The Wrong Sister

We didn’t talk much for the rest of the ride, and by the time we reached Lisa’s place—which was now my place—I was exhausted. I entered with the same mix of emotions I had when entering Stacey’s house less than a year ago: sad and depressed, yet hopeful and curious. “You can just put your stuff right in here, honey.” There was a bedroom downstairs that Lisa used as a home office. I would take the bedroom upstairs above it. The master bedroom was over the garage. Her condo was at the end of a strip of four units, but only the kitchen and living room walls were shared. There was a partial bath downstairs and a full bath upstairs between the two bedrooms. I set the duffel bag I was carrying with my good arm on a small table in the corner, looked at the double bed, and remembered how Stacey and I had shared it not long ago. I sensed Lisa could read my thoughts. Breaking through my reverie, she said, “I’ll get the rest of your stuff.” I glanced at her. “Oh, yeah. Sorry I can’t help.” “It’s no problem at all. I’ll get your ratty first.” I managed a small smile, and soon my belongings were piled in the tiny room, about the same size as the one they had been in at Stacey’s house. Lisa turned to face me after placing the last of the boxes down. My head was in my hands as I sat on the end of the bed. “Are you okay, sweetie?” I shook my head, then looked up at her, tears streaming down my face. She sat beside me and put an arm around my shoulders. My upper body collapsed against hers, and I cried hysterically. She cooed softly as she ran a hand through my hair and kissed the top of my head. “It’s going to be okay, sweetie.” When I was done crying, she asked if I was hungry. I shook my head. “I’m a bit thirsty, though.” “Oh, okay. Would you like me to bring something up, or do you want to come downstairs with me?” “I’ll come down.” I rose from the bed, looked at Burke, and said, “I’ll be back soon, buddy.” “He can come, too,” Lisa said. “That’s okay. Maybe later.” Downstairs, she gave me a diet soda, and we sat on the couch. At first we were silent, her eyes full of concern, then she tried to make small talk. I gave a slight jerk, startled, when I heard a bump beyond the wall. “That’s just the old couple next door,” Lisa explained, motioning to the wall behind the couch. “John and Lisa have been here forever. They’re good people.” I gave a slight smile. “You’ll get used to living attached to others. Have you ever done that before?” I nodded. “In the nineties.” “Wow. It’s been a long time.” “I’d take an old couple any day over a large family, college kids, or welfare bums. Do you believe in curses?” “Excuse me?” “You do know English, Detective, yes?” Lisa gave a slight laugh. “I do, but I’m not sure about the curse thing. Why?” “Well, do you believe one can be blessed?” A thoughtful expression passed over her dark features. “Yes, I think one can be.” “Well, if people can be blessed, then they could be cursed, right?” Lisa nodded slightly. “I suppose so.” “What if I’m a curse?” “Oh, I don’t think you are, honey.” “I lost my husband and then Stacey. You don’t think I’m bringing people really shitty luck lately?” “I understand how you might feel that way. Some people might think that, but I really think you’ve just had horrible experiences—maybe more than most—but horrible nonetheless. It won’t always be this way.” I looked into her deep, dark eyes. “People tell me all the time that I’m smart.” “I totally believe that, even though I don’t know you well yet.” “I’m not smart. If I were, I’d get the hell away from you in case some death curse really has been put on me since the earthquake. I’m selfish and curious. Selfish because I want a real bed instead of the streets, and curious about what it would be like to live with you instead of just visiting for a day or two.” Lisa nodded knowingly, emotion evident in her eyes. “I really appreciate your honesty. I do hope you’ll give life a chance here. Can I ask a question?” “Of course.” “Do you know how to shoot a gun?” “No. I mean, I know the basics—you point and pull the trigger,” I said as Lisa giggled. “But I’ve never fired one. I suppose if I’m going to be the ‘wife’ of a cop, I should learn, right?” “Well, that’s up to you, but I don’t think now is a good time.” It took me a moment to understand. “Oh, no. I wouldn’t shoot myself. I’d prefer carbon monoxide or hanging.” With a serious expression, she said softly, “Hopefully, you won’t prefer any method.” I sipped my soda as she lifted the leg of her jeans and pulled a pistol from an ankle holster. “Kind of uncomfortable to walk around with, ain’t it?” I asked. “You get used to it. Do you know how to load or unload a gun?” “Nope. I’d be starting from scratch.” “Well, my revolver is in my nightstand drawer, and my service revolver is on top of the refrigerator when I’m home. Until you’re trained—unless there’s an emergency—no touching, okay?” She playfully swiped my nose with her finger. “Yes, ma’am. But wouldn’t self-defense be easier to learn?” “Learning that’s great. I can teach you some, but it won’t help much if someone’s aiming a gun at you or there are multiple attackers. We’ll go over it another time. You’ve had enough for one day; it’s important to take things slow.” Elbows on my knees (one gently, still in a sling), head down, I laughed. “It’s great to hear you laugh. Mind if I ask what’s so funny?” I looked up as she put the gun on the fridge and stood by the kitchen table. “I know it’s just for insurance, but take things slowly… yet be sure to get married right away?” She didn’t laugh. Holy shit. She really did have feelings for me. We barely knew each other, yet she was just as into me as I was into her. I didn’t know whether to feel guilty or just run with it and hope for the best.