3. I Can’t Stop
THREE
I Can’t Stop
Lillian
I t was on heave two when my hair was pulled back to be held at my nape and a warm hand landed between my shoulders blades and started stroking my spine.
Great.
I was vomiting in front of Handsome Harry Moran.
“Get it out, honey,” he murmured.
Great times two. I was now crying.
Puking and crying.
Two bodies .
I bucked and sobbed and heaved again, the trifecta of sad, mortifying and gross.
Eventually, there was nothing more coming out.
When I rested my forehead against the seat, Harry flushed the toilet and urged, “Stay there.”
I wasn’t going anywhere. Ever. I was never leaving that bathroom. Not ever.
Regrettably, he returned and ordered gently, “Sit back, Lillian.”
I sat back and avoided his eyes.
I was embarrassed, yeah.
Mostly, I was destroyed.
He wiped my mouth with a wet cloth then handed me a La Croix.
The tab was already popped.
I took some in my mouth, swished it around, leaned in and spat it out in the toilet.
Harry flushed it again.
I sat back and took another drink then dashed at the wet that was leaking onto my cheeks.
God, I hated vomiting.
I could avoid Harry no longer, considering he sat on his ass in my tiny bathroom with me.
Yes.
He sat on his ass right there with me in my tiny bathroom .
When I finally caught his gaze, he said hopelessly, “Don’t lose hope, Lillian. Those bodies have yet to be identified.”
“I’ve been living in denial,” I mumbled pitifully.
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“I’d sleep on an air mattress for the last sixteen years if I thought a PI could find my parents. I didn’t…I couldn’t…I?—”
Harry saved me by cutting in. “Understandable.”
“They’d call.”
“All right.”
“Or write.”
“Okay, honey,” he whispered.
My face scrunched, then I was sobbing again, but this time, doing it in Handsome Harry Moran’s arms.
God, he was warm. Hard and strong and warm. I could burrow into him forever.
And that was just what I did.
Burrowed in.
I wanted to pull away. He had better things to do with his time than comforting a woman on the floor in her bathroom. Perps to bring to justice. Drugs to confiscate. Jaywalkers to warn. Stuff like that.
But I couldn’t stop crying.
I was learning sixteen years of knowing— knowing —and not letting yourself believe pent up a lot of tears.
“We-we should contact those re-records people. Idiot woman l-lives in denial for s-s-sixteen years. I bet I beat them all by a mile,” I said.
Harry’s strong arms gave me a gentle squeeze. “Stop it, Lillian.”
I shoved my forehead hard into his neck and murmured, “I always knew.”
He rubbed my back and whispered, “Yeah.”
We sat there, him holding me, me letting him hold me, and it seemed like we did it for a long time.
Eventually, it hit me that jaywalking was dangerous, and someone had to levy a warning on those who did it, so I pulled out of his arms, swiped at my face again and lied, “I’m okay.”
Harry got to his feet in a smooth, agile move that I really wanted to appreciate, but he was pulling me up and I had to concentrate on not falling down again, not to mention, I didn’t appreciate much right then.
“Is there someone you could call?” he asked when we were both standing in my tiny bathroom.
I nodded.
“Can I call them for you before I go?”
I shook my head. “I can do it. Do you want the, um…DNA sample now?”
“Maybe tomorrow. Can you come by the department?” he requested.
Another nod from me.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a little holder that looked like it was made of baseball glove leather. He flipped it open and slid out a business card. He handed it to me and I took it.
“Call me and let me know when you can make it in. I’ll take the sample personally.”
That was nice and all, but I’d hurled in front of him. I’d cried into his uniform (I could see the mascara smears on his shoulder, yikes !). I didn’t need to open my mouth and let him rub a Q-tip in it.
“You don’t have to do that.”
“We’re in this together now, Lillian.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I had friends.
I had my grandparents, all getting up there in years, but still living and doing it in Indiana.
But after my parents disappeared, I’d felt very alone.
Enter Willie and me making the stupidest decision of my life.
Now, Handsome Harry Moran was telling me we were in this together.
I couldn’t hack it.
“Don’t be nice to me,” I warned.
Surprise slashed through his face. “Pardon?”
“You’re going to make me cry again.” I flipped out a hand. “Being a nice guy and all.”
“I’m afraid I can’t stop being that,” he said.
“Fantastic,” I mumbled, and he smiled.
There was no bright that could cut the dark that had very recently consumed my life. Or, I should say, very recently re -consumed it.
Except that smile.
He took me out of my amazement of that fact, and captivation with his smile, when he pushed, “You’re going to get someone over here?”
I nodded.
He kept pushing. “And you’re going to call me and tell me when you can come to the station?”
I nodded again.
“You’ll get through this, Lillian.”
I wanted to believe that.
But I wasn’t so sure.
His voice dipped, and honest to God, the way it sounded, it felt like I was back in his arms. “I’ll get you through it, honey.”
“You’re being nice,” I warned.
He smiled again, reached out and touched the back of my hand like he was sending out a search party. He found what he was looking for, seeing as his fingers wrapped around mine and he pulled me out of the bathroom.
Still holding my hand, he led us to the great room and asked, “Where’s your phone?”
I looked to the kitchen counter.
He drew me there.
When he stopped us by my phone, I looked up at him. “Are you going to wait for me to call Kay?”
Or Jenna, Janie or Molly.
“No, I just wanted you in your pretty kitchen with your pretty flowers before I leave you.”
Oh my God!
This totally sucked !
Years, I’d been watching this man, thinking he was the bee’s knees.
I did not need to find out my parents were (very likely) irretrievably gone after denying for nearly two decades my parents were gone and then find out how much of the bee’s knees this guy was.
He read my annoyed expression, I knew, when his lips twitched and he muttered, “Sorry, I’m being nice again.”
“It’s irritating,” I snapped, taking odd comfort in being peevish rather than being a slobbering, wailing mess.
He bit his lip, but that didn’t stop his smirk.
I narrowed my eyes at it.
“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he stated.
Whatever.
“Hang in there, Lillian,” he bid.
I switched targets and narrowed my eyes at his eyes.
“Right,” he muttered, openly fighting a smile.
I watched him walk to the front door and I braced when he stopped at it and turned to me.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” he said.
He. Was. Killing. Me.
“Go away,” I returned.
“See you tomorrow,” he repeated.
“Whatever,” I replied, this time verbally.
He shot me another smile.
And then Handsome Harry Moran was gone.