assignment ever. Maybe I just don’t want Deacon to forget me. I set the key in his hand and Deacon closes his fingers around mine, holding for a long moment before thanking me and saying he’ll take good care of the car. I nod, knowing he will.
“Be safe, Quinlan,” he says, opening the passenger door and getting out. He ducks down to look at me one last time. “And make sure you come back,” he adds. If Deacon has a visible insecurity, it’s me. All of his arrogance fades when I’m about to go on assignment, because he always worries I won’t come back to Corvallis. I wouldn’t be the first closer to jump ship without a trace. Deacon’s afraid I’ll tire of this life and pick another.
I smile at him, not admitting that I’ll be at his door in two weeks, looking for comfort. Not admitting that seeing him with Shelly tonight annoyed me. Not admitting the way I still feel about him. Or maybe I’m just highly emotional right now and looking for any connection.
Deacon shuts the car door and heads to the front of his house. Just as he grabs the doorknob, he turns to look back at me, serious and solemn. And then he slips inside and disappears from my new life.
CHAPTER SIX
AT 6:59 A.M. I LIE flat on my back in bed, staring up at the stars on my ceiling, which have faded to a yellowish-green hue in the soft morning light. My room is stuffy because the heater kicks on full blast and neither my dad nor I have been able to figure out how to reset the timer. My hairline is damp with sweat, but I don’t make any initial moves to get up. I’m drawing out my last moments, mentally saying good-bye to my room. I’m like a little kid trying to give thanks at a holiday meal, randomly naming objects. Thank you for the lamp, I think. The stars on my ceiling. These itchy pajamas and my soft, fluffy sheets.
I sniff a laugh and roll out of bed, pausing to glance around. I really do hate leaving my room, my life. And maybe that’s why my thoughts turn to Deacon, and I wonder if he’s lying in bed thinking of me.
“Quinlan,” my father calls from downstairs. “You awake?”
“Yep,” I say back automatically, and start toward the door. The folder is still sitting on my vanity, and I’ll want to go over it several times more before we leave. After that, it’s a matter of getting to the house and looking through Catalina’s things. Smelling her perfume and trying on her clothes. I won’t do this in front of the family, of course. I can’t break the illusion. I’ll show up with my hair back, hood up. I won’t say too much at first—I won’t want them to think of my voice. Instead, Marie will bring me inside and take me to the room. After that, she’ll wait downstairs and have the initial consultation with the family. When they’re ready, which can take anywhere from thirty minutes to several hours, I’ll come in and meet them. At that point . . . I will be Catalina Barnes. I’ll continue studying her family while there, but I won’t break character if I can help it.
I don’t know how I’ll deal with her boyfriend, though. It’s so out of my realm of expertise—I’ve never even been able to deal with my own boyfriend, although I’m not sure if mine and Deacon’s relationship was ever exactly typical. What Catalina had with Isaac would be more normal. I furrow my brow, my worry once again spiked—I don’t know what normal is. After another second of doubt, I push away the thoughts to steady myself. I’ll have to lose these feelings of uncertainty if I hope to be successful. A confident closer is an effective closer.
I laugh to myself, walking out to the hall. I’m starting to sound like one of Marie’s lectures. Every so often, we’re brought into the offices to go over the rules, get recertified. We review the “person-centered” approach to what we do and how our role play frees up their minds to heal. Like tricking your brain out of its grief. People think it’s a broken heart that hurts;
“Be safe, Quinlan,” he says, opening the passenger door and getting out. He ducks down to look at me one last time. “And make sure you come back,” he adds. If Deacon has a visible insecurity, it’s me. All of his arrogance fades when I’m about to go on assignment, because he always worries I won’t come back to Corvallis. I wouldn’t be the first closer to jump ship without a trace. Deacon’s afraid I’ll tire of this life and pick another.
I smile at him, not admitting that I’ll be at his door in two weeks, looking for comfort. Not admitting that seeing him with Shelly tonight annoyed me. Not admitting the way I still feel about him. Or maybe I’m just highly emotional right now and looking for any connection.
Deacon shuts the car door and heads to the front of his house. Just as he grabs the doorknob, he turns to look back at me, serious and solemn. And then he slips inside and disappears from my new life.
CHAPTER SIX
AT 6:59 A.M. I LIE flat on my back in bed, staring up at the stars on my ceiling, which have faded to a yellowish-green hue in the soft morning light. My room is stuffy because the heater kicks on full blast and neither my dad nor I have been able to figure out how to reset the timer. My hairline is damp with sweat, but I don’t make any initial moves to get up. I’m drawing out my last moments, mentally saying good-bye to my room. I’m like a little kid trying to give thanks at a holiday meal, randomly naming objects. Thank you for the lamp, I think. The stars on my ceiling. These itchy pajamas and my soft, fluffy sheets.
I sniff a laugh and roll out of bed, pausing to glance around. I really do hate leaving my room, my life. And maybe that’s why my thoughts turn to Deacon, and I wonder if he’s lying in bed thinking of me.
“Quinlan,” my father calls from downstairs. “You awake?”
“Yep,” I say back automatically, and start toward the door. The folder is still sitting on my vanity, and I’ll want to go over it several times more before we leave. After that, it’s a matter of getting to the house and looking through Catalina’s things. Smelling her perfume and trying on her clothes. I won’t do this in front of the family, of course. I can’t break the illusion. I’ll show up with my hair back, hood up. I won’t say too much at first—I won’t want them to think of my voice. Instead, Marie will bring me inside and take me to the room. After that, she’ll wait downstairs and have the initial consultation with the family. When they’re ready, which can take anywhere from thirty minutes to several hours, I’ll come in and meet them. At that point . . . I will be Catalina Barnes. I’ll continue studying her family while there, but I won’t break character if I can help it.
I don’t know how I’ll deal with her boyfriend, though. It’s so out of my realm of expertise—I’ve never even been able to deal with my own boyfriend, although I’m not sure if mine and Deacon’s relationship was ever exactly typical. What Catalina had with Isaac would be more normal. I furrow my brow, my worry once again spiked—I don’t know what normal is. After another second of doubt, I push away the thoughts to steady myself. I’ll have to lose these feelings of uncertainty if I hope to be successful. A confident closer is an effective closer.
I laugh to myself, walking out to the hall. I’m starting to sound like one of Marie’s lectures. Every so often, we’re brought into the offices to go over the rules, get recertified. We review the “person-centered” approach to what we do and how our role play frees up their minds to heal. Like tricking your brain out of its grief. People think it’s a broken heart that hurts;
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