Page 72 of The Game Is Afoot

“A potential murderer threatened you.” He says it likeThe first letter in the alphabet is A, like he’s talking to one of his kindergarteners. It makes me bristle.

“Yeah, and I’m only on her radar because of what I’ve been figuring out—against the detectives’ orders. He’s going to blow me off—or even worse, do something more official to make sure I stay away. I can’t risk that until I have something he can’t disregard. I—Iknowwhat I’m doing here.”

I can hear the edge creeping into my voice, the sharp cornersthat are always sanded down for Jack. But I can’t help but get defensive. He’s making me feel like I’m unreasonable and rash. And again, I miss the Jack who was right there with me, willing to jump into something irrational and risky. Because so many good thingscanbe irrational and risky—like, you know, a new relationship in your thirties after a divorce. But maybe throwing caution to the wind and jumping is only a good thing the first time. And if youkeepdoing it, well…

“Hey. What’s up?” Jack asks. He reaches his hand for my knee and strokes it reassuringly with his thumb.

“Sometimes I feel as if you’re trying to…delicately handle me or something. Like I’m one of your students who you’re trying to get to stop, I don’t know—eating crayons. But you can’t justtellthem to stop eating crayons because then they’ll be like,I love crayons! Crayons are delicious!So you have to lead them there and make them realize on their own that crayons are not food.” I bite my lip and look into his crinkling eyes. “Does that make sense?”

“I think,” he says. “So…solving mysteries is your…eating crayons?”

“Yeah.” Though, when he says it like that, I realize this really isn’t helping my whole “I’m not crazy” argument.

“I’m sorry it’s coming across that way, and I’m trying to be supportive, even if I don’t always agree with what you’re doing.” He sighs and shakes his head. “Or, it’s not even that I don’t agree—it’s that I’m worried about you. I don’t want anything to happen to you. And you have to admit it’s…a lot. This all happening a second time.” It’s like he’s reading my mind, but in the worst way.

“We had so much fun doing this together last time, though.” I remember his scared face when he arrived at Corinne’s house with my dad, Jasmine, and the police, and I correct myself.“Well, for most of it. Why can’t we just have fun together with it now?”

Why can’t we just eat crayons? Burnt sienna is delicious!

“We can. I’m not saying we can’t. But that was where we started, and sometimes I…want to keep going? What I mean is…that’s what brought us together, but it didn’t even matter what it was. I thought you were so cool and interesting and beautiful that I just wanted to get to know you, whatever it took. You want me to help you prove the PTA president killed my boss? Sure, no problem. If it meant I got to spend time with you.” He winces, and I can tell he’s trying to choose each word just right, to make sure it lands with me the way he intends. And that makes me feel a rush of affection for him, how careful he is with my heart—but it also, just as quickly, gives me that too-delicate feeling again. “And it still doesn’t matter, Mavis. I’m here for whatever you ask of me. The fun and the not fun. But sometimes it feels like, all of this…it might be keeping us from moving forward? Because if we’re always talking about this, we’re not talking about what our future could look like together and the dreams we have for ourselves, for Pearl and Derek. Whether our values and wants and nonnegotiables make sense together, long-term.” He sighs and looks at his facedown phone on the coffee table and it reminds me of last week in his office, when I could tell something was bothering him. Another thing I didn’t talk about—that Iforgotabout until now, because I was swept up in my own things.

“And even just everything going on with my family right now. My mom—”

“What’s going on with your family? Is Derek okay? Wait—yourmom?”

“It’s—I wasn’t trying—” He shakes his head. “I don’t want to go into all of that this second.”

I open my mouth to protest, and he quickly adds, “I will later. But…what I’m trying to say is, it just doesn’t feel like there’s space sometimes. For, you know, the real things. The big things.”

“I want to talk about the big things.”

Even as I’m saying that, though, the question whispers in my mind:Do you?I’ve been one-track minded, putting all of my focus on Coach Cole’s murder, to block out all of the things I don’t want to think about: my unemployment and mental health and co-parenting with my ex-husband. Have I blocked out Jack, too?

And hismom? Jack and Derek’s mom lives in Ojai. He rarely brings her up, and she visits even less—not once since we started dating. Is that who was texting him the other day? God,whydidn’t I ask who was texting him? Or at least ask him what was wrong, instead of jumping right back to Bethany.

Jack’s been my comfort, my sounding board, my investigation partner—but I know I want him to bemorethan that. I want him to be my partner, period. Am I letting that happen, though? Is our future just another thing I’m avoiding thinking about by keeping my spotlight firmly trained on this case? Am I giving him whatheneeds? Do I even have the capacity to do that right now?

I try and figure out how to actually say all of that, to be as careful and precise as he is with his words and my feelings. But it takes me too long, because every start feels like it could lead to an ending. And that’s the only thing I know for sure—I don’t want this to end.

He breaks the silence first. “I think you know what I’ve been trying to tell you. And it feels like maybe…” He lets out a long exhale that I can feel on my cheek. My stomach tightens. “It feels like you don’t want me to…and I can be okay with that.For now. I know you’ve been hurt before. And if you want to keep things here, where they are, I understand that. I don’t want to rush anything because of the way I feel about you, I can wait for you to be ready. But—”

“Mommy! Daddy drove into the curb! It sounded like his tire popped!”

I don’t get to hear what comes after Jack’sbutbecause Pearl explodes into the house, followed by Corey, carrying Pearl’s backpack and a Target bag. Polly abandons her post at the coffee table to greet them.

“Good golly, Miss Polly! Now why do you have rice all over your face? And Pearl girl, youjusttold me you wouldn’t tell her that. For the record, I didn’t even ask her not to tell you, because it’s my car and—oh. Hello.”

“Hey Pearl. Hi Corey.” Jack stands up from the couch smiling, and I follow suit.

“Hi Jack! I mean, Mr. Cohen. But actually, you’re in my house, so that means I can call you whatever I want, I believe.”

“You good, Mavis?” Corey is technically talking to me, but his eyes are on Jack, narrowed in suspicion. Pearl picks up on this immediately, and her eyes drift between them, her little forehead creasing. This is exactly what Idon’twant, for her to feel any worry or weirdness, so I shoot daggers at Corey to get it together.

“I’m going to head out,” Jack says, with a measured lightness. And I feel sad, because I know we need to talk more, but also relief and gratitude because I know he accepts, without resentment, that it can’t happen right now. He leans in to quickly kiss my cheek and I squeeze his hand. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Harding. Hope your tire is okay, Corey.”

As soon as he clicks the door shut, I turn to Pearl with the brightest smile I can muster. “Why don’t you go find Papa, andhe can help you get ready for bed? He has his big headphones on, so he won’t hear you coming, which means you can probably scare him.”

I know she probably realizes this is code forDaddy and me need to talk, but the flicker of worry on her face instantly shifts to a mischievous grin with the prospect of scaring Papa.

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