The Girl in the Mist (Misted Pines 1)

“Got three, two girls and a boy. Got no clue when I stopped bein’ the mom and they thought of me as their kid. But it happened. According to them, I can barely brush my own teeth in the morning.” She took a sip. “It’d crawl right up my ass if it wasn’t about love.”

Damn it.

I hated it when people had good responses to stuff that was annoying me.

“Want some good news?” she asked.

“Yes,” I stated the obvious.

“Full Metal Meg marched her uptight ass right to the governor’s office yesterday. Heard tell the man wasn’t ignorant of our situation. Not sure how they do all that with their red tape muckin’ things up. But I suspect Harry’s going to be acting sheriff pretty soon, and we’re gonna have a full ballot come election time. Because rumor is, Megan has very recently decided to aim for Gary’s seat.”

I turned to her. “That is good news.”

She turned to me. “You do know that whackjobs don’t have, ‘I murder girls’, tattooed on their foreheads, Manson notwithstanding.”

“I can read people.”

“So can I. So can Bohannan. If he thought this nutcase would stroll down the avenue, he’d be sitting where we are.”

I turned to our quiet compatriot then back to her. “Santa settles the soul.”

She looked to the street, brought up her paper cup, and muttered to it, “Ain’t that the truth.”

And she took a sip.

It was on the ride home from hanging with Kimmy that my car rang.

I accidentally hit the wrong button on my steering wheel, and instead of declining the call, I got Angelo’s voice filling the cab.

“What the fuck, Delphine?” he blistered.

It was Monday. I’d sat too long with Kimmy, assessing the citizenry of MP in hopes I’d zero in on a killer, therefore Celeste would be home before me.

There’d been a drama in the kitchen yesterday that resulted in her weekend grounding extending for a week.

I needed to be home for moral support for Celeste and to make sure Celeste came home.

Megan had canceled book club that night, which was a bummer. I could have used talking about a happily ever after, if just for the distraction of it.

Though I understood this play. A curfew hadn’t been called, but come sundown, Misted Pines moved behind locked doors and kept vigilant.

My need for sisterhood and love-of-romance-books solidarity grew as Angelo’s famously gravelly voice came at me again.

“Hello? I asked, what the fuck?”

“Camille called you.”

“So you go from one psycho to another?”

“I’m not sure it’s politically correct to call them psychos.”

“Do I give a shit? They’re psychos. I’ll be culturally sensitive to people who don’t rape and kill other people.”

He had a point.

“And you’re seeing someone?” he demanded.

Ah.

“Angie—” I started.

“You think maybe you’d give me a heads up about that so Cam doesn’t blindside me with it?”

Blindside him?

“Angie, we’ve been divorced for fifteen years.”

“You dated that record exec, who was an asshole. I knew you were doing that just to get laid and maybe piss me off.”

For goodness sakes.

“Then you shacked up for a while with that sculptor, but that was more about the fact he lived on that farm in the middle of nowhere and you needed a break than about wanting to be with that guy. In other words, you weren’t serious about either of them. But you were married to me for eleven years and then you didn’t replace me.”

It had been so long since I dealt with a man in any day-to-day meaningful way (and I didn’t mean a man like Bohannan, because I think we all can agree he’s a unicorn), I forgot how much hubris they could have.

So much it was stunning.

Thus, I was stunned.

“Are you saying you think I’ve been pining for you for fifteen years?”

“Del,” he chuffed, like, duh.

“I haven’t been pining for you for fifteen years.”

“Babe, you and me, we need some time. We’ll go to my place. Down on the island.”

We needed some time?

A decade and a half later?

“That place you had orgies?” I asked.

“That right there,” he crowed. “You wouldn’t care if you didn’t care.”

“I’m simply pointing out how insensitive you’re being, which is only one of the reasons why we ended, and that was the end.”

“It’s a spiritual place now, babe. I’ve had it cleansed. I meditate there. I swim. I read. You’d love it.”

I didn’t have time for this.

Strike that.

I just didn’t want to do this.

“Okay, Angie, the truth of the matter is, I loved you once. I did it in a way that parts of that love will never die. And those parts aren’t solely wrapped up in the fact we created Camille and you were an incredibly wonderful stepdad to Fenn. But the other parts, the important parts, the parts around trust and safety and security and unconditional love, the parts I needed because I grew up starved of them, are gone. Never to return. We had this conversation before you even put a ring on my finger, and still, you did what you did. Now, I cannot say that it doesn’t make me feel good to know that you still care about me in that way. But you have to get, I don’t return those feelings.”