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  “Look, you’ve been through so much the last few weeks. It’s not unusual to feel some aftereffects. Though you can’t remember what happened with your friend, you did see what happened. And it happened to you there in Atlanta, which may be why you feel panicked. We can’t know how that affected you mentally. It shut you down physically with the mono. You were smart to follow your instincts and tell them you’d consider the offer. I suggest you do the same for the rest, until you can talk to someone.

  “I’m not a psychologist, but it sounds like post-traumatic stress disorder, and you really don’t want to make any major decisions right now.”

  I stopped to wait for the light to change. “What? That’s what soldiers get. I mean, what happened was bad, but nothing like what those men and women in Iraq have gone through.”

  “There are different levels of stress,” Sam added. “What you saw was no less traumatic than what happens in war. And then Mrs. Canard died, and the mono kicked your butt, and you aren’t completely recovered from it. Well, anyone would be uneasy.”

  I sighed. “I have this terrible feeling. Like I just can’t do the attorney thing anymore.” My eyes began to water and I sniffed. “This is my life. This is my dream.”

  I was so involved in the conversation that it took me a minute to realize the guy walking next to me was giving me a strange look. I stared back at him and he moved on.

  “Kira, stop it. No matter what happens, you can do whatever you put your mind to. You know that as well as anyone. What’s going on with you right now—think of it as an illness that’s making you feel this way. Depression can make you think things you wouldn’t normally. That’s a big part of what makes post-traumatic stress disorder so dangerous. Does that make sense?”

  “I don’t know. I guess.” That’s when I realized where I was. “Oh, no.” I hadn’t intended to walk this way. I staggered back against the windows of the Zeb Corp. lobby.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I ignored Sam.

  The pavement had been scrubbed clean where she had landed on the sidewalk. It was as if the horrible events of Melinda’s death had never taken place. Looking up toward the roof of the building made me dizzy and queasy.

  The image of her flashed in my brain. Her hair flew out around her and then—darkness. I couldn’t remember anything after that. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop the tears.

  “Kira? Damn cell phones. Can you hear me?”

  “Sam, I have to go. My next meeting is in a few minutes and I’ve got to try and get myself together.” I turned and walked back the way I had come. It meant going two blocks out of my way, but I couldn’t go past that spot.

  “Do me a favor and give yourself a break. Listen to what these guys have to say and just don’t make any commitments right now. You weren’t wrong about needing time to consider. You have to heal your body and your mind.”

  “Okay, Doc. Thanks. I know you were probably with patients.”

  “Don’t worry about it. If you want I can get you some referrals for some great counselors there in Atlanta, or there’s actually a terrific one here in town you might want to talk to. I’ll see you on Friday. Don’t hesitate to call if you need me again.”

  “Okay.”

  We hung up. As I turned the corner I saw the reflection of the same guy who had been looking at me so strangely. He wore a ball cap pulled low over his eyes and a camouflage jacket with jeans.

  Why is he following me? Stop being paranoid. There are tons of weird people in downtown Atlanta. You know this.

  I took a deep breath and increased my speed. I was only a half block from my destination and I power-walked into the lobby, heading straight for the security desk.

  “Hi,” I said to the guard. “I have an appointment on the eighth floor. You might think I’m crazy, but I think that guy out there”—I pointed to the man in the jacket—“is following me.”

  The guard looked from me to the man outside. “Guys like that are always following pretty women and scaring them,” the guard grumbled. He grabbed his nightstick. “I’ll take care of it. You go on up.” Handing me a visitor’s pass, he moved from behind the desk. He turned back at the door. “You make sure you call down for a taxi when you leave, and we’ll escort you out.”

  “Thanks,” I said, but he had already gone out the revolving door. I didn’t stick around to see what happened. My hands shook, and a quick stop in the lobby bathroom showed I was even paler than normal. I can’t think about this. You can have your nervous breakdown later. Get it together.

  The weird thing was, the idea of going back to Sweet made me happy. It’s the only thing that got me through the rest of the day. Maybe it was Caleb, or maybe it was something else. I wanted to go home, and that was no longer Atlanta.

  One thing was for certain, I was screwed up in a big way and I had to get my head together.

  “Kira, it’s Cynthia Jordan from the agency.” The headhunter called and left a message on my voice mail. “Mr. Grayson told me what happened and says he’d like to sweeten the deal with a sign-on bonus of a hundred thousand dollars.”

  I was back in my apartment drinking a bottle of water and I almost choked.

  “He also said you have your choice of offices here, New York, Chicago, or L.A., and he’s willing to wait.”

  Let me explain something important. These guys don’t wait for anything or anyone. They are power brokers of the highest degree. Mr. Grayson’s investment firm pulled in billions last year, and I’m small potatoes in the grand scheme of things.

  All of the meetings for the day had gone well. Some better than others, but Mr. Grayson had made the best offer by far. I didn’t understand why he wanted me so bad. I could make him more money, but so could any other decent lawyer worth anything.

  My BlackBerry rang again. Expecting Justin, I picked up.

  “This is Kira.”

  “Hey, it’s Caleb.”

  “Oh, hi.” I smiled even though he couldn’t see me.

  “How’s Atlanta?” His voice was deep and sexy, and did strange things to parts of my body.

  Other than a psychotic meltdown, everything’s great. “The interviews are going well. Lots of choices, which is a good thing.”

  “Absolutely.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, I have to go out of town for a job, and I wanted to let you know.”

  My smile faded and the deep, dark depression made a fast return. He was breaking our date.

  I felt like a dork for being so excited about it in the first place. I should have known.

  “Okay. Well, I appreciate you calling and letting me know you won’t be able to make it Saturday.”

  “What? No, that’s not why I was calling. I’ll definitely be there Saturday. Sorry. I was trying to say that I’m not certain I can make it back for the memorial service. I’ll do my best. I know how much Mrs. Canard meant to you and I wanted to be there for you.”

  “That’s so kind of you.” Thank you, Jesus and Buddha. My parents were Buddhist and I was open-minded when it came to religion. “I understand. No one would expect you to be there. You barely knew her.”

  “I know. I just wanted to be there for you. It’s going to be a rough day. I’m looking forward to Saturday, though.”

  “Yeah, me too.” I suddenly felt shy. This guy was so totally awesome. My phone clicked with another call.

  “Well it sounds like someone’s trying to get through; I’ll let you go. I’ll see you this weekend. And if I can make it back by Friday I will.”

  “Okay.”

  He hung up and the next call rang through.

  “Hey, I just got your message that you wanted to cancel dinner.” I’d called Justin on the way home from the last interview. Even though the day had gone well, all I wanted to do was put on my pj’s and hang out at home. But Caleb’s call had changed that. I suddenly felt energized and excited.

  “Um, is it okay if I change my mind again? I’ve decided I really am hungry for the Spaghetti Feast.”

&nbs
p; “Now that’s the Kira I know. Sure. After Rob gets off work at seven, we’ll stop by and pick you up on the way to Alfred’s. Our reservations are at eight,” Justin informed me.

  I noticed the stacks of mail. There weren’t many bills. Most of those came to my e-mail and I paid everything online.

  “Okay, I’ll be ready.”

  Putting down the phone, I flipped through the envelopes and ads. “Ninety-eight percent of this is junk.” I tossed catalogs and direct mail ads into the trash by the front table. Then I came across a letter that had been addressed in pen.

  Huh? I didn’t know anyone who still wrote letters. There was no return address. I opened it and pulled out a single sheet. It had one sentence that read:

  “You’re responsible and you’ll pay.”

  I let the letter float to the floor. Who would send me something like that? Were they talking about Melinda? My hands shook, but I stooped down to pick it up, reading it over and over again.

  My stomach churned and I was afraid I might be sick any moment.

  You’ll pay.

  Did that mean whoever wrote the letter wanted to hurt me? I turned to double check the lock on the front door. Taking the letter, I stuffed it back in the envelope and put it in one of the drawers.

  I remembered the guy in the cap. I hadn’t recognized him, but what if someone really wanted to hurt me? Still shaking, I sat on the couch. My mind whirled, emotions just on the edge, the tears threatening to spill over.

  “No!” I said the word out loud. I wouldn’t let myself fall off the edge of the precarious cliff on which I’d found myself. It’s probably some jerk’s idea of a prank, a horrible, nasty, mean-spirited joke.

  Taking deep breaths, I willed myself to calm down.

  I thought about calling the police, but it seemed an overreaction. I didn’t have any enemies, and I didn’t feel like dealing with the police department right then. Besides, the letter and the guy following me probably weren’t even connected. It was my overactive imagination hard at work. The letter writer had obviously mixed me up with someone else. There was no reason for anyone to be after me.

  Think about something else.

  It would be hours before Justin and Rob showed up. I looked up and saw the CNN logo on the television. Christiane Amanpour, one of the most respected journalists I know of, was giving a report about refugees.

  My phone rang again, and I jumped.

  “Geez. Chill,” I said out loud. I reached over to the coffee table and picked up the cell.

  I didn’t recognize the number but answered anyway. Any distraction was good right now.

  “This is Kira.”

  “Ms. Smythe?” an elderly sounding gentleman asked.

  “Yes.”

  “This is Mr. Pierce. I’m the executor of Mrs. Mabel Canard’s will. I wondered if I might have a moment.”

  I sat up. “Yes.”

  “Mrs. Canard left specific instructions for me to speak with you about her will. She’s left you something and asked that we chat face to face. Is there a chance you’ll be in Sweet anytime soon?”

  Mrs. Canard had left me something? I guessed it would probably be some books, something special she thought I might want. My eyes watered, and I had to clear my throat before speaking. “I’ll be in town on Thursday, in time for the memorial service on Friday.”

  He sighed. “That’s wonderful. I thought I might have to make a trip to Atlanta and these bones aren’t what they used to be. Would it be possible for you to meet me at the office at nine on Friday morning?”

  “Certainly.”

  “That is good news. My office is upstairs from where the old hardware store used to be. It’s a women’s clothing store now.”

  Delilah’s—it’s where I’d picked up the jeans and sweatshirt I’d worn in Sweet. “Yes, I know where that is. I’ll see you on Friday morning.”

  After I’d been gone for so long Mrs. Canard still thought about me. It was beyond sweet. The tears rolled down my face in big fat drops, and I let them fall. Mrs. Canard was a wonderful woman and she deserved every tear I shed.

  I didn’t know what she’d left me, but I would treasure it for the rest of my life.

  My curiosity was almost enough to take my mind off the horrid letter I’d opened earlier. Almost.

  Chapter 10

  It is curious to look back and realize upon what trivial and apparently coincidental circumstances great events frequently turn as easily and naturally as a door on its hinges.

  KING SOLOMON’S MINES

  By Haggard, H. Rider, 1856–1925

  Call #: F-HAG

  Description: xxx, 240 p.; 21cm

  It was odd to come back to Sweet so soon after my last visit. I flew into Dallas early Thursday and made the three-hour drive west. I stopped by Lulu’s to grab a quick lunch of roast, mashed potatoes, and green beans.

  Then I visited Sam, who had given me orders to stop by his office when I arrived in town.

  It was almost two and I wasn’t sure he’d returned from lunch, but when I walked into the reception area he yelled, “Be with you in a minute.”

  I heard some footsteps and he looked through the reception window and waved at me. “Hey, you. Come on back. Let’s have a look at you.” I hugged him and then followed him to one of the exam rooms.

  “I thought the office would be full.” I sat down on the table. He stuck a thermometer in my ear and then wrapped the blood pressure cuff around my arm.

  “We’re trying to take a half day off on Thursday afternoon. It gives me a little more time at the hospital and nursing home and for the hospice visits. This small-town doctor business is busier than I’d imagined.

  “Hmmm. Temp’s still ninety-nine point five. Have you been resting?”

  I crossed my arms, as his office was slightly chilly. “Yes. I had several meetings but the rest of the time I laid around on the couch or in bed. I promise. I mean, it’s down from the other day, so obviously I’ve been doing something right. And I don’t feel as tired, though I could use a nap right now.”

  He used the stethoscope to listen to my breathing and I stopped talking.

  “Sounds much better. I want you to keep taking the antibiotics and antivirals.”

  I nodded. “This all sounds vaguely familiar. I promise, I’m fine. I feel so much better than I did a few weeks ago.”

  He smiled. “I know, but you’re my friend and I get to worry if I want. Just take care of yourself. I’ll see you at the service tomorrow. Do you want to catch some lunch after?”

  “Sure. I don’t know what kind of company I’ll be.”

  “You can sit and stare at the wall. I don’t care. You know that.” Sam put my chart into a file cabinet and I followed him out to the reception area.

  I shook my head. “Every time I think about it I get teary. At least I have some emotions. I was beginning to think I’d turned into a robot. What happened in Atlanta was weird. I couldn’t get out of that place fast enough, and it’s been my home for two years.”

  “Let’s get you through the next couple of days, and then I’d like you to talk to a friend of mine here in town. He’s a good guy, and you’ll like him.”

  I didn’t know about that. Unlike a lot of the women I know, I don’t talk about my feelings much. Well, until I realized I didn’t have any.

  “We’ll see. Can I go home now?”

  He gave me a sad look. “Things are rough right now, but it’s going to get better.”

  I laughed, and sniffled a little. “You know, it’s strange, but now that I’m here, I feel better. I’m sad, and I’m not looking forward to tomorrow at all, but I don’t feel as restless.”

  He squeezed me a little tighter. “Do you think that might have something to do with your date?”

  “What? Oh, geez. I have a date on Saturday night.” I slapped a hand against my head. “I can’t believe it’s only two days away.”

  Sam chuckled. “I told Caleb he’d better have you home by midnight, and if yo
u looked too flushed or pale to bring you home immediately.”

  “Thanks. But I have a dad. And he’s just as big a worrywart as you.” I shoved a finger at his chest.

  Sam laughed.

  I left his office in a very good mood but a little scared at the same time. Here’s the truth: I’ve had dates in the past two years. Well, two dates. One was with an accountant who was part of a merger team. Technically, it was more of a business meeting, but we did have a few drinks and talked about things other than the job.

  The other one was with a guy…whose name I can’t even remember. Justin fixed us up for New Year’s. We arrived at the party and the guy’s ex-girlfriend was wrapped around another man. He freaked out and confronted her, and I didn’t see either of them the rest of the evening. Justin kissed me on the cheek at midnight to celebrate the New Year. Sad, but true.

  I’ve been married to my job. Or, at least, I had been. It shocked me when I thought about what I’d done to my life in the last few years.

  I wasn’t going to let that happen again.

  By the time I made it to Mom and Dad’s it was almost four. I said hello to both of them and made sure I was staying in the same room.

  My mom patted my back when she hugged me. “That’s your room, Kira. It always has been. We never give it to guests. We have a full house, though, so there will be visitors around.”

  “Not a problem.” I started to walk out. “Mom?”

  “Yes, honey?” she said distractedly.

  I pursed my lips together. “I’m really proud of what you and Dad have done here. I walked the vineyards the other day and—I’m just proud of you.”

  My mom had been searching through some papers on her desk. She looked up, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “So your hippie parents aren’t an embarrassment after all?”

  I walked around so I could hug her again. “Oh, no, you still embarrass the hell out of me, and you eat crazy crap. But I love you and I’m proud of you.”

  She laughed. “I’ll take what I can get.” She leaned back and looked at my face. “You look a little pale. Go get some rest, and I’ll have dinner ready for you when you get up.”