Page 61 of Playing Along

“You wouldn’t dare!” she challenges, but I don’t miss the nervous glint in her eyes. Let’s just say it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve given her the moniker. Turns out drinking three cups of tea then getting tickled by me has some unfortunate consequences.

“Don’t test me.”

“This is Lucy’s car, not a barn,” she counters. Oh right, the aforementioned tickling incident was in my barn. The site of so many of my favorite memories with Nora.

Not that tickling her until she peed her pants is a favorite memory, but the other times—the ones with kisses and soft brushes of her hand against mine and laughing together. Yeah, those are all part of the highlight reel.

Then again, Nora is basically my life’s entire highlight reel.

“It is red like a barn,” I point out.

“Jack,” she warns, “do not tickle me.”

“Okay fine,” I relent. “I won’t tickle you, if you—” I pull up short as I realize I was going to say kiss me. Yeah, no. Not going there. Like she said, we’re not in my barn. Kissing isn’t a thing we do anymore. You know, unless a judge tells us to.

“If I what, Jack?” Nora asks, her green eyes piercing me. I’m saved from—or perhaps robbed of—the chance to answer by the arrival of Lucy, Mel, and Emily.

“What kind of people require two toilets in the same bathroom?” I hear Lucy exclaim incredulously from right outside the car.

“You know what they say,” Emily answers sagely, “the couple that poops together, stays together.”

There’s laughing, then Mel adds in an announcer’s voice, “On today’s episode of Lifestyles of the Rich and Fiber-heavy, we’ll answer your most burning questions: Just how many toilets can you fit in one bathroom before your plumbing breaks and where is the best store to register for his and hers toilets?”

They all open their doors and spot us for the first time. Immediately their laughter vanishes.

“You’re back,” Lucy hisses.

“How did it go?” Emily adds.

“Does she know you murdered her husband?” Mel asks, then clamps a hand over her mouth with a wince. “Sorry,” she says through her fingers.

“Don't worry,” Emily says quickly. “She didn’t give anything away inside. I made sure of it.”

I nod, still off-kilter from that playful interaction with Nora just now. What would’ve happened if we hadn’t been interrupted?

Nothing. The answer is nothing. Because if I had dared to suggest we kiss, Nora would have shot me down faster than a racehorse bursting out of the gate.

The conversation continues around me, Nora’s pretty voice telling them about Connie’s odd behavior and the other three postulating about what this could mean and who could have shown up in that black SUV. I don’t say anything, too lost in my own retrospections.

The thing is, there have been a few isolated moments when I’ve thought maybe she might have the tiniest little bit of residual feelings left for me. There was the kiss at our wedding. The kiss I could swear she returned with more than perfunctory enthusiasm. Then there was the way she grabbed ahold of me outside Connie’s door– like I meant something to her. And that sigh as I held her. Oh that sigh.

“Okay, so what now?” Lucy’s loud question finally breaks through my pathetic musings. It’s a good thing too; I was starting to sound like a teen girl pulling petals off a daisy—he loves me, he loves me not. Or in my case, she loves me not. The daisy petals will always end on that truth.

“Jack?” Nora turns to me, and my mind goes blank. I can’t even think of a single possible answer to her question.

“Can I say something?” Lucy asks from the front seat, her nose is in her phone. “I think we really ought to have a contingency plan here,” she goes on without waiting for a response. “Say this whole vacuum coverup goes to crap and the case goes to court.” For a brief second I’m confused, then I remember Becca’s code word plan and scowl. This isn’t a game. Lucy either doesn’t notice my annoyance or doesn’t care, because she carries on with her speech. “Have you considered what we can do to turn it into a mistrial? You know, like obtain evidence illegally or violate her Miranda rights or something?”

“Ooh,” Emily hums, sounding intrigued. “That’s an idea.”

“You ladies do know that a mistrial isn’t an acquittal, right?” I point out. “It just leaves the case in limbo until they decide how to move forward.”

“Limbo sounds better than a guilty verdict,” Emily points out.

I sigh. “Yeah okay, so then which one of your husbands or fiancés are you going to ask to risk their jobs by procuring this illegally obtained evidence?” I ask dryly.

The question is met by silence, then a rush of counter-arguments.

“Risk their jobs,” Lucy retorts with an uneasy chuckle. “Don’t you think that’s a bit extreme.”

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