Page 70 of Sanctuary

Janie’s list was extensive. She should’ve probably typed it so she could reprint it for the next suckers they got to babysit their tiny terrors. Gabe glanced over her shoulder at the playpen where the girls looked innocent enough, gurgling and talking away—maybe not so much talking as making sounds that only they could understand. Would she have wanted a sibling? To speak a language that was just theirs, to hate and support each other in equal measure. Would they have stuck by her when her parents threw her out on the street?

“I don’t think we should talk about the rust bucket,” Lori said and drew Gabe’s attention back to her. “That’s work. I don’t want our friendship to revolve around work.” She tilted her head to catch Gabe’s gaze when she looked back down at the piece of paper. “I’m really enjoying getting to know you, Gabe, and I want to learn your thoughts about everything. Is that okay?”

Gabe sighed deeply. “Why?”

“Because that’s how strong relationships are built. I want to understand you and how you navigate the world.” Lori shrugged. “I think that’s fascinating.”

Gabe smiled at the same word that Shay had used as a jab earlier than evening, but Lori’s intention was far kinder. “Okay, but can you not gaze at me like you’re about to drag me into a world-record comfort hug?”

Lori laughed and wielded her chef’s knife. “Fine. I won’t look at you,” she said and began slicing the chicken breast.

“I suppose it goes back to my family,” Gabe said.

“My therapist tells me that’s where most things are rooted, good or bad.”

“That makes sense.” Gabe folded the edge of Janie’s list and ran her finger along the crease. “You’re so put-together because you had a wonderful, loving family.”

Lori tossed the meat into the nearby frying pan. “Mostly, yes. I think it gave me a solid platform to launch myself into adult life. But it isn’t perfect armor; it didn’t stop me from getting hurt by the lawyer.”

“Can I ask why you never use your ex’s name?”

Lori narrowed her eyes then nodded slowly. “That’s a fair question. I can’t expect you to lay yourself open if I won’t, can I?”

“Exactly.” And Gabe would use anything to delay this inspection of her soul.

“Names have power. People choose whether to use your first or last name, or they purposefully get your name wrong to play a psychological game, or they use a nickname that’s been made just for them, like you do with your Army buddies.” Lori rinsed her knife then began to dice fresh ginger. “Using a name is personal, and I no longer want to think of her in that way, close and personal. Referring to her by profession, as the lawyer, distances me from the painful, emotional baggage that’s attached to that relationship.” She looked up, her eyes tearful. “Does that make sense?”

“It makes perfect sense.” Gabe was glad of the five feet of marble countertop between them, because her reaction to Lori’s vulnerability was as predictable as the sunrise, and she wasn’t certain she had the friend hug down yet. And she’d definitely struggle not to react to the feel of Lori’s body pressing against hers.

“Good.” She wafted the knife point in Gabe’s direction. “Back to family,” she said.

Gabe was beginning to see that there were disadvantages to this memory thing; Lori was always able to bring a distracted conversation back from the tangent they’d disappeared along, never allowing Gabe off the hook. “I’ve told you about my family. Even before they completely disowned me, things weren’t good. I wasn’t nurtured, or loved, or even held when I hurt myself.” She looked back down at the piece of paper and continued to fold and crease another edge. “Family doesn’t have any positive meaning for me.”

“What about your chosen family?” Lori asked. “You’ve got four sisters, and now,” she motioned to the playpen, “you’ve got Janie and three little ones. She told me they’re calling you Auntie Gabe.”

“That’s different. We’re adults, and I never agreed to be anyone’s auntie.”

“You really don’t like children?”

“I don’t like the responsibility,” Gabe said, catching Lori’s edge of disappointment. “What do I know about babies, and growing up, and teaching a kid life skills? I know about survival, and pain, and abandonment. They’re not things I want to share with anyone.” She rolled her eyes. “Except you, apparently. Because you don’t want to talk about the dire state of our country’s liberties or the latest episode of True Detective.”

“I’ll happily talk about any of those things between deep getting-to-know-you conversations like these.”

Lori’s bright smile comforted Gabe and dragged her out of her self-pitying hole. “So what do you think of Jodie Foster’s Chief Danvers?”

Lori waved her knife from side to side. “I said between the deep conversations, and we’re not done with this one yet.”

“Are you sure? I think we could be done. We could just move on to the next topic, and we’d be done. Easy.”

“We’re nearly done, I promise,” Lori said. “And then we talk about whatever you want. Okay?”

Gabe grumbled and rolled her shoulders. “Fine. What else?”

“How do you feel when you see Solo with her kids?”

“Oh, come on.” Gabe pushed the paper away. “I thought we were having a conversation, not a therapy session.”

“Humor me. Please,” she said quietly.

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