2

Turned out, Chelsea Burch was far less annoying with her binder open in front of her. She told me Emma’s story in more detail, and before she and Stu left, I made copies of Emma Lopez’s home and work addresses, her history and all the photos in the file, not just the ones I’d already seen. Erwin Mayo, Chelsea’s boss, gave a reluctant phone okay for these copies after I refused to sign a contract or be videotaped. I not only needed to talk to Emma before deciding to take the case. I needed their notes to get as much history as possible.

When they were gone, I made a pitcher of sweet iced tea, then took a big glass with me and sat down at my desk, ready to call Emma and set up an interview. But before I could pick up the phone, I heard Kate calling my name from the kitchen. She’d come in through the back door as usual.

“In the office, Kate,” I shouted.

I could hear her coming, and that was what got me out of my chair to see what was going on. Sounded like she was wheeling in one of those flatbed carts from Home Depot.

Not a flatbed. Two suitcases. Big suitcases. But that wasn’t what concerned me. My sister’s swollen eyes and pale face grabbed at my heart. Her gorgeous shoulder-length brown hair was pulled into a tight ponytail, something she does only when she’s cleaning ovens and toilets. Her border collie, Webster, was with her, and even he looked sad.

“What’s wrong, Kate?” But I had all the clues I needed. Your sister does not arrive looking like she’s been up all night listening to sad country tunes, suitcases and dog in tow, unless she needs a place to stay. And that meant trouble with Terry, the guy she’s lived with for the last two years.

She bit her lip… looked at the floor. “Terry and I are done.”

I hurried over and wrapped my arms around her, nearly stepping on Webster’s front paw in the process. He had his body pressed to her leg and wasn’t about to budge-not even after Diva appeared from some hiding place and sniffed him all over. My cat’s buddy was here. At least someone was happy.

Kate released her suitcase handles and clung to me like a two-year-old to her mother after the babysitter arrives.

Things had been rocky between Terry and Kate for the last month-probably even longer. He wanted to get married and have kids. Soon. Like, tomorrow. Kate did not. She simply wasn’t ready. And though Terry can be sweet and empathetic and all kinds of wonderful things, he can also dig in his heels when it comes to playing emotional tug-of-war.

I held her while she cried, and when she seemed done I sat her down in my living room and gave her a big glass of tea, tea too sweet for a health nut like her, but today she didn’t complain. There is something to be said for the comfort of pure cane sugar.

Webster settled at her feet, and Diva cuddled by the dog like she used to do when we all lived together in our daddy’s River Oaks mansion. Kate spilled her guts about the breakup while I sat next to her on the sofa, my hand on her knee. I’m usually the gut-spiller when it comes to stuff like a major boyfriend event. After all, she’s the true listener in the family-a professional one. She’s a shrink.

Kate had been telling me for a while that Terry was becoming more and more insistent about their getting married and starting a family. Apparently he wouldn’t quit, kept up the marriage talk every day.

“Guess what he brought home from the drugstore yesterday afternoon,” Kate said. “A Modern Bride magazine. I asked him if he thought that if I looked at wedding gown photos for an hour I’d change my mind. He didn’t have a good answer, Abby. He got this strange expression, and I knew then that he truly believed I’d be swayed by pictures of dresses and cakes and flowers. Are you kidding me? It’s like he forgot who I am in this freaky role-reversal game he’s been playing.”

“Terry has always been a very focused person. He has a plan for his life,” I said. “And for yours, too, I guess.”

“He’s totally lost sight of us as a couple. We used to have fun. We used to talk about the movie we just saw, go to the museums, talk about our careers, discuss what books we’re reading, but this? This is all he can talk about. What I need is a partnership with compromise and discussion, not a contract to have X number of kids in X number of years and then retire to a house in Arizona big enough to accommodate twenty grand-children.”

I rested my hand on her cheek. Her face was warm with anger. “Charlie Rose’s girls were raised to do their own thinking, thank you very much.”

“He even had the nerve to give me an ultimatum. A time line. We have couples’ therapy for three months, and then if I don’t change my mind, we split. Well, guess what. He doesn’t get to make that decision. So… can I stay with you until I find a place of my own? I won’t get in your way with Jeff, I promise.”

Jeff is my boyfriend, an HPD homicide cop I met when he worked on the murder of our yardman in River Oaks.

“Of course-you’ll stay here as long as you want. And don’t worry about Jeff. He took this mysterious trip to Seattle-where he was born.”

“Mysterious how?”

“He won’t tell me why he went, how long he’ll be gone or anything else except that he’ll be back.”

“He is a man of few words. Does he have any family left there?”

“Not that I know of. Maybe something came up with his parents’ estate. They’re buried north of Seattle. Could be he wants to move their bodies to Houston. I mean, he does have a certain attachment to bodies.”

“That’s not something to joke about,” Kate said.

“Sorry. You know me. If I can’t figure something out, I make jokes. I simply don’t get the secrecy thing, and it kinda ticks me off. Makes me feel like I should worry about our relationship.”

“Because he doesn’t trust you?”

“Right.”

“Could be he’s feeling vulnerable about family issues. Jeff would have a hard time with vulnerability.”

I cocked my head, looked into brown eyes so much like my own-the only twin thing we shared, aside from our identical birth date. “Jeff does seem… nervous or something. I thought he clammed up because I kept bugging him before he left to tell me what was up. Maybe I should let him do what he needs to do and keep my insecurities to myself.”

“Good idea. Now, can you help me take my stuff upstairs?”

“Sure. Then maybe you’ll feel up to hearing about a new case,” I said.

Kate does psychological assessments on all my prospective clients, just like the Texas Adoption Registry does for the state. The kind of adoption reunions I specialize in can be happy, heartrending, stressful or sad, and I don’t take a case if Kate believes the client can’t handle both good news and bad. Sometimes reunions don’t work out the way the client fantasizes they will.

Kate almost smiled after I mentioned the possibility of a new client. “I would love to hear about a case, if only for the distraction. Can you believe that I nearly called up tomorrow’s clients to cancel their appointments?”

“A day off might not be a bad idea,” I said.

“No. That would only give me time to question my decision-and I don’t want to do that. After this last argument, I had to make a clean break with him. Today.”

I hugged her again. “You have great instincts. And you’ll know in time this is the right decision.” Despite her words, I had my doubts. Terry and Kate seemed perfectly matched-both shrinks, both generous and sweet people who had seemed very much in love for most of their three-year relationship. Maybe they could work this out.

But after I lugged one suitcase upstairs and into a guest bedroom, I decided my sister was serious about the split. She must have brought everything she owned, because the suitcase was as heavy as a bear rug with the bear still attached. I rolled the suitcase toward the closet, aware that there was hardly space for Kate in this room. I hadn’t organized anything except to have clean linens on the bed. Both walnut dressers were piled with boxes, Christmas ornaments, stacks of framed pictures, and who knew what else.