“Remind me what your job is?”
I shifted uncomfortably. “Federal agent. Before that, thirteen years on the force.”
“Homicide,” Jacob added.
The pastor looked flustered, but only momentarily. “As it relates to your personal life,” she clarified. “How much comparing do you do?”
Could I answer, A normal amount? Probably not without raising a bunch of red flags. “Once in a while I might notice income, I guess. But I don’t really dwell on it.”
That seemed to satisfy her enough to move on to the next question. “Money issues can also be about security. How much do you agree with the statement: I feel more secure knowing we have enough money to pay our bills.”
Hard to say who she was looking at through the video camera, Jacob or me, but Jacob answered first. “It’s a legitimate concern, obviously. We’re fortunate enough to have decent incomes.”
Pastor Jill said, “What’s your take on it, Vic?”
I couldn’t very well say it was a non-issue for me. It would sound like I was covering up some deep-seated pecuniary anxiety I wasn’t willing to admit, even to myself. But I wasn’t. “We really have been pretty lucky. When big-ticket problems have come up, one of us has had the wherewithal to handle it.”
“Does that mean you had reserves at one point, and now you don’t?”
“Not like I did when we first met. But, you know. Houses cost money.”
Jacob added, “We’re pretty comfortable.”
Pastor Jill said, “And what does that mean to you in terms of a safety net? A month’s worth of expenses? Three months? A year?”
“We’ve had some car issues lately,” Jacob hedged. “Ideally, at least a year.”
“And you, Vic? How much savings would it take for you to feel financially secure?”
It seemed like a trick question. Because I’m insecure about everything from the fit of my pants to the sound of my own chewing. But money is just…money. “A month or two, I guess. If I had to take on a pay cut for some reason—or if our house fell in, or some other major expense smacked me upside the head—I’d deal with it. I’d cope. I’d adjust.”
Pastor Jill jotted a few notes, then said, “Another thing money can represent in a relationship is control. You both work, you each have your own source of income. In the questionnaire you filled out, it says you have your own bank accounts, and a joint account for the household. How do you both feel about this?”
“It’s fine,” I said.
Jacob added, “We each came into the relationship with our own finances. It seemed easiest to add the joint account instead of completely dismantling systems that already worked for each of us.”
The pastor said, “Vic, can you elaborate?”
Not only had I never given our pecuniary arrangement much thought, but I couldn’t even tell you which one of us said, “Why don’t we set up another bank account for the bills?” when we moved in together. If I can set something and forget it, I do—and our mundane finances were a prime example. Everything was on auto-pay. My personal debit card was never declined. And once in a while, I grabbed some cash at the ATM and noted that my receipt showed I still had money in the bank. Not a fortune. But I could buy another latte if the mood struck me, no problem.
“It really is fine. I don’t give it much thought, and I’m not what you’d call a big spender.”
“Spending is another important area to explore. How would you rate this statement: I check with my partner before I make a major purchase…?” As if Jacob ever asked anyone permission to do anything. Apparently, I was smirking. “You find something funny in that, Vic?”
Jacob answered her. “Like I said, we’re fortunate that buying the wrong washing machine won’t leave us choosing between prescriptions and food.”
You were the one who insisted on a front-loader, I thought. But since he did all the laundry, I didn’t indulge myself in the dig. “Look, I trust Jacob. And maybe it’s adrenaline burnout, or maybe I’m just oblivious—but given what I deal with day to day, I just can’t bring myself to get worked up about shopping.”
Thankfully, that was the last awkward question we had time for. We got an assignment to do the first section of the marriage workbook before our next meeting, said our goodbyes and signed off. When the video call closed and the camera light winked out, the dark desktop photo of a starry galaxy let me see our reflections in the monitor glass. Not as clear as the tiny video picture-in-picture. But a lot larger. We both looked slightly spooked, as if we hadn’t realized that while we were grilling the family, someone would be grilling us.
Once the computer powered down, I said, “I wasn’t aware there’d be a PDF involved. No one said anything about a test when we signed up for this. Are we being graded? What if we fail, do we lose our big church wedding?”
Jacob shrugged wearily. He clicked over to his email and found the booklet waiting for us: Wedded Bliss.
4
THE REFLECTION OF our expressions in the monitor was priceless.
Jacob hit the download button. “Our wedding’s not in jeopardy. We’ll just power through the booklet, say the right things, and everyone will be happy.”
“Sounds good to me,” I said…and then wanted to take it right back once I got a load of the table of contents. “Expressions of intimacy? As in sex? And we’re supposed to talk about this with your priest?”
“Minister.” The correction was halfhearted, as Jacob was too busy navigating over to that section to see exactly how mortified we needed to be.
Emotional and physical intimacy go hand in hand, but not everyone has the same expectations where intimacy is concerned. Discuss the following:
• What makes you feel appreciated?
• Who modeled affectionate behavior for you?
• How do you define affection?
Ugh. My first impulse was to leap up, run down to the kitchen, and scour the fridge for some leftovers. But before I fled the scene, it occurred to me that they wouldn’t ask what affection meant if the definition was universal.
“How do you define affection?” I asked.
Jacob seemed puzzled—but also willing to talk it through. “Physically?”
“I don’t know. You tell me.”
“Closeness.” He wheeled his chair up against mine and leaned into my side. “Touch.” He ran his fingertips along my thigh. “A kiss….”
His lips brushed mine while his whiskers tickled my chin. Tongue. Just a hint. No, an invitation. It would have been so easy to lean into that kiss and avoid a potentially awkward conversation—but I was looking at a chance to find out how Jacob really ticked. It would be a real shame to throw that away.
I eased back and said, “So affection is sex.” I glanced at the monitor and read, “Affection can be verbal and nonverbal. So, the nonverbal part—?”
“It’s not just sex.” He took my hand in his—the hand that wasn’t hauling around a heavy plaster cast—and traced my life line with his thumb. His gaze went soft as he searched his memory. “Remember back at the old apartment?”
“How could I forget?”
“It was a Saturday morning. We both had the day off. I was heading out to the gym and you stopped me at the door. Not to kiss me goodbye…but to tuck in the tag that was sticking out on the back of my T-shirt.”
“Gee. How romantic.”
He smiled to himself. “Sometimes, back then, you hardly seemed real. More like a character out of a movie come to life. I fell for you so hard, so fast, sometimes I worried I might wake up some day and find that the whole thing was an elaborate fantasy of mine, some crazy, vivid dream. And when you’d do something psychic—it was always obvious to me you weren’t talking to yourself—this thing we had together felt just a little more fragile every time. Like eventually you’d wonder why you saddled yourself with some useless Stiff.”
“Jacob—”
“But then you’d do something mundane like tucking in my tag, and I’d realize there w
as more to you than the high-powered medium who could literally see ghosts. Sure, that phenomenally rare psychic was you. But you were also just a guy.” He looked up and met my gaze. It was hard, with so much tenderness there…but I managed to keep myself from looking away. He cupped my jaw and smoothed a thumb across my temple. “A guy with incredibly sexy blue eyes.”
Okay. That earned him an eye-roll…but I was smiling while I did it. It’s hard to kiss someone when you’re smiling, but I guess the added challenge just makes it all the sweeter.
Once the kissing got hot and heavy—and once Jacob’s office chair threatened to roll out from under him—he swung out of his seat and dragged me to the floor on top of him. I wasn’t only straddling his hips, but also the pronounced bulge our kissing had encouraged. The office carpet was decent enough, though nowhere near as cushy as a bed, so when things started hurting, I rolled onto my side to take some pressure off my knees. A box of file folders prodded me in the kidney and an old rubber band was sticking to my neck, but I ignored them.
Our awkward tangle of limbs—and our sudden spike of need—was enough to distract me…at least until it was obvious that my non-broken hand being trapped beneath us was seriously cramping my style. There was only so far I could take things by grinding my thigh against him.
We adjourned to the bedroom and ditched our clothes. Unfortunately, the pause in the action was allowing words to slip in. Jacob asked, “Did you notice the next question on the list?”
“Whether we’d discussed family planning?”
Jacob treated me to a relatively tolerant smirk. “What sexual activities do you enjoy?”
“If anyone’s figured that out about me, it’s you.”
He shook out the comforter—we don’t generally make the bed these days, since no one sees it but us—and shoved an extra pillow out of the way. “I can go first. Even though I already spilled my heart out once tonight.”
“No, it’s fine. I’ll take a stab at it.” Maybe I was feeling cocky, what with our first premarital gauntlet successfully navigated. “I like it when you pound me.”
There. I said it.
But before I could be too pleased with myself, Jacob threw me a curveball. “Why?”
What kind of question was that?
And yet, when I really thought about it, I had to concede the answer might not be so obvious. Jacob could physically overpower me if he wanted to, and we both knew it. Oh, I might get a few jabs in, but in the end, he was bigger, bulkier, and way more athletic. And the thought of him pinning me down and slamming into me? I dug it. Given my history, the mere thought of being overwhelmed should leave me tearing off in the opposite direction. But not with Jacob. “I like it because…sometimes it feels good to finally let go,” I eventually said. “Because I trust you.”
We left the lights on.
Not usually my preference. I don’t mind seeing Jacob, but it can be distracting to know I’m being seen. Tonight, though—after talking more about our feelings than we had since…well, since ever…why bother hiding in the darkness?
He did me on my back, with my legs hitched loosely over his thighs. A slow, easy fuck, face to face, hands clasped together on the pillow. My plaster cast was still in the way, but he wove together what he could of our fingers. If I had a favorite position, this was the one. As sex goes…pretty basic. And eventually I’d need to reach down between us and help myself along to the grand finale. But maybe certain things become the standard for a reason.
Afterward, we lay there quietly for a moment, considering ourselves. I wasn’t thinking much of anything other than wow, but Jacob was still ruminating on the meeting. He said, “When we were talking to Pastor Jill about our finances…did I come off too glib?”
“You’re always glib—although the pastor’s bullshit meter did seem pretty sensitive. But since when are you nervous about money?”
“I’m not.” He dragged a finger through the jizz drying on my belly. “She’s right, though. Money is about so much more than just money, and I want to make sure you really are good with our finances, and not just saying you are to avoid a confrontation.”
I gave a silent laugh. “I’m a ball of anxiety about practically everything—so I’d advise you to sit back and enjoy the one area of my life where I’m not a complete basket case.”
“You don’t see it, do you?” Jacob drew a few more swirls. “You’re really easygoing in so many ways.”
Maybe. But wasn’t that like saying the stern of the Titanic stayed pretty dry as the ship went nose-down?
“I’m serious, Vic.” Jacob nudged my jaw with a tacky forefinger to make me look him in the eye. “I realized just how lucky I am when you said you trusted me.”
“In bed?”
“That, too. But the first time you said it, about our finances—especially the way you were so sure of it with Pastor Jill. It means a lot.”
Funny. While the minister was raking us over the coals, I’d been blurting out whatever came to mind, while Jacob was busy curating his answers to make our relationship sound as healthy as possible. But the exercise got to him anyhow, and now he was feeling all sappy. I kissed him gently, deliberately, then told him, “We’re solid, mister. We’re good.”
We lay together like that, basking in our big moment—and our big-O—at least until the pecuniary concerns started drifting in.
I said, “We need a safety net. In cash. In case we ever need to pull a Con Dreyfuss and disappear.”
“Agreed.” Jacob pushed himself up reluctantly from the dent he’d been putting in the mattress. “Let’s go hit the ATM.”
5
WAS IT ENTIRELY rational to go grab fifty bucks right that second? Obviously not. But it would make us feel a hell of a lot better. So we threw on some clothes and headed out.
“I’ll find out the best way to start skimming,” Jacob said. That was just one benefit about being Internal Affairs. Your co-workers can teach you all kinds of cool tricks. “But a few dollars here, a few dollars there would be really hard to track.”
We headed over to a walk-up machine on Lawrence, the one that was right outside the hardware store where we had fake keys cut whenever a sensitive conversation needed to occur. This particular ATM let you choose the denomination of your withdrawal, and we’d decided it was best to go for bigger bills, which would be less bulky to hide. We parked and made our way up the block. As we did, I said, “I’ve been on enough busts, back when I was on patrol, to know that anyplace you’d think to hide something is the first place anyone’s gonna look. Particularly the toilet tank.”
“And the freezer,” Jacob said. “Those fake cans they sell for hiding valuables aren’t realistic, either. Plus, it’s gotta be something we can grab in a hurry. So prying loose a brick in the basement won’t do us much good. We’ll start by keeping our wallets topped off, and then scope out a few good spots near the front door.”
Jacob ponied up to the machine and stuck his card in the slot. As he did, I wondered how obvious it would be if I took out some money too. What would I normally do? Not that anything about me is normal. But typically, if we stopped for cash and I was low, it would only make sense for me to grab some, myself.
Overthinking everything is exhausting, so I was pretty stoked about coming to a decision without too many mental gymnastics.
But I was so focused on patting myself on the back that I didn’t notice anything was wrong until we had company.
The ATM was lit up bright to encourage a false sense of security in its customers. While a well-lit location in plain view is safer than a dark, out-of-the-way alley, a desperate enough crackhead might very well be willing to roll the dice and take their chances.
I saw Jacob’s shadow. And my shadow.
And another shadow.
With no one casting it.
I was more startled than afraid—until the temperature plummeted, and my breath left my body in a frigid curl of air.
Most of the spirits I run into can be handled by
convincing them to cross over, or urging them through the veil with Florida Water and salt. But then I stumble across a scary, messed-up ghost that reminds me it never pays to get too complacent. And judging by queasy feeling in the pit of my gut, this was one of those times.
Instinctively, I grabbed Jacob by the back of his sweatshirt and hauled him away from the shadow. Since I wasn’t holding a reserve, white light didn’t jump from me to him in a burst, but flowed instead—and that drain was just as disconcerting. Energy surged in through my third eye and out through my fist, like I was nothing but a big, hollow drinking straw.
I let go, fast, but Jacob felt the zap. And while he might not be able to see when something dead was crashing the party, he could sense it. He swung around one way, then the other—fast, like he was clearing a room.
Like he thought he damn well should be able to see. But, of course, he couldn’t.
“Get behind me,” he snapped. He was the True Stiff, the human shield. Not me. But of course I wasn’t about to let him take charge. He couldn’t see it.
Though, for that matter, neither could I. Not until panic-induced white light thundered down to refill my reservoir, and the shape of a man flickered into being. I caught a glimpse of a guy in a hoodie, with the hood cinched up tight and his face in shadow like the Grim Reaper. Just a flicker, then the visual was gone again. “Don’t be stupid,” the ghost barked out—holy shit, they read minds now? “Gimme the fuckin’ money, asshole, or I’ll blow your fuckin’ head off.”
My perceptions rearranged themselves as an array of ghostly flash cards sprang to mind. Repeater? Not with that temperature drop. Slippery? Definitely, a half-seen thing that was only partially tuned in, hard to get a bead on. Sentient? Maybe, but not particularly self-aware, not if it thought our money would do it any good. Something in between a repeater and a lucid spirit. A screwed-up ghost that hadn’t figured out it was dead.
Other Half (PsyCop book 12) Page 3