Page 65 of Nothing Less than Magic
“I heard you’re going back to the city today,” she says, and makes room for me on the bench.
“Yep. I’ll be back, though. Next weekend or the weekend after.”
“We’ll miss you at happy hour.” She wraps up the rest of her sandwich and sticks it in her backpack. “I’ve decided to go back to school.”
“Really? That’s great.” I know Knox will be happy to hear the news, if he hasn’t already. “Something for urban planning?”
“Nah, urban planning sounded interesting in the beginning, but I quickly figured out it wasn’t for me. I’ve decided to teach high school. I’m going back to school for a teaching credential. Then I’ll see if I can get a gig around here.”
“Congratulations. Do you know where you’re going yet?”
“I’ve applied to both UC Davis and Sacramento State. We’ll see,” she says.
“Well, I think it’s wonderful, Katie.”
“Knox about shit his pants when I told him. To tell you the truth, it was the last straw for him when my car died on me and he picked up the tab for a new one.”
“He’s just worried about you, Katie. He loves you and wants to know that you’re taken care of.”
“Yeah, the whole big sibling thing. I get it.”
We spend a few more minutes talking about her plans for the future, how she wants to get a new place instead of the crappy studio she’s renting, and how it won’t be the same without me popping into the hotel when she’s on bartending duty.
“Yeah,” I say, “I’ll miss it, too.” But instead of dwelling on how sad it makes me, I hug Katie goodbye and promise to stop in at the bar the next time I’m here.
On the drive home, I let Katie’s words sink in—the whole big sibling thing—and reflect on my relationship with Lolly. It’s no secret that I wasn’t there for her. After the situation with my parents, I wasn’t even there for myself.
My mourning period lasted until I went away to boarding school in Santa Barbara. And even then, what transpired in our house in Porter Ranch never really went away. There are still times when a backfiring car or an explosion of fireworks can instantly transport me back to that day. To the gunshots, the chilling sound of sirens, and the swirl of chaos only found at a crime scene.
In certain ways, leaving Uncle Sylvester and Lolly was my salvation. Being in an unfamiliar place with unfamiliar people allowed me to reinvent my tragic history, or at least hide from it. And I took it, grabbed it with both hands, never stopping to consider that I was Lolly’s sole support system. While Uncle Sylvester loved and provided for us, he was mostly an absentee guardian. Besides, he wasn’t a survivor of a murder-suicide in the same way that we were. What should’ve bonded Lolly and me, tore us apart.
I remember one of my first cases, a couple who lost a child to crib death. It was one of those horrific, tragic, unexplained deaths that’s a parent’s worst nightmare. They came to see me because the death of their baby had understandably destroyed them. It had also destroyed their marriage.
For months, we worked on trying to separate their grief from the way they felt about each other. But no matter how hard they tried, they couldn’t get back to where they started. The death of their baby had indelibly changed them. They were no longer the same people they were when they fell in love. They were no longer compatible.
I’m not saying that’s what happened with Lolly and me. What I’m saying is that I ran away from the past, and anyone who reminded me of it, instead of confronting it head on.
And look where that got me.
Chapter 17
Knox is waiting for me when I get home. He let himself in and made a pot of coffee.
“For the road,” he says, and holds up an insulated driving cup that he must’ve brought from home, because I don’t own one.
“I saw Katie when I left town. She says she’s going back to school to get her teaching credential. That’s got to make you happy.”
He rocks his hand from side to side. “Happier than her dedicating her life to working in a bar. But guess who’ll wind up paying her tuition?” He snorts. “But I didn’t come here to talk about Katie.”
“Oh. What did you come to talk about?”
“I came to tell you that I don’t want you to go.” He holds up his hand. “Before you say anything, think about it.”
“Think about me staying?”
“Or you leaving. It’s a supremely bad idea.”
“Not if I want to continue keeping a roof over my head and, you know, eat. But tell me why it’s a supremely bad idea.”
