Read Everything We Keep: A Novel for Free Online Page B

“I’ll tell him you’ve hired a gardener.”
    “Perfect.”
    She sniffed the air. Scents of cinnamon and maple syrup hovered sweetly in the room. “Coffee cake?” she asked. I motioned toward the casserole dishes and platters crowding the kitchen table and her eyes bugged. “You’ve been busy. Are you planning to eat all this?”
    I gave her a sheepish look. “I’ve sort of been feeding the neighborhood.”
    While my next-door neighbor and her husband appreciated the warm dishes to go with their dinners, and their three kids loved the treats I brought them, they did ask I stop feeding their family. I was spending too much money on them. Money I didn’t have in the bank because I still couldn’t convince myself to cash Thomas’s check. Even though my credit card was almost maxed out from groceries, I would probably end up donating the results of the most recent cooking binge to Saint Anthony’s soup kitchen, where Mom volunteered.
    Kristen helped herself to a slice. “Oh wow, this isn’t your mom’s recipe.” She moaned. “It’s better.”
    “I added sour cream. It changes the texture. Makes the cake light and tender.”
    She shoveled the last bite and added another slice to her plate. “So what’s with the cooking frenzy?”
    “You know me. I have to keep busy. Keeps my mind off . . . things.”
    A soft smile touched her lips. “James wasn’t the only artist in the house.”
    My mouth curved up at the corner. “Yeah, we were good like that.”
    I went to the sink and rinsed dishes. Kristen finished the coffee cake, then straightened several months’ worth of mail on the countertop. A stack spilled and envelopes cascaded to the floor. She picked them up. “Whoa. What’s this?”
    I looked at what she held. Thomas’s check. Buried and ignored with the other mail. “It’s from Thomas.”
    “ What? Why?”
    “He was James’s beneficiary. Thomas figured I was entitled to the money since James and I were about to get married.”
    “That was nice of him. God,” Kristen flapped the check, “nice doesn’t come close. This is huge! You can start your own restaurant with this kind of cash.”
    “Yeah, well, if that’s what I decide to do.”
    She stared at the check. “It’s dated on your wedding . . . um, sorry. The check’s the same date as James’s funeral.”
    I dried my hands and took the check from her. “That’s when Thomas gave it to me, right before Lacy approached me.”
    “Who’s Lacy? Is she that lady we saw you talking to in the parking lot?”
    I nodded. “She’s a psychic.”
    Laughter bubbled from Kristen. “A what? ”
    “A psychic counselor.”
    “Like a fortune-teller?”
    “More like a psychic profiler, I think.”
    “No wonder Nadia took her card from you. I’d be concerned, too, if someone like that approached me. What did she tell you?”
    “James is still alive.”
    Kristen’s mouth fell open. The clock in the front room ticked. Then it ticked again. She sucked in a breath. “That’s freaky. You don’t believe her, do you?”
    I twisted the engagement ring around my finger. I had asked myself what if on numerous occasions.
    She narrowed her eyes. “Aimee?”
    “No. I don’t.”
    She sighed in relief. “Good. You had me worried there for a second.” She peeked at her watch. “I have to go. Class starts in thirty minutes. Oh, I almost forgot.” She dug into her purse. “This is for you.”
    Another business card. G RACE P ETERSON , P H D, C LINICAL P SYCHOLOGIST . G RIEF C OUNSELING .
    “I’m glad you’ve finally come up for air, but I sense you’re still holding something inside. Just in case you feel the urge, talk to a counselor. A real counselor.” She flipped the card and tapped the handwriting on the back. “I’ve scheduled an appointment. Today at eleven. You can change the time or day. Cancel if you want. Up to you.”
    “Thanks,” I said, unsure whether I would go. I tossed the card onto the kitchen table, right next to