Page 101 of Seven of Hearts

Dr. Mehta knew my new address and had been by to bring us a housewarming dinner. Maybe she had stopped by my apartment and he told her where to find me.

“I think I parked at your neighbor’s house by accident. She showed me where the path was, and I walked.”

“Oh.” That explained some of it, I guess.

“Are you busy?” she asked, clutching a festive gift bag in her hand.

I wanted to be. Something fierce and fiery had bubbled up inside of me when I turned and saw her. I had the distinct urge to hold my son protectively, even though he was still inside of me. It was the desire to turn and lock her out.

I would not subject myself or my child to her hatefulness or judgment.

“It depends on why you’re here,” I said.

She nodded. “That’s fair.”

That was . . . not the response I expected.

The December air blowing off the bay was sharp and bone-chilling. I hitched my thumb over my shoulder, toward the door. “Do you want to come in?”

She nodded and followed me inside.

“Wow,” she said, looking around as I closed the door behind us. “It looks like you in here.”

I didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not. I glanced at the colorful walls, the eclectic furniture, and my little Christmas tree that was decorated in twinkling lights, dried orange slices, and a cranberry garland. “It’s a work in progress.”

“It looks great.”

A feather could have knocked me over. Who the hell was this impostor in my mother’s body? Were we about to have aFreaky Fridaysituation? I really didn’t have time for that.

“Um, do you want tea or something? Or I think there’s still some coffee in the pot...”

“That’s alright. I don’t want to put you out.”

Something was definitely up, and I was suspicious. She was being far too gracious.

“How’d you know where the house was?” I asked with a little bit of an edge to my voice. I didn’t want her to think that, just because she was playing nice, I had forgotten how horrible she had been to me and to Logan. I certainly hadn’t forgotten that they had tried to pay him to leave me.

She brushed a non-existent strand of hair away from her face. “Logan told me.”

“He what?”

She glanced down and fingered the tissue paper in the bag. “We’ve been in contact.”

That was news to me. Logan never said a word about it. Our mothers were sore spots for both of us, and we preferred to let the dead be dead.

Which didn’t explain why he had sent a zombie to our house without giving me a weapon.

She pulled her phone from the pocket of her winter coat and opened up a text thread. “He’s been sending me updates.”

Ultrasound photos, pictures of the house, and my weekly bump pictures littered the screen.

“I have no idea how he got my phone number,” she said with a wry laugh. “I doubt you gave it to him.”

“He runs a tech company. He’s good at finding people.”

She nodded understandingly. “I’ve been going to therapy.”

Did she just say the T-word?

---