Chapter 11

G igi was dead. She was dead, and I'd seen her thumb—

"I'm fine."

I looked up at Beckett, startled out of that thought. I'd asked him what was wrong, and it made sense that he had answered. The problem was, I couldn't seem to focus on anything for more than five seconds without getting distracted by mental images of that gurney on the side of the road, the nails, and her unusual finger. It kept popping into my mind, during the day and especially at night. I'd dreamed that—

Pull it together, JuJu! I shook my head and moved my attention back to the problem right in front of me, the fact that there was something wrong with Beckett. I could clearly see it in his face, so I shook my head again. "No, you're not fine. You're lying," I announced, and my voice sounded just like my sister Nicola's. She'd been able to read us all like books, so getting away with anything had been next to impossible. When she'd been around and watching me, I hadn't bothered to try to sneak out and go clubbing with friends. We'd also never avoided school because we were "sick."

But this was the opposite of when we'd tried to heat thermometers or claim crushing headaches. I thought that Beckett really was sick and he was lying to me about being well. "I'm fine," he growled out again, adding a glare in case I'd missed how much he opposed my interference.

He wasn't fine, though, and no one else around here was, either. Camille was moping and wouldn't explain why besides saying that she and her fiancé were having "issues." The rest of the people in our department were acting pouty and put-upon because most of us had been sucked into the issues (no quotes needed, they were serious and definable) with the Roscommon project. It was a ton of work and I didn't blame them for feeling overwhelmed, but the whining and complaining were annoying. We had jobs; we were paid well for them; there were other places to work if they were unhappy at Whitaker Enterprises. I'd said almost exactly that to a woman in the lunchroom the other day, one of the last holdouts besides me from the former administration.

"I don't want to hear it, Peggy," I'd shot back when she'd said that Annis had never loaded us down with so much crap, not ever. "Do your job or quit." I'd had a feeling she was going to choose the latter option.

My own temper was short and I'd been snappy. It made the living situation with Brenna nearly intolerable, since that was her everyday personality. We were fighting all the time and I was also having trouble dealing with everything, with the world in general. Gigi was dead.

Gigi was dead. Those three words kept running through my mind, along with the image of her hand…

"Juliet, if there's nothing else, I have work to accomplish today and I'm sure that you do, too." Beckett turned back to his screens, obviously annoyed. But I had come in for a reason and I cleared my throat and announced that.

Unfortunately, due to my inability to focus, I just couldn't remember what my reason was. When he heard that, he frowned even more, unusual for someone who was mostly a blank slate—something was off. I also saw a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead, and it wasn't hot in here at all. "I'll remember what we needed to talk about in a minute, but what's the matter?" I asked him, and he told me to go. Like, no more hinting about being busy, he just flat out ordered me to leave his office, immediately.

I did, but I said I'd return because I could tell that something was wrong with him. I went back to my desk and resumed an activity that was occupying a lot of my time: I was searching for information about Gigi and the car accident. Unlike when I'd looked in vain for mentions of the guy shooting at me, there was a lot about her. There was more every day, in fact, because her mom was busy posting all the time. Most of it was pictures of herself, looking into space with a solitary tear on her cheek and with quotes about grief and loss that she'd lifted from someone else. But along with her self-promotion, she dropped nuggets of truth, too.

In the latest post, she and her tear sat on a beach with a cooler in the background and the caption said that she was so depressed, it had been hard to get out of bed and put on her bikini. By the way, she'd added, had everyone clicked on the link to donate? Also, had anyone spoken to Gigi's boyfriend? She had been trying to reach him because she was sure that her daughter had meant for members of her family to receive all her clothes and jewelry, not to mention any funds left behind. Gigi had been such a source of support (her deceased daughter had handed over almost her entire paycheck every month, the mom clarified, if anyone was confused by what "support" meant).

Of course, that financial help was now gone and was never coming back, just like her daughter wouldn't. Click on the link, she urged…

It was repulsive but also enlightening. Through her posts, I'd learned that police were not communicating much, except to tell her that the autopsy was being performed and they had an initial cause of death but they were not sharing it, and they wouldn't even say if it was accidental. It was an open, active investigation, and now the boyfriend was missing?

Months before, I had met that guy on the day that I'd accepted the delivery job. Her boyfriend had represented the people who needed my services and he had talked to me for a short while before he'd announced, "She's good." I thought about that and then typed out a list of everything I knew about him, from his physical appearance to his car. But one important detail was missing: I didn't know his last name. Gigi had usually referred to him as her man when she was happy with him and called him filthy insults when she wasn't. His name was…I thought hard. Val. But Val what? And was that short for Valentine? Valen? Percival? There were too many possibilities to even begin to look for the guy.

I knew two people who might have been able to help me identify him, my sister Addie's fiancé Granger and my sister Sophie, because they both had resources and brainpower that I didn't. But I wasn't reaching out to either of them. For one thing, I would have had to admit the whole, terrible story of why I was not only sad about Gigi's death, but also scared by it. Had it been a car accident, or something else? Why wouldn't the police say? And secondly, I was in such a state of shock that I wasn't sure how clearly I was thinking. I was pretty certain that it wasn't a good idea to pull anyone else into this problem, but was that wrong?

I thought of the thumb again. Gigi was dead…

It was lucky that I was busy here at work, because it didn't give me a whole lot of time to stew and worry. I was still working at the restaurant, too, but the weekend days had become problematic. I didn't want to go anywhere, because I was afraid of being out on the street or in any open area, like a park where I could enjoy the early summer weather. I didn't want to stay in Brenna's studio, because it was so uncomfortable to be there with her and I was also scared of being attacked and trapped—and that someone would hurt her, too, due to me. I should have moved, but I was frightened at the thought of being alone. At least in the office building, I was busy, I was surrounded by security guards, and if anyone was coming, I could see them through the glass.

I could also see Beckett and I looked his way constantly—no, I only looked frequently, but he seemed ok. Right now, he appeared to be on the phone and was also typing. For the rest of the day, I kept an eye on him, consoled Camille by saying that every relationship had ups and downs, and told various coworkers that they needed to shut up and work (something I'd also said to various swimmers on my high school team when they had whined, because I was there to win). Friday wound down and despite my efforts to ignore it, the weekend had arrived again and that meant two long days of nothing.

"I remembered what I wanted to tell you," I mentioned to Beckett as I stood in his doorway. We were the last two people left in the office. "Peggy's probably going to quit."

"Wonderful." He glanced up at the ceiling and leaned back in his chair, as if he was tired. "How will we do without her?"

"I don't think she's been working very hard. We should be ok," I assured him. "But, just in case, I could come in here this weekend. Or I could go to your house."

"I don't think you need to." He sat up straight and read off his screen, then typed a reply. "We're currently on track with everything."

"Because I'm free," I mentioned. "I'm working tonight and Saturday night at the restaurant, but besides that, I have time. Plenty of time."

He looked at me again. "It's probably not a bad idea. We accomplish a lot together."

I nodded in a professional way, not smiling.

"Come by Sunday morning," he said, and I nodded again. Good.

"Should I tell Camille?" I asked.

"I'll let her know if we need her. Are you going down to your car right now?"

"Yes." But lately, I'd been waiting at the door to the garage until other people were also walking in there, so I wouldn't have to go alone. We had plenty of security and I'd never heard of a problem…I pictured her hand. Gigi was dead.

"What time do you finish at the restaurant?"

"Um, the restaurant? Usually eleven, eleven-thirty," I said. "Why? Are you thinking about coming in to eat?" He still looked too thin, and maybe I could have convinced the chef to ignore his requests and load up his food with oil and heavy cream, lots of fats.

"No, I was thinking about you driving home and walking around by yourself at that hour," Beckett answered. "Your sister's building only has on-street parking."

"Were you looking up Brenna?" I asked.

"I've found a new tool," he said, pointing at his multiple monitors. "It's called ‘search engine' and I used it to see her building."

"That was very clever of you," I complimented, and he nodded in acknowledgement. I lied and said that I didn't mind walking by myself in the dark and then asked, "Are you really feeling ok?" He did look better, with more normal color and without the sickish tint that I'd noticed before.

"I'm fine. I'll see you Sunday." He resumed typing and I waved, but before the door shut I heard him say my name. "Be careful," he told me.

I was very careful and watchful, but I was still very scared. That was why I was so grateful when my sister Sophie called early the next morning and suggested that we get together to shop that day.

"Yes, I'll definitely go!" I answered eagerly, and she told me to calm down.

"I probably won't buy too much," she said. "Just a few things. It's nothing to get excited over, but I guess shopping is exciting for some."

I knew what she meant: I was an impulsive, stupid person who had almost bought my way into bankruptcy. "I'll see you soon," I said, and hung up. I picked my plainest, least label-conscious outfit to wear, but Sophie didn't notice that. Her attention was on my new car.

"This is nice," she approved. "It's so much better than your old one. Sensible, gets sufficient miles per gallon. It was a good idea to swap out that ridiculous thing you drove before."

"I don't mind this car as much as I thought I would," I admitted. "It's a relief to have something reliable." I was surprised by her car also, because it looked a lot cleaner on the outside and the interior seemed to be fairly free of trash. My sister was clean, too; her hair was freshly washed, and everything that she wore was stain-free. And it appeared to be women's clothing, so she hadn't taken her outfit from our brother's closet or his bedroom floor. "You look nice today," I told her.

She looked down at her outfit and seemed to get…nervous? "Is it good? I don't know too much about this stuff," she said. "You're all about clothes and shoes, but I never gave them a lot of thought."

"Yeah, you've been wearing weird, dirty costumes for years," I said, glad to get in my own dig after she'd just said I was a stupid clothes horse. "Let's find stuff that's meant for a woman and is in your size."

She eyed me for a moment before she agreed, and we walked toward the shops. An hour later, both of our arms were laden with bags and I was having a blast. It was fun to dress her up and it was easy to pick out things that looked nice on her. Sophie was so pretty already and the new clothes only added to it.

"So good," I told her as she walked out of (yet another) dressing room. "That dress is amazing on you."

"It's fancy. Would I ever need it?" She spun and studied herself in the big mirrors.

"Maybe you'll be going out more," I suggested. "Maybe with Daniel."

She blushed and got a little smile. "Maybe."

"You have one dress to your name. You need it," I said definitively.

She spun again. "Esme needs something fancy, too. For Addie's wedding," she remarked.

"We could go to baby stores," I agreed. Patrick was working only sporadically and I'd heard from my mom that Dad wasn't chipping in too much, so Sophie was probably spending a mint to get everything for Esme, even without a fancy wedding outfit.

My sister had been checking her phone pretty constantly to see if the baby was all right (even though she was with Nicola, so of course she was). Saying her name opened a floodgate, and Sophie talked about her a ton. She told me about the milestones Esme had reached, how smart she was, how loving, and she kept talking as she went to change. She said how angry she was at our brother, too, for being such a jerk and ignoring his daughter.

"I've tried to talk to him," I said from outside the door to her little room. "I've tried and tried. He ignores me."

"He used to listen to you," she answered. Her voice sounded muffled as she took off the dress.

"Not anymore. Not for a few years," I admitted. "As soon as we hit middle school, he stepped back from me and he's never tried to be friends again." I remembered how hurt I'd been, kind of lost without him, but I hadn't told anyone. I'd moved on, worked on climbing the social ladder and swimming faster, and I was fine. "He and mom were always close, but he's not listening to her right now, either."

"What do you mean?" She stepped out, her hair mussed and several more clothing items over her arm.

"She's been trying to tell him—"

She shook her head and interrupted. "What do you mean about not being friends with him? You, Patrick, and Mom were always the trio. She was crazy about you two."

I swallowed. "Mom loves all of us," I announced, and she rolled her eyes. "She does! I don't know why you…ok, I get that you're mad at her now, since she was the one who convinced Patrick to come home with Esme. But you've always been this way. You're always ready to dismiss the fact that she cares about you."

"I know she cares," Sophie said. "She also drives me crazy. She's never tried to understand anything about me or about any of us, except you and your twin. She focused on popping out more kids and then she'd hand them over to Nicola to raise, because that part was hard."

My face burned. "I'm leaving," I said. "Just because you helped me out, I don't have to stand here and listen to you insult Mom. I know you think you're better than her. You think you're better than all of us, Sophie!"

"I do? I do?" she asked. Her volume went up. "You spent your whole life parading around with a gold medal around your neck, telling us that you were God's gift to water. Our parents missed Grace's graduation to go see you in yet another dumb swim meet!"

"It was the national meet, and—and I'm sorry about that," I said, the anger leaving my voice. "At the time, it was the only thing that I thought was important. I didn't care what it would mean to Grace that they weren't there."

"She had the rest of us."

"And I had swim," I said. "I had the biggest meet of my life and Dad spent the entire time working in the hotel room. He missed the IM final. Mom was texting with her friends and was worried about Patrick because he'd gone to some party and Liv was telling her that he might have gotten alcohol poisoning. That was how the weekend went for me."

Both of us looked around; we were in the aisle of a busy store and while some people pretended to ignore us, a few were openly gawking. "I'm going to the counter to pay," my sister muttered.

I walked to the door and waited outside, and I prepared to continue arguing. She joined me in a few minutes, frowning and with another huge bag over her arm. "I'm done with shopping," she announced, and I grabbed the bag from her even though Mom had continued to tell me how much yoga they were doing together and how strong my sister was now. Sophie definitely looked healthier—and yes, that was the old swim coach code word for thinner.

"You know, you're as big a brat as Brenna, Juliet," she said, but she didn't sound as angry. "You and Patrick were so spoiled by Mom. It's no wonder that you grew up like you have."

"Like an idiot, you mean?" I walked faster and lengthened my stride, but Soph kept up. She really was in better shape.

"I mean how you thought that you deserved a car that you couldn't actually afford, and that you got six credit cards, and that—"

"Ok, I get it," I said. I was an idiot; I really did get that.

"JuJu, slow down. I don't want us to fight."

What? That didn't sound like my sister. I eyed her cautiously but did slow my steps.

"I don't think you're an idiot, but you obviously made bad choices," she said. "You're trying to fix them now, right?"

I nodded, thinking of how I'd tried to do that and had been so dumb all over again.

"You learned from your mistakes and I'm sure that you'll be a lot more careful with money in the future. I heard that you're even living with the Brat to save, and that's very brave of you." She smiled a little and I did, too.

"She hasn't tried to kill me yet," I said.

"Don't turn your back on her," Sophie advised. "About the swimming stuff—"

"It doesn't mean anything," I told her, which I'd also said to Beckett. "I know that no one ever cared. It wasn't important to anyone but me, and now I don't care, either."

"I cared. I used to come some of your meets."

"To cover them for the school paper," I said, nodding.

"JuJu, I was the editor-in-chief. I never wrote about sports because I don't know anything about that topic, and I could have assigned the meets to someone else. I went because I wanted to see you. I used to yell really loud, but you probably couldn't hear due to all that water."

"Really? You did that for me?"

"Are you crying?" she asked. She sounded shocked, but I wasn't really crying. It wasn't something I did.

"No," I assured her. "I'm just happy to hear that. I was always in awe of you and how smart you were."

"I've done a lot of dumb stuff, too. Really, really dumb and I really, really wish I could take it back," she said.

"I won't act that way anymore," I promised, and now she really was shocked, because I hugged her, even with all the bags we had draped on ourselves.

"Let's put all this crap in the car and go shop for Esme," she suggested when we let go.

"Sophie, why aren't you mad at me about that? Why aren't you mad that I made you take care of the baby?"

"You didn't make me," she disagreed, shaking her head.

"But you had to step in because I didn't follow through with what I said. I was supposed to be the one in charge of her."

"No, her father is supposed to be in charge of her," my sister answered. "But you have to visit more often."

"Will you tell everyone about the loan if I don't?"

She stared and then got huffy. "I told you that I would keep that a secret. I'm not a liar, JuJu, and no matter what, I won't break my promise. That wasn't a threat. You should see Esme more because she's wonderful, and she's changing all the time. You're missing it."

We made plans for me to come over on a more regular schedule, which Sophie said would help her a lot. "You'll get Mom to relax," she said, and then we were back to normal, talking about our sisters, gossiping, and enjoying ourselves. I even forgot about Gigi for little while, and I also texted with Beckett. He sent a weird request to me and then stopped responding when I asked him about it.

But even after the good day, I dreamed about Gigi that night after my shift at the restaurant. I thought about her the next morning, too, when I noticed the bags under my eyes. She would have been so happy to see them there, because she'd been absolutely delighted whenever I hadn't looked my best. I did want to look better, so I put on all the creams and serums that I had left, and I made Brenna really angry by getting some ice out of the freezer to apply to my face (and dropping a few cubes, which sounded like canon blasts when they landed on the tile).

I didn't look much better when I got out the door and made my way to Beckett's "house," but I'd put in an effort. Before I left, I also checked to see if there were any new social media posts from Gigi's mom, but there wasn't anything I hadn't already seen (she'd moved on from her daughter's death and was back to pictures of herself in her bikini without quotes about grief). There was no additional information in the official Detroit news sources, either, and nothing from any blogger or neighborhood site. Was the lack of investigative progress good or bad? I wasn't sure and I stewed about the situation on my way across the city.

When Beckett opened his front door, I saw that he didn't look much better than I did. "Sugar," I said, wincing as I grabbed my bag from the passenger seat and walked toward him. "You seem…" Not as perfect as usual was the answer, but I didn't want to tell him that. "What did you do last night?" I asked instead.

"I went clubbing," he announced, and I froze with my foot in the air above the stone step.

"Are you serious?"

"No, but it's not outside of the realm of possibilities. I have had fun at times," he told me.

"But not last night, so why do you look so tired?" I asked as I resumed walking up.

"Are we back to insulting each other's looks?"

"No, I'm not…" It made me a little worried, but I wasn't insulting him. "What smells so good in here?"

"I made breakfast," he informed me. "I decided to learn to cook."

I followed him down the hall and toward the kitchen, and the delicious smells only got stronger. "Breakfast, really?" I was very hungry, but hadn't been able to get anything to eat with Brenna yelling that it was dawn and I had to leave before she killed me. "Wait, is this going to be some kind of thing like the bacon is made of avocado peel and the scrambled eggs are actually yogurt with yellow dye made from dandelions because that's healthier?" I asked suspiciously.

"Yes," he answered, and went to the table. Just like in a very fancy restaurant, he lifted a big silver dome off a plate and revealed the food beneath. It sure looked real. "It's turkey bacon made in the oven and the eggs are organic, as is the fruit. Bon appétit ."

"Holy Mary, this is amazing," I said after I seated myself and dug in. "I can't believe you made it."

"I only followed recipes," he said modestly, but he seemed pleased by my praise. "I used my new appliances."

I looked up from my plate to see a new refrigerator, stove, and dishwasher, and two new ovens in the wall as well. "Those are very nice," I approved. "So you're saying that the food is good because of the appliances, and not the chef?"

"It was the chef," he assured me. "I met with a kitchen designer, too. I plan to redo the whole room."

"Wow. That will be so nice," I said. "Next time you meet with the designer, tell me and I'll make Brenna come."

"Why would I want to have your sister there?"

"She's the arbiter of style. Although, I didn't do too poorly yesterday when I went shopping with Sophie. She was the one buying." As we ate the tasty meal, I told him how she hadn't acted angry with me about the baby and how I had shirked so badly.

"Why?" Beckett asked. "Why would she be upset with you, when it was your brother's poor decision-making that led to the problem?"

"Well, it's not correct to say ‘problem,' because it's Esme. She's a baby and we all love her," I said. "And as for the decision-making, I did have a hand in it. After my mom had convinced him to bring his daughter back to Detroit, I supported it. I said that I would help, too, and I haven't, hardly at all." I looked down at my plate, ashamed of myself.

"Your brother's baby isn't your responsibility."

"She isn't Sophie's, either, but there's my sister taking care of her every day. It's better for Esme," I said.

"Why is that?"

"Because, despite her dirty house and her formerly dirty clothes, Sophie is really great. She's smart like you and Camille, and she did well in school and started a successful business. She owns her own home and I think she's going to have a serious boyfriend soon, too. There's this guy named Danny, I mean, there's this guy named Daniel who has always been in love with her, and we're all working to get them together. It will be good for Esme to grow up with my sister as a stand-in mom." She'd be there for her, just like how I'd had Nicola—but I'd also had my own mom to take care of me, no matter what Sophie had said about the situation.

"I fail to see why you would be a poor role model for your niece."

He didn't know the truth, and I would never tell. "Should we do the dishes?" I suggested.

"Isn't that why I purchased a new dishwasher?"

"Oh, I kind of forgot about using it," I confessed. "I've lived without one for a while. Brenna doesn't have room for any appliances besides a toaster oven and the dishwasher at my old apartment never worked, not the whole time I lived there."

He was clearly disapproving of that, but we did team up to put the kitchen back to normal. He'd used every pot, pan, spoon, and plate, and I had to show him how to load the racks in his new dishwasher, since he'd never put in so much before. When that was done, I suggested that we go to his study to work.

Beckett shook his head. "Did you bring what I asked?"

"I did bring a bathing suit, but you never told me why I'd need it," I said.

"While I was buying the refrigerator, I also bought a boat."

I stared. "What? Like, there's a refrigerator and boat store?"

"It was a separate purchase."

"You want to go out in a boat?" I asked, still perplexed. Wasn't he too anxious to be on the water?

"Let's change," he said. "I think you know how to find your way to the guest wing." But he walked me there, just in case. There was no need to tie string to a doorknob.

After years of practice with this type of clothing swap, I had on my bikini and was outside before Beckett. I had chosen a suit with maximum coverage and was still feeling strange about it, although it definitely showed less than the outfit Gigi had worn to the gym on his first day at Whitaker Enterprises.

Gigi was dead…

"You're already done? We have another thirty-six minutes before it's safe to swim, due to our massive breakfast," he warned as he joined me, although I hadn't considered the meal to be all that massive. I was pleasantly full.

"It's not true that you have to wait," I said. "You can swim right after you eat. But you don't have to go at all, not if you don't want to," I added. It was a perfect day for it, sunny and warm, but I bet that the water was still cold. And with his history? "I'm not sure if you know that I was a lifeguard," I mentioned casually. "I did that for years."

"I did know. I looked you up," he said.

"So if anything happened, I would definitely save you. One hundred percent," I said.

He stopped just as we got to the edge of the dock. "Juliet, if anything terrible occurs, I want you to save yourself. Do not even think about helping me."

"Ok, yeah."

Beckett reached and grabbed my arm, not squeezing too hard but holding firmly. "I'm serious. Will you do that?"

Absolutely not, because I would be saving him for sure. "Nothing's going to happen," I said. "Except, do you know how to drive a boat?" It was a beautiful one, too, and it would have been a shame to wreck it.

Well, of course he knew how. He got it going after making sure that we were properly outfitted in life jackets, and we moved smoothly out into the lake. We weren't the only ones boating today and with the sun and the breeze, it was perfect out here. I closed my eyes and let the movement wash away all the anxiety I felt. That had been the role of the pool for most of my life because no matter how upset I'd been about bad grades, fighting friends, or an upcoming meet, just moving through the water had made me feel better.

"Want to stop and swim?" I called back to Beckett.

He had on his aviators and had been looking across the gentle waves, but he slowed the boat down and gradually, we were only drifting. "We could go in," he said, but it sounded like it was the last thing that he wanted to do.

"We'll climb, no diving," I said. "We can keep our life jackets on, too."

"We will absolutely keep those on."

I went first, not really swimming but just bobbing up and down. Since it was so early in the summer, the lake hadn't had a chance to warm up too much yet, but it felt ok. I watched as he carefully and slowly slid in to join me.

"Sweet Jesus! It's freezing!" he gasped, and paddled over. "Fuck! Are you all right? Are you getting hypothermic?"

"I'm fine," I assured him, but he got closer and grabbed one of the straps on my life jacket.

"Don't take this off. Cold water can put your body into shock. It can cause heart failure, or stroke. Drowning…you could…danger…"

I'd never seen him at a loss for words before. "I'm ok," I said. "I know that even really good swimmers can get into trouble in the water, so I'm careful. Always. I never dive where I'm not aware of the depth, I never jump in without checking around. I wouldn't put myself in danger." I patted his hand, but he didn't let go. He seemed to be on the verge of really freaking out. "It's pretty cold, though. Maybe we should get back into the boat."

"Yes," he immediately agreed, and I climbed up first at his insistence. He'd brought along some very nice beach towels and handed me several, saying that I should wrap up well.

"Thanks for taking me on your boat," I said as he started it back up. "Did you ask me to come because you knew I'd be a safe guest?"

"No, I asked because, uh, I thought we could do other things besides work." Again, the words weren't flowing out of him in the way that they usually did. Maybe due to the cold water?

Also, he couldn't have been referring to the idea that had leaped into my mind. Right? He couldn't have meant that he and I would be—

"There's nothing in the employee handbook that prevents us from being friends," Beckett stated. "I read it, too."

"That's correct," I answered. What had I been thinking? I'd imagined that he was discussing something other than friendship and I was embarrassed for myself. "You're right, the handbook doesn't frown on that."

"It's a nice day," he said, and seemed to relax a little. "I'm not frowning at anything."

"Me neither," I agreed, and leaned back to soak in the summer. In my mind, I heard my sister Nicola reminding me that I didn't have on any sunscreen, but I ignored her. I ignored everything except enjoying the moment with Beckett. My new friend, Beckett.