Baffled, glancing between mother and son, I asked again, “Get where? What things?”
“Weddings, sweetheart. Tallus tells me you don’t plan to get married. It’s a shame, really. It doesn’t have to be a fanfare, if that’s what you’re worried about. It can be simple. Weddings are…”
I didn’t hear the rest. The single word banged and clanged like the bells announcing the ceremony itself, and it took everything in me to keep my food down.
I barely registered Tallus’s raised voice, stating, “Enough. I hope you’ve enjoyed dinner with Diem, Mother, because I can guarantee he will not be returning in this century. What part of ‘Don’t give Diem the third degree’ and ‘Don’t bring up weddings’ didn’t you understand? I thought I was clear.”
“What third degree? It was a simple observation. I wasn’t saying that heshould—”
“Bern,” Heath interrupted, “how about you tell Tallus about the book Jackie wrote? Maybe he’ll go to her signing with you.”
“Oh.” Bernice smacked Tallus’s arm, spinning to face him. The perilous wedding inquisition was immediately forgotten. “You remember Jackie Huntersville, who I met at that Women Over Forty workout group I joined last year? She wrote a book. Isn’t that fantastic?”
My near miss with the freight train left beads of sweat on my upper lip and prickled sleeves of gooseflesh down both arms. The bite of chicken I’d been chewing when the warning lights blazed was a lump of mush in my mouth. I wasn’t sure I could swallow it without choking, which was probably how I ended up with my wine in hand. Chugging. Again.
The stem of the glass was too fragile for my death grip hold, so after draining it, I set it down.
Heath leaned in, lowering his voice. “Bernie means well, but my wife doesn’t have much of a filter. Don’t take offense.”
My boyfriend didn’t have much of a filter either, so the unchecked commentary shouldn’t have surprised me. The longer I watched mother and son together, the more I realized how alike they were, in looks and personality. Bubbly. Verbose. Expressive. Talkative.
Tallus seemed to have forgotten his mother’s comments, and they spoke animatedly about Bernice’s friend and her book signing.
“Do you fish?” Heath asked as mother and son made plans to meet up later in the week for Jackie Whoever’s event.
“Never been.”
“No kidding? Your dad never taught you to fish? Bah. City kids. They don’t get out enough. I get it, but my god. You need to experience the wilderness, son. Leave the chaos of this world behindand head somewhere peaceful and serene. You’ll thank me. Fishing is exactly the kind of sport you’d love.”
His use of the wordsonagain made me falter. I was no one’s son. And how did Heath know I would love fishing?
“You should tag along sometime. Nothing but a tranquil lake, the chirping birds, and plenty of fresh air and sunshine. Believe you me. It’s like hitting the reset button on life. No one for miles to get in the way. Just you, me, and nature.
The idea sounded ridiculously appealing, except for the part where I had to hang out with a man I barely knew, and it wasn’t like I needed another father. Fuck. Leroy was plenty enough for one lifetime.
“I… don’t have gear for fishing, but thank you. It was a kind offer.”
“Well, I’ve got an extra pole and more than enough in a tacklebox to share. Tallus never took to fishing. God knows, I tried teaching him as a teen, but he had no patience. I’d be happy to show you the ropes. No pressure. I’ll be heading to the lake with a buddy soon, but you and I can do our own thing another time. Plan a weekend trip if you’d like. Father and son. You don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”
It hit weird, and I wanted to blurt that I did mind, except my stomach twisted in a knot, and for whatever reason, my eyes burned. Luckily, before I stumbled over an awkward response, a steady vibration against my leg halted me.
My phone. Not a text, but a phone call.
Ecstatic and confused—I didn’t get many phone calls—I dug the device from my pocket and checked the screen, finding a number I didn’t recognize.
I swiped to decline and regretted it immediately. Heath’s expectant gaze warmed my face, and Bernice shifted in her chair, pinning me with a radiant smile, saying, “So, Diem—”
As panic rose, the phone rangagain. Same number.
I pushed back from the table so abruptly that I almost toppled my chair. Motioning to the device, I blurted, “I’m so sorry. I have to take this.”
I glanced briefly at Tallus, whose brows knit as I swiped to answer and headed to the front door, figuring I’d step outside. It was the perfect excuse to have a cigarette and decompress.
“Yeah,” I grumbled, figuring it was a wrong number or a solicitor. I didn’t care. I would ride the momentum out the door and pretend it was someone important.
“Hello, um, is this Diem Krause, private investigator?” asked a tentative male voice.
“It is.” Only, why this person was calling my personal number made no sense. Shadowy Solutions was a listed business with a website and email address. We had a landline installed at the new office and an answering service for after-hours. Apart from my name, my personal details were not attached to any of our listings.