And I realized, even after Tate and Special Agent Tambo’s coaching before I went in her room, I wasn’t prepared.

They didn’t warn me that words could burn straight into your brain.

Sunny’s did in a way that I knew it would take years for those burns to heal.

And when they did, they’d leave scars.

But I’d got her to say the words.

My job was done.

* * * * *

When I walked out of Sunny’s room the door didn’t even close behind me before I felt Tate’s arms close around me.

I shoved my face in his chest and held on tight.

“You did good,” he whispered into my hair.

I nodded against his chest.

He held me awhile then kept me close as his hand went under my t-shirt. I felt his fingers move on me, taking the kit that was attached to my waistband, then going up, his big body shielding mine from onlookers as his fingers followed the thin cord, he carefully ripped the taped microphone off my chest and his hand moved out of my shirt.

Tucking me to his side, he turned to Tambo and handed him the wire.

“Don’t know how to thank you, Miss Grahame,” Tambo said gently to me. “That had to be tough.”

I nodded and said quietly, “It’s okay.”

But it wasn’t okay, my brain was burning and dang, but it hurt.

Tambo nodded back.

“Bub, let’s get Laurie home,” Tate called to Jonas and didn’t wait for a response, he started walking us down the hall.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Shambles,” I said as we made it to him and Tate stopped when I spoke.

Shambles looked toward Sunny’s door then back to me. “You think she’ll talk to me now?”

“Go and see, honey,” I prompted.

He nodded, leaned in and kissed my cheek then hurried down the hall.

Tate started us moving again. We were stopped at the elevators when I felt a hand take mine.

Tate tagged the elevator button and I looked down to see Jonas looking up, studiously avoiding my gaze and staring at the red digital display over the elevator telling us what floors it was moving through like this display might communicate to him straight from God that week’s winning lottery numbers.

And he did this holding my hand.

* * * * *

I didn’t pay much attention as we walked through the grocery store. I was focused on getting ingredients for chocolate chip cookies and the pasta-dijon mustard-mayo-pickle salad that was another one of my specialties that Brad hated due to its abundance of calories and fat. Tate was going to grill burgers for dinner that night and my pasta-dijon mustard-mayo-pickle salad went perfect with hamburgers.

I didn’t pay much attention when we loaded the groceries in the back of the Explorer and I didn’t pay much attention as we started to head home.

I only paid attention when Tate parked outside La-La Land and Jonas jumped out.

I focused on Jonas as he ran to La-La Land and I watched him lean a store arranged bouquet of flowers against a long, thick line of flower bouquets that had already been laid there.

I turned to Tate.

“He saw ‘em when we drove through earlier,” Tate answered my unspoken question. “He asked me at the store while you were takin’ a year to pick between spiral pasta and macaroni. He wanted our flowers to be there.”

Our flowers.

Our.

I looked back out the windshield to see Jonas jogging toward the SUV. He hefted himself in and closed the door.

I stared at the flowers the folks of Carnal had laid out to show Sunny and Shambles they had the town’s support.

Carnal was a good town. It was home.

I licked my lips as Tate pulled out of the parking spot.

Then I said, “I didn’t take a year to pick out pasta.”

Jonas chuckled.

All Tate said was, “Babe.”

* * * * *

“Petal, it hurt.”

My eyes opened.

The room was pitch. No moonlight because Tate had closed the curtains.

It was the middle of the night and I couldn’t sleep. This was the fourth time Sunny’s voice woke me up and her saying “hurt” in that tone that told me exactly how much it hurt, exactly how it felt when the blade sunk in her flesh, exactly how exquisite the pain was, exactly, I knew I wouldn’t get back to sleep again.

Carefully extricating my arm from around his waist, I rolled away from Tate’s back to rest on my opposite side.

Earlier that day, we’d come home to find Neeta’s car gone. Tate discovered through a phone call to Pop that Wood and Stella had come to collect it.

We’d had lunch, I made cookies while Tate and Jonas cleared the gutters of leaves (and yes, I’d let Jonas have some dough, a lot of it). This took them awhile so I sorted our pool bags, did laundry, changed sheets and ran the vacuum cleaner in random rooms, all this intermingled with sitting out on the deck and listening to them work and talk.

When they were done they played multiple games of horse at the basketball hoop that was mounted over the garage door. Sometimes I watched (okay, mostly I watched) while I sipped grape Kool-Aid.

The Kool-Aid reminded me of Carrie and Mom and Dad and home so I went into the house, got my phone, went back out to the deck and called them while I watched Tate and his son play basketball. I told my family about Jonas; about Neeta; I told my sister about Tate loving me and me loving him (she was cautiously happy for me, still thinking it was too soon but also liking Tate so she didn’t give me much guff); and I told them all about Sunny. I didn’t want to worry them but I also didn’t want to keep it from them. They didn’t like hearing it but they also made it clear they’d prefer it that way rather than me keeping it buried like I did with Brad and when I wandered the country looking for Carnal.

As for me, it felt good telling them, I needed to do it, to give it to them and they took it, as families do.

After basketball, I was off the phone and Tate and Jonas came to me. Tate took my newly refilled with Kool-Aid, retro, pink glass and downed a huge gulp.

When his hand dropped, his eyes narrowed on the glass then came to me.

“Jesus, Ace, that’s like suckin’ back a mouthful of sugar.”

He said this like it was a bad thing.

“I know,” I replied. “Isn’t it yummy?”

“Yummy,” Jonas muttered, his voice filled with humor. “Goofy.”

“Do you want some?” I asked Jonas.