Page 81 of A Love Song for Ricki Wilde

“You said you believed me!”

“Did it hurt? Should I call 911?” Frantically, she patted her hands over the front of his coat and shouted into the uncrowded platform, “ANY DOCTORS IN THE HOUSE?”

Over on the nearest bench, an elderly, bespectacled gentleman glanced up from hisNew York Post. “My oldest niece is an orthopedic surgeon. But she lives in Des Moines.”

“All good, sir, thank you.” Leading Ricki farther down theplatform, Ezra whispered, “I’m fine! I don’t feel pain like mortals. At most, it’s like a light scratch. And I heal right away.”

“Are you sure?”

“You could chop off my hand, and to me, it’d feel like a paper cut. Breathe, just breathe.”

They stopped walking, and he ran his hands over the tops of her arms, trying to warm her up and calm her down. She allowed herself to be soothed.

“I didn’t want to scare you,” he assured her. “I was just tired of being questioned.”

“I know you’re tired.” She breathed out, and soon her shakes subsided. Her breath steadied. And then she peered up at him with brazen confidence.

“I have one more idea. Ever heard of Eva Mercy?”

CHAPTER 19

THE FORREST GUMP OF MUSIC

February 20, 2024

Della was extremely concerned about Ricki. Della thought her granddaughter had lost her mind, and had taken to discussing it with everyone she knew. On a covert phone call with Tuesday, she whispered, “That girl’s acting stranger than a soup sandwich.” Over breakfast with Naaz, she said, “That girl’s acting like she ain’t got but one oar in the water.” On another phone call, to her Links walking club, she announced, “That girl’s acting three pickles shy of a quart, if you get my meaning.”

Everyone got her meaning.

If the elder woman was freaking out a bit, it was understandable. Ricki had passed clean the hell out on her living room floor. And why? Because she’d shown her an antique pearl bracelet? It was odd. Plus, Della wasn’t convinced that Ricki was eating (or sleeping) properly, her eyes were starting to look faraway, and she often trailed off midsentence.

Whatever was going on with Ricki, at least she was as punctual as ever for their standing tea party. She arrived upstairs at Della’striplex at exactly noon, and Naaz welcomed her with a bouquet of sunflowers.

Ricki had been invited to an intervention.

First of all, they were meeting in the dining room, instead of the living room. And instead of Lorna Doones and crustless sandwiches, Della had arranged for Sylvia’s Restaurant to deliver a gourmet meal: Sassy Wings, Catfish Fingers, and Salmon Bites, Ricki’s favorite dishes. Plus, Tuesday was there, legs crossed and arms folded, looking imperious.

Della greeted Ricki with a wide smile on her face. Today, she was feeling weaker than usual, so she blew Ricki several kisses from her dining chair instead of hopping up to give her a hug.

“What… is all of this?” Ricki lowered herself into a chair, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Have a Catfish Finger,” suggested Tuesday, behaving as if her presence at tea was super normal.

“Don’t look so distrustful,” said Della. “Dear, you’ve been acting so strangely. You came to tea and passed clean out, mid-conversation. Naaz had to wallop you back to life! You closed the shop for two days, which you never do. You won’t answer your phone. And Tuesday told me that you’re dating a serial killer.”

Stunned, Ricki shot a betrayed look at her friend.

“Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” asked Tuesday, who was wearing a stiff navy pantsuit with a modest chignon.

“Tuesday, what are you doing here? And why are you dressed like a district attorney?”

“Serious business calls for a serious outfit.”

Naaz poked her head into the living room. “I like the suit; it’s giving Marriott concierge.”

“Naaz,please,” huffed Della, who was in no mood for her relentless enthusiasm.

The nurse threw up a peace sign and exited.

---