Page 51 of Bewicched

She sat on the couch, reached for the cup, and took a sip. Whereas I kicked off my sneakers and curled up in my chair, the steaming mug warming my hands.

Brooding, Hernández put down her full cup and sat silently for a moment. “It was exactly like you said, down to the anatomy drawings ripped from books and tacked to the wall.” She shook her head. “Even after you told us what to expect, I still froze. A lot of the guys bolted back out to vomit. At least I gutted it out, but it was the worst thing I’d ever seen in my life.”

“And hopefully it’ll stay that way.”

She looked confused, so I added, “I hope you never experience anything worse.”

Understanding, she nodded. “How do you do it? How do you see these awful things all the time and get out of bed, create art, bake?” She shook her head, looking lost. “I’ve got to tell you, a couple of days ago when you were giving me a hard time, not wanting to help, I thought you were an over-the-top fake and this was all a waste of time. Now I seriously don’t understand why you agreed to it.”

I took a sip. “In my defense, I tried to refuse but you were super pushy.” When she only waited, I tried to give her a better response. “Here’s the thing: There are a lot of horrible things in the world, a lot of horrendous people who do heinous things.”

“The three Hs,” she murmured.

Nodding, I said, “Exactly. But there are also really amazing people who go out of their way to be kind and generous. And there are all those regular people that mostly try not to cause trouble or be assholes, although sometimes they fail at either or both. Most of the world is filled with normal people just trying to live their lives and take care of the ones they love. The vast majority of them. Seriously. You just happen to have a job that requires you investigate and arrest the murderous minority.”

She blew out a breath on an almost-laugh before leaning back on the couch. “Maybe I should open a flower shop.”

“You could,” I agreed, “but you’d probably get bored. You’re a puzzle solver. You’re always going to be looking for the underlying reason people do what they do, even if it’s a little old man who comes into your shop every two weeks to buy a new plant that he takes home and lets die.”

“So, you’re saying I’m doomed to depression and nightmares?”

“Absolutely not. First, get a therapist. Everyone can benefit from therapy, but with your job, it seems like a necessity. Next, take up gardening. If you like plants and flowers, be a part of helping them grow and flourish. Then get a table and chairs to put in your garden so you can sit out there and relax in beauty. Take your girlfriend to a fancy dinner for no discernable reason. Here”—I got up and went to the kitchen, retrieving a lemon blueberry muffin—“eat sweets just because you need a little more sweet in your life.”

Smiling, she placated me by taking a bite and then stopped,mmming and closing her eyes. She swallowed and then asked, “Is that what you do?”

“Sort of. I bake when the nightmares wake me.” I gestured to my art around the studio. “I make the beauty I need to see in the world. I greet my starfish and octopus friends every day. I play catch with a harbor seal.” I shrugged. “Everyone’s different. I do things that restore my faith in the world and the people who share it with me.”

She leaned forward. “And this is why I came to see you, isn’t it?” She shook her head. “I shouldn’t have intruded like this. I guess I thought if anyone would understand what’s going on in my head, it’d be you.”

“You’re always welcome, and I get it.”

“So, does any of that stuff you do to get past the dark actually work?”

“Sometimes. Sometimes not so much. When my usual diversions don’t divert me, I take a swim in the ocean. That usually works.”

“What about fancy dinners for no reason with someone special?”

I put my cup back on the table. “Nope. That trick’s all yours.”

She took another bite, watching me. “Come on. I remember the rumors from high school. You’re not crazy, like I’d heard. You’re gorgeous, with the most incredible hair I’ve ever seen in my life, and you can bake like this,” she said, holding up the muffin. “How are they not lining up?”

I stood to take the tea tray back to the kitchen.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to step over any lines. I don’t know why I asked that.”

I could see her kicking herself, so I leaned against the kitchen counter and said, “I think you asked because you’re starting to think of me as a friend, rather than a police consultant—and I thank you for that. You seem to be forgetting something, though.” I held up a gloved hand. “Remember? Couples should be able to hold hands and kiss, hug, maybe even sleep together. I can’t do that.”

“But—” She stood, looking for the loophole.

“I tried when I was young and stupid. I wanted to be like everyone else. It was all the horrible and awkward you expect from fumbling first attempts, with the added insult of hearing every gross, graphic, cruel thing he was thinking. For instance, did you know my ass is huge and my thighs too thick? Trust me, it’s a real mood killer.”

“Give me his name,” she said, pulling out her little notebook. “I can make him sorry he ever drew breath.”

Laughing, I patted my heart. “That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever offered to do for me.” I walked back to my chair. “I’ve been thinking about getting a pet to keep me company. Maybe a little kitten. I’m putting down roots here. Me and my gallery are staying put, so possibly. I’ll need to think on it some more.”

“I fully support the pet plan. We have the sweetest mutt. She goes running with me every morning and then snuggles with us on the couch in the evenings. But a pet’s not a good replacement for a person.”

I stretched out my legs and rested my feet on the coffee table. “You’ve already forgotten our horrible people doing heinous things conversation. A kitty is by far preferable to a psycho creep.”

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