annoyed that I didn’t know what style of cards I was looking for, so I walked back out. Nobody got thank-you notes.”
“Assholes.” PJ’s face turns serious. “You know this means someone’s fucking with you.”
“Yeah, I picked up on that. I don’t know why.”
“And they were fucking with your late wife,” PJ adds.
I shake my head. “I don’t…” What I mean to say is “understand,” but it doesn’t come out. Because I’m not an idiot. I used to be a mystery writer, for God’s sake. My series protagonist, Betty, probably would’ve marched straight out the door and started investigating by now.
I’m not Betty, though. What I want is to pretend this isn’t happening.
PJ’s expression softens. Somehow, he seems to get what I’m thinking without my having to say it out loud. “Can you think of someone who’s got beef with you?”
Eric Leslie. If he were still alive. I shake my head.
“Did you call the police?”
“They’ll probably say it’s a harmless greeting card. There’s just this weird feeling I can’t shake, like it’s some kind of warning.”
Because it is.
“Sure looks like one. If there’s one thing I’ve learned from foster care, it’s to listen to your weird feelings. They can save your ass or someone else’s.”
“I didn’t know you were in foster care.”
PJ lifts one shoulder. “When I was fifteen, my mom went to jail for selling drugs to a cop.” When I open my mouth to speak, he shakes away the words of sympathy he seems to know are coming. “It is what it is,” he says. “I’m fine.”
So instead, I pick up the top card on the stack. “Marina was getting these for years and didn’t tell me. Why the hell wouldn’t she?”
What else didn’t she tell me?
“Maybe she didn’t think it was a serious threat. Do you have security cameras or an alarm?”
“There used to be a doorbell cam, but it runs on battery. It’s a big house.” Too much for one person. “There’s a lot I haven’t kept up with.”
PJ’s hand lands on mine, and our fingers thread together. It’s oddly natural to touch him this way. It’s as if our bodies know each other.
“Nobody I know trusts the police, but if you decide you want to go, I’ll go with you,” he says. “Either way, we’ll see about beefing up your security. If anything else gives you a bad vibe, call me. I won’t let anything happen to you. Got it?”
Why the hell are my eyes burning? “I’m a grown-ass man, PJ. I don’t need you to protect me.”
“No reason to deal with it alone. I look out for the people who matter to me, understand?”
I’m not a hundred percent sure I do, but I nod. I want to ask how he can seem so sure, but the creak of the bottom step announces my brother’s return.
“I considered Uno or Monopoly, but I decided on Clue instead. Figured we’d all have fun solving a mystery.”