Page 5 of 4th Silence
It’s not that I don’t love Jerome. I do. He may not be JJ with his flashing smile, slick suits, and big-time job, but Jerome is … well … everything. Understanding when I need it. Loving when I need it.
Tough when I need it.
Jerome accepts and shares me with the dead when most men wouldn’t.
And now he wants to marry me?
I glance at my mother, obsessed, brilliant, and the one who passed her passion to me, and reality smacks at me. I think about all my late nights. My getting lost in my work reconstructing the dead so we can find them justice.
Like Mom, I’m obsessed. Our methods might be different—Mom and her reporting versus me and my sculpting—but I have turned into her.
Dear God, please help me.
Jerome must be out of his mind. Why would anyone subject themselves to this chaos?
I shake it off. Chalk it up to sheer exhaustion. I need sleep. A lot of it. If I could squeeze even one ounce of reason from my strung-out mind, I’d march right out the door and go home.
Mom points at the boxes. “I have everything in here.”
I keep my focus on her. I have to. If I look down, I’ll get sucked in.
Sleep.
I need sleep.
The damned bleeping from reception continues. Dang, that phone is going wild.
Mom is in motion, hefting another box from her cart. “Meg, don’t just stand there. Grab one. Let’s get these on the table, and I’ll show you what I have.”
“No,” Charlie says, her voice firm. “We have work to do. For our paying clients. This will have to wait.”
Mom whirls. “A murdered eight-year-old and you’re turning your back?”
Oh, boy. Wrong thing to say. I know my sister. If I don’t intervene, this will turn into a…thing.
Familial unrest.
Which isn’t exactly an odd occurrence. For years, my family has operated in a certain way. A certain way that involves Mom and me, the obsessed ones, bonding over cold cases, while Charlie and Dad, the remarkably level-headed and dare I say rational ones, try to talk us down.
The only way to keep this situation under control is to A) allow my mother to show me what is obviously extensive research, and B) get my sister out of here.
I face Charlie, whose expression is solid granite.
Oh. Boy.
“I’ve got this,” I say. “I was about to take a break anyway. I’ll organize it all and walk you through it later.”
“Excellent plan!” Mom beams.
Charlie does her best to ignore our mother. “Meg, you should rest. You’ve been here all night.”
I’m not about to admit that. No sense giving her ammunition.
And then I do the one thing I know I shouldn’t.
I look at the two remaining boxes on the cart. This will be the distraction I need. The perfect excuse to avoid Jerome and his hypothetical suggestion of marriage.
A case, I’ll tell him. Provided by our mother. The nut. It’s almost too perfect. A new task for me to dive into, and hello, he knows when my mother is on a mission there’s no denying her.
