Page 12 of A Step You Shouldn't Take

Perhaps my usual approach of sticking my head in the sand was the right one. Over the years, I’d become deaf to the cries of the dead, aided in no small part by the expensive noise-cancelling headphones I wore whenever I went out for a walk alone. Georgette’s was just one more voice among thousands.

But right now, it was louder than all the others put together.

Banks inched towards the door. “Unless there’s anything else…”

“No, no. You go. I’ve got your card.”

And his espresso too, seeing as Kayla returned half a minute after he left. I sipped it while pondering my latest dilemma. What, if anything, should I do next?

CHAPTER 5 - KIMBERLY

“DO YOU WANT to go out for dinner tonight?” Annie asked on Friday.

“Not really.”

“Too soon?”

“Too soon.”

I didn’t want to cook either. Or go home. Even with new locks and an alarm system, I still felt nervous in my own house. Last night, I’d lain awake until five a.m. watching infomercials for make-up and exercise programs and blenders. I may have bought a waffle maker I’d probably never use. At the end of it all, I’d managed two hours of sleep, and I was strongly considering taking my laptop and working at Starbucks.

But first, I had my meeting with Maria to get through.

She arrived at ten past eleven, late as usual, but she’d brought a bag from the Red Door Deli down the street, so I’d have forgiven her for anything.

“Is that a strawberry cheesecake muffin?”

She held up the loot. “Twostrawberry cheesecake muffins.”

“I know I said I’d never fall in love again, but…”

Maria laughed as we walked through to the meeting area. Our offices had once been part of a hotel, and although we were only on the first floor, we had a good view over a nearby park. I’d lived on the outskirts of Bethesda my whole life, and until now, I’d never considered leaving. Tim had really messed with my head, more than I wanted to admit, and coming from a woman who had a hotline to the dead, that meant a lot.

“So, wedding favours…” I started as I settled into one of the leather armchairs. “You still want the little statues to match the cake topper?”

The little gold statues of the happy couple, Oscar-style. At least the cake was tasteful—plain white with a swath of red up one side in homage to Don’s Hollywood roots. He’d lived out there for a few years, but apparently the climate and an abundance of soy lattes and traffic jams disagreed with him.

“Yes, the statues, plus a lifetime subscription to the movie-streaming service Donnie’s invested in, make-up from Sephora for the ladies, and cashmere socks for the men. Do you like cashmere socks? Donnie’s brother owns the company that makes them. I’ll get you some.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“And the flowers. Do you have the options for those?”

“Absolutely. If you want to stick with the red-and-gold theme, we can build the arrangements around roses—the florist says he can dip white roses in gold glitter to add a touch of sparkle.” I clicked my mouse, and the first picture popped up onto the screen opposite us. “Now, roses are the obvious choice for red, but tulips or gerbera are other options. Or you could stick with white—phalaenopsis orchids, perhaps—and add colour with ribbons. Then there’s this example, using a jewelled metal cage…”

We settled on white roses in a gold cage with red ribbons, then moved on to the food. Meat, fish, vegetarian, vegan, fruitarian, gluten-free—Maria wanted it all.

“And don’t forget Meredith Thompson’s coming again, and she hates anything green.” How could I forget? She’d freaked out over parsley at wedding number two. “And Stephanie Monroe won’t eat slimy food.”

“Slimy?”

“No sauce, jus, foams, emulsions, gravy, coulis, or ice cream in case it melts.”

Perhaps we could send out for a burger. “Got it. I’ll relay that to the catering company. Shall I arrange a tasting for next week?”

“Please.”

“And we’re fitting around yoga and your manicure again?”

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