Free Hallowed Ground by Lori G. Armstrong Page B

“Why are you here so early?”

    “Because I wanted to catch you.” I blew on my coffee, staring at him over the steam but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Kev, are you avoiding me?”

    He picked at the poppy and sesame seeds on the top of the bagel before he admitted, “Yeah, I’m avoiding you.”

    Animosity surfaced; I managed to gulp it down with a swig of coffee. I waited for an explanation, or a clarification, hell, anything, but he silently, meticulously destroyed his breakfast seed by seed.

    “As your partner I deserve to know why.”

    More silence.

    I chanced it and put my hand over his, hoping he wouldn’t rebuff me. “As your best friend I demand you tell me why I’ve suddenly developed the plague, or else I’ll kick your ass.”

    Kevin looked up at me, a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Try it, tough girl. I’m spoiling for a good fight.” Lines around his mouth drew taut. “Truth is, I’ve been avoiding everyone, not just you.”

    “And here I thought I was special,” I murmured. He pulled his hand away, pulled back into his shell. “That doesn’t tell me why.”

    “Because I don’t want to talk about it.”

    “It” being Lilly’s cancer, her imminent death.

    Death had made a habit of knocking on my door every few years just to make sure I knew nothing was sacred, no one was safe. But in my case, those losses had been instantaneous, the grief immediate. I’d never had to watch death destroy someone I loved, slowly, piece by piece.
    Helpless. Waiting. Wondering. Hoping either for a quick end or a miraculous recovery.

    Neither was an option for Lilly.

    Where was Kevin at now, three months after her terminal diagnosis? Since Lilly had opted not to repeat chemotherapy, for the first month they’d traveled: Greece, Spain, Italy. When she’d gotten too sick to continue, Kevin had brought her home.

    Between Lilly’s parents, her sister, the hospice workers, and Kevin, Lilly had round the clock care. He’d never given me details on what that care entailed. In hindsight, maybe I should’ve asked.

    “See,” Kevin continued, as if there hadn’t been a lull in our conversation, “whenever I go somewhere and run into someone I know, they ask how Lilly is doing . How am I supposed to respond to that? If I said, ‘Just great, she’s dying but her spirits are up,’ people would think I’d lost it, which, sadly, isn’t too far from the truth.”

    He draped his forearms on his thighs and talked to the carpet. “Some asshole actually had the balls to ask how much time she’s got left. Like I’d know. Like if I did I’d tell him.” He dry-washed his face. “God, Jules, this is so fucked up.”

    Tears burned behind my lids. It was so unfair. I sucked them up because Kevin would know they weren’t for Lilly, but for him, and I doubted he’d appreciate them.

    “So, to answer your question, the reason I’m sleeping here is I can’t stand to be in Lilly’s house twenty-four hours a day. Even though I know every time I leave she might die and I won’t be there for her.” His feeble laugh curdled the coffee in my stomach. “That makes me the biggest bastard on the planet, doesn’t it?”

    “No. It makes you human.”

    “Her parents don’t understand why I can’t sit at her side, hour after hour, just holding her hand. I know they think if I loved her—”

    “You do,” I said, overlooking the ripping sensation in my heart. “Just not in the same way they do. They can’t expect you to stop living because she’s dying. The only person’s expectations you have to live up to are your own.”

    “Easier said than done.” He slapped his hands on his legs. “Enough. Let’s talk about this new case.”

    Kevin focused his attention on me. Completely. Totally. Like a guided missile that’d found the target.

    “Why the hell are we working for Tony Martinez?”

CHAPTER 7
    “THE INFORMATION IS IN MY OFFICE.” SO WERE MY cigarettes. Yeah, pretty pathetic I’d