Fast & Loose by Elizabeth Bevarly (the giving tree read aloud .txt) 📕

As if he’d finally met a woman who could distract him in a way that he liked, a woman with whom he could share a part of himself he’d never shared, a woman with whom he might possibly even fall in lo…

Well. It just felt like he’d lost something wonderful, that was all.

He was struggling to find something to say that would ease the awkward moment that had risen between them when Lulu lifted her hand to the back of her head and ruffled her hair, a gesture clearly born of nervousness from his silent study of her. And that was when Cole saw it. Riding just above the waistband of her low-slung jeans, to the left of the button—her left, not his—where her shirt rode up when she lifted her hand.

A tattoo.

Small, but still noticeable. A Chinese character he recognized from a framed ink sketch that was hanging in her kitchen. The symbol for chaos. The caption under the print had been something from the I Ching. Something about chaos being where dreams are born. And how before there could be something brilliant, there must first be chaos.

Lulu Flannery, wholesome, responsible, serious woman had a tattoo on her torso of chaos. And from that chaos, Cole realized, something brilliant and dreamy truly was born. A woman who decorated her body with something more permanent than a Sharpie must be capable of decorating its trappings and its environment in excessive ways, too. This was Lulu’s home. It was her bedroom. Her dresser drawer. Her lingerie. And it was her computer and her journal he had been reading, too. Delilah was in there. She must be buried deeply for Lulu to be able to hide her so well, but Delilah was inside her. Somewhere.

All Cole had to do was figure out how to set her free.

“Ummm,” Lulu began again when he said nothing in response to her statement.

But what was he supposed to say? Other than, Would you mind lifting your shirt again so I could see your tattoo?

“I guess I should get going,” she added uncomfortably.

She took a few cautious steps forward, then one to the side, then a few more that carried her past him in as wide an arc as she could manage in the small room. And with every step she took, Cole told himself to say something that would keep her from leaving. But his brain was too full of questions and riddles and puzzle pieces to be able to get any of them out of his mouth. He watched in strange detachment as Lulu lifted a hand in farewell, registered, somehow, the distant sound of her voice as she bid him good-bye, saw her retreating shape disappear through the bedroom door. Then he heard the scuff of her shoes as she went down the stairs, and then the creaking of the floor as she strode through the kitchen, and finally the latch of the back door as it closed behind her.

That last sound finally snapped him out of the stupor into which he had fallen. He raced down the stairs and into the kitchen, yanked open the back door, and nearly stumbled down the back steps in his effort to reach the street. But the street was empty when he got to it. He looked left, then right. Stepped left, then right. Stopped and listened for the sound of a car motor. But where he’d been able to register every tiny sound a few moments ago, suddenly Cole could hear nothing. Nothing but a voice at the very back of his brain telling him he might have just blown the best chance he ever had.

No, he immediately told himself. He really did know her name now. And he knew how to find her again. Even better, he knew what kind of woman she really was, even if she didn’t know that herself. Best of all, he had a plan for helping her find that woman. All he had to do was locate Lulu Flannery. And then, when he found Lulu, he could start looking for Delilah, too.

Thirteen

THE NURSING HOME BREE’S MOTHER HAD CHOSEN for herself when she still had the presence of mind to do so was the best Rosie Calhoun had been able to afford. It was pretty no-frills, but it was clean, and the nursing staff were as attentive and caring as they could be for people who were underpaid and overworked. One of the nurse’s aides had gone to high school with Bree, and she relied on her former classmate to report anything that might cause concern. After nine months in the place, though, Rosie Calhoun was reasonably happy.

Of course, after nine months in the place, Rosie Calhoun’s already meager savings were about half what they used to be. At this rate, in less than a year, Bree was going to have to find another home for her mother. One that cost a lot less and was a lot more no-frills. One that had a staff even more overworked and underpaid. One where Bree didn’t know a soul who could keep an eye on her mom when she couldn’t be here. And at that point, her mom was going to need even more care and attention than she required now.

Bree waved to a handful of patients and staff she recognized as she strode down the no-frills corridor toward her mother’s no-frills room. Sundays were actually pretty lively at the home, but most visitors came during the day, not just past dinnertime, like Bree, since she’d worked the day shift at the bar. Whoever had decorated the place had strived for a spa atmosphere with the pale green walls and faux marble flooring, but Bree wasn’t fooled. She doubted the inmates were, either. At least until they hit stage four or five. When she walked under an air vent, she was grateful for the denim jacket she’d pulled on