So after I showed Jeff around downstairs, I said, “Want to see the upstairs mess?”
“Sure,” he said.
His hand rested protectively on my back as we climbed, and his touch felt strong and right. Once on the landing, he pulled back the plastic sheet covering the destroyed bathroom.
Nothing had changed. Nothing except my whole life. “I’m still selling the place,” I said, “but I’m glad you made me come here. I need to stop feeling sorry for myself. I’ve been roaming through life without knowing what trail to follow. But I have a good idea the direction I should take now.”
“Am I supposed to guess?”
“You may think this sounds stupid, but I want to help people find their pasts. Adopted people like Kate and me, people who have twists and turns in their childhoods they may know little about.”
“An adoption detective?”
“Yeah,” I said, smiling. “And I’ve got relatives I know nothing about. My inquiry to the adoption registry came back today, and no one ever registered looking for Kate and me. But we may have a father who’s still alive and one day I plan to find him.”
“Good. Investigating is well suited to your whirling-dervish personality,” he said.
“Whirling dervish?” I replied. “Is that sort of like a tropical storm?”
“You could say that.”
I peered past the plastic covering the door and saw pecan trees in the backyard, their lush green leaves bright against an unclouded azure sky.
“Let’s talk about other things now,” I said. “For instance, how much I like you, Sergeant Kline. I even liked you before you saved my life.” I smiled and outlined his lips with the tip of my finger, then traced the angle of his jaw.
“You know damn well I didn’t save your life.” He pulled me to him. “You had things under control before I arrived in that boat.”
I grinned up at him. “Remember how you promised we could get to the personal stuff?” I leaned into him, draping my arms over his shoulders.
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?” he said softly. He took a wrapper from his pocket and emptied his gum into it, then took my face in his strong hands.
His mouth met mine, and I remember thinking how I had always favored cinnamon, but never more than at that moment.
FB2 document info
Document ID: 1af76c75-4535-4772-adcb-6b3066912cb7
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 29 August 2011
Created using: FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
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Pick Your Poison yrm-1 Page 25