Page 52 of Protect My Heart

Liz’s head whirled at the questions being fired at them. Jim handled it in stride. Fielding one after the other. The pounding in her chest had moved to her ears. White clouds crept into the corner of her vision. She picked up her wine glass and took a large gulp, hoping it calmed her nerves. She didn’t want to have a panic attack in the Swensons’ kitchen, but all the talk of her stalker… the noise level rose. Was it getting hot in here?

She took another swig. God that was undignified––they would think she had a drinking problem on top of the stalker if she didn’t calm down. She was a psychologist for God’s sake. She’d handled much worse. Hell, she watched her brother die.

Oh, crap. That was the last thing she needed to remember.

The room tilted. She squeezed her eyes closed and took in as much air as she could without being conspicuous. Too late. When she opened her eyes, Jim’s mom was staring at her, eyes soft and understanding.

Her back warmed as Jim stepped up behind her and placed his big, strong hands on her upper arms. The familiar smell of his soap had the banging in her head easing. She may have leaned back the slightest bit.

“Cop family. Nothing to worry about.” His words brushed over her hair. “Breathe in, breathe out. Nice and easy. I’m here.”

Irene Swenson clapped her hands slicing through the chaos. “Enough. Can’t you see you are unsettling this poor girl? Now, enough shop talk. Michelle, get the bread from the oven. Julie, have the children wash up for dinner. And Renae, could you get the serving bowl from the hutch for the vegetables?”

The family went from an unruly mob to a well-oiled machine in a heartbeat. Liz looked at the tiny woman in the flowered apron with new respect. Irene winked at her before turning to her son. “Why don’t you and Liz sit down at the table?”

He nodded. “Is Jordan coming?”

“He’s working tonight,” Trenton said. “Closing in on the perp doing all those burglaries on the east side.”

“Hope he doesn’t get stabbed again. Remember the last time he worked a burglary. Thought he’d get the jump on the guy. Ha. Ten stitches later.” Michelle rambled on as she sliced the bread.

Quick as a flash, a thought entered Liz’s mind—it could have been Jim with stitches.

“No shop talk.” Irene set the most delicious smelling roast on the table.

Liz’s stomach growled, pulling her thoughts back to the glorious smells in front of her.

The chairs filled and Trenton bowed his head. The rest followed suit. The prayer was quick and heartfelt, but the amen was like a starter pistol.

Serving dishes were passed in every direction. The chatter grew, but this time, no talk of stalkers. No flashbacks. Even with the raising decimals, Liz’s heartbeat slowed and a sad smile crossed her face as she remembered the Garcia holidays. Her mom was an only child, but the extended family came from across the states for Abuela’s rellenos de papa. Her mouth watered at the memory.

Her cheek twitched at the recollection of picking grass and placing it in a shoebox for the wisemen’s camels as a child. It was one of her favorite Christmas traditions.

It had been four years since her grandmother had passed and the last family celebration was held. She blinked away the sadness.

Liz still had the Whittier side, but Joy wouldn’t stand for that kind of noise at the dinner table. Her mouth crept up a little. Now with the addition of Lorna and her children... the noise level definitely climbed.

Jim’s hand squeezed her thigh. He leaned in and with words only she could hear asked, “You okay?”

She gave a nod and pulled her lips up into a smile. It was weak, but a start. “Sorry, I...”

His fingers gave a second squeeze. “No apologies. I shouldn’t have brought up the stalker. But with my family, we talk freely about things like that.”

Liz couldn’t blame him. She was the one who had anxiety issues. Twenty years of therapy. Usually her coping mechanisms worked like a charm, but in the last few weeks her panic attacks had snuck up on her more than once.

A big head settled on her other leg. Tigger. She stroked his soft fur until her pulse returned to normal. As a reward for her hero, she slipped him a piece of her roast.

“Tig, get,” Jim scolded. “You know better than to be under the table.”

With a conspiratorial glance at Liz, the dog sauntered into the living room. Good boy.

The rest of the evening flowed with wine, food, and conversation. Liz took it all in and by the time she and Jim were headed back to her parents’ house, her head was swimming, processing the multitudes of conversations that volleyed back and forth across the dining table, the good-natured ribbing that occurred, and the love.

The Swenson family was close knit. Liz could feel the bond like a blanket wrapping around her on a cold winter night. They extended some of their family closeness to her tonight, and she would take it with greedy little hands. She loved her family but the boisterous, open connections of Jim’s family caused a small pang of longing in her chest. The way they openly accepted her made Liz’s chest tighten. So she would take the hugs from his mom and the jokes with his sisters, and store them away for as long as she could get them.

She peeked at Jim and the tickle touched her nose. No matter how right this felt, Jim, his family—she wouldn’t deceive herself. They lived with danger every day. She blinked rapidly, before one big fat tear rolled down her cheek. This had to be a short-term relationship. But she didn’t have to like it.

“Hey, little brother. I heard you brought your fancy new girlfriend to dinner last night.” Jim’s brother, Jordan, strolled up to his desk and plopped down on the edge as if he owned the world.