Thirty minutes later, after things had calmed down somewhat and Tessa was feeling at least a little better, she asked me to tell her about how I got shot, but to leave out any gross parts.
Obviously, I couldn’t divulge details about the case, but I did tell her as much as I could about the race through the hotel and the shooting in the basement.
And in that strange way that shared tragedy seems to draw people together, my story about the shooting made me feel closer to her, reassured me that we could both be vulnerable in front of each other and it was okay.
When we finally went to the fridge for supper, it was after 8:00.
She found some leftover Thai and headed to the microwave. “Aren’t you guys always supposed to wait for backup?”
“Ideally, yes.” I grabbed a couple cans of root beer. “But it doesn’t always work out like that.”
“So, what is this? The third time? Fourth time you’ve been shot?”
“Only the third, but I’ve been doing this for over fifteen years and-”
“Maybe you wouldn’t get shot so much if you’d follow the rules.”
“That’s never exactly been my strong suit, Raven.”
A stretch of silence.
“You could have gotten killed, Patrick.”
Honestly, I hadn’t thought about the shooting in those terms, and her words brought a sudden seriousness to the conversation. “I suppose that’s possible.”
“Do me a favor.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t let that happen.”
Unsure where to go with this, I replied simply, “I’ll do my best.”
After supper, we talked for a long time about things we’d never really shared before: her years growing up in Minnesota, her first boyfriend, my high school basketball days, the two women I’d loved before meeting her mother.
Eventually, for a late dessert, we broke into my secret stash of vegan brownies I’d bought for her at a bakery a few days ago. I anticipated that they would taste like baked chalk, but they were amazingly good.
“This lawyer you have,” she said, her mouth full of brownie, “is he good?”
“It’s a woman, and I think she is. I’ve never worked with her before, but she comes highly recommended.”
“And she’s the one who wanted the diary?”
“That’s right.”
We both munched for a moment, then she said, “Don’t go after him, okay?”
“Who?”
“Paul.” Another bite. “Just leave it to the lawyer.”
I felt a tug of disappointment for being the kind of person to whom she needed to say something like that.
I’m sure my hesitation telegraphed my thoughts, and I decided to change the subject. “I have to make a few calls,” I told her. “I need to tell the lawyer about Paul contacting you, and I should probably touch base with my boss, let her know there aren’t any broken bones in my arm, that I’ll be fine to teach my classes tomorrow.”
“Maybe you should take a day off?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“Yeah,” she said, and it almost sounded like she was disappointed. She stood. “I gotta print out some stuff anyway. I did some research for you.”
“Really?”
“On that Gunderson Foundation place, and on primates. I think it might help you with your case.”
Hmm. Nice.
“Forward Paul’s emails to me first,” I said, “so I can send them to the lawyer.”
A pause. “Okay.”
She left the room, and I dialed Missy’s home number.