Page 17 of 25 Alive

“Dr. Greene. I’m not ready to quit Homicide. I have a killerto find right now. I would be more miserable if I were sidelined. How about we resume regular sessions but put off the discussion about medications off for a while, until I can …”

“Until you can what, Lindsay?”

“Until I can make a decision about whether they’ll help or hinder me to be the person I am.”

He looked at me with compassion. “Sure. Of course we can give it some more time. But you know talk therapy is not an absolute cure for grief, night terrors, the shakes.”

I thought about the sleepless nights, the rocky rubble of fear I might have to climb over on my way to the next murder scene.

I nodded.

“But I need a promise from you,” he said. “If your depression gets worse …”

“I’ll tell you and I’ll ask for a leave of absence.”

“And you should tell Joe.”

“That I have PTSD?”

“Yes.”

I said I’d think about it, stood up, and, to my surprise, Dr. Greene stood up, too. He stepped forward and put his hand on my shoulder. I heard him say, “Breathe, Lindsay.”

I did it without breaking into tears.

Dr. Greene patted my back. He told me again that he was sorry about Jacobi, and to please call if I needed him.

I said I would. I found my car and pointed it toward home.

CHAPTER27

IT WAS 6 p.m. by the time I picked up three orders of yat gaw mein on my way home to Lake Street. I rang the doorbell of our “ever-lovin’” nanny, friend, and across-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Gloria Rose. She buzzed me in and, as always, welcomed me with a hug. She took the bag of dinner and whispered, “Julie’s been crying about Martha, Lindsay. Quite a bit.”

My little girl ran across Mrs. Rose’s living room and grabbed me around the waist. I picked her up and took her to Gloria’s blue sofa with a sweeping view of the street and held her while she cried into my shoulder.

Her cries went in and out of words. I felt my own tears welling up, but I forced them down as I tried to comfort her.

“Jules, Martha is warm and safe.”

“You don’t know.”

“Yes, I do. Because I’ve been to the doctor’s office before and saw the room for sleep-over pets.”

“You didn’t see her.”

Julie was looking up at me with her blue eyes, her dark curls a tangled mess, tears trickling down her cheeks. Martha was a huge part of my life, but in many ways she was now closest to Julie. She played with Julie, slept next to her, and had been her friend since before Julie was old enough to understand what a dog, or a friend, was.

I said, “Julie, Dr. Clayton is a very good veterinarian. I know she will care for Martha like she’s her very own. The office is probably closed now, but Dad may have spoken to her earlier. If not, I’ll call the nurse later.”

I hadn’t heard from Joe all day and had been too busy—and too shocked about Warren Jacobi’s murder—to reach out to him myself. I knew he was working late tonight. We’d have to catch up on news later.

Julie broke down crying, and I hugged and rocked her, and Mrs. Rose brought over my phone from where I’d left it on the counter. I called Dr. Clayton’s number and listened intently as it rang. I hung up and tried again.

“They’re not near the phone, Julie. I bet it’s feeding time. I’ll call back in a little while, okay?”

I grabbed a tissue and wiped Julie’s face until we were in shape to go to the table, where Gloria had laid out dinner. We slurped down the noodle soup and read our fortunes, all of which were off point.

Mine: “You will see something amazing today.” Thank you, person in the fortune cookie factory.

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