“I mean, the restaurants probably aren’t owned by themobor anything,” she said with a smirk as she walked back toward the bed. “But I’m sure we could find a place we like.”
“The coffee, though,” I said, shaking my head.
“I mean, obviously, we will have to import from Navesink Bank,” she said, and I had to have a laugh at that. Potentially living part-time in a country known for its coffee, and importing some in from some little town in New Jersey.
“Obviously,” I agreed. “So what happens if you love Greece and the Maldives and South America as much as you love it here?”
“Well, I guess we start collecting real estate like Bellamy and Fenway,” she said. “Maybe we can even cause an international scandal all our own someday.”
“Well, we would know who to call to fix it.”
“Cam,” she said with a big smile.
“You know what? You’re probably right,” I agreed, folding up, grabbing her, and pulling her back into the bed with me.
Miranda - 8 months
“Was that the Chine—“ I started as I walked toward the living room in the penthouse apartment we still split some of our time in, though we did tend to spend more time in Navesink Bank these days.
In Brock’s small, but perfect, house. In close proximity to amazing coffee. And his friends that had become something like an extended family to both of us.
“Actually…”
“Hey! Look who’s not crazy anymore!” a female voice said as my gaze landed on Alice standing just inside the door to the hallway. “I mean, well, for the moment,” she said, giving me a familiar self-deprecating smile.
She looked good, too.
A little less thin, so she didn’t seem so breakable.
“Alice!” I said, beaming at her.
I’d lost hope in seeing her again several months ago. I figured, if I was going to see her, it would have been relatively soon after I’d been released.
“You know, you could have told me that you weren’t, you know,” she said, miming slicing her throat. Appropriate, Alice was not. But I found I liked that she just said whatever was rolling around in her head.
“Would you have believed me?” I shot back.
“I mean, probably not. I once spent an entire evening talking to a chick who swore she was Johnny Cash. So, yeah, you know, sometimes you take what people say with a grain of salt. So… you were never crazy! Good for you.”
“Brock,” I said, gesturing toward him. “This is Alice. Alice, Brock. She made my stay at the psych ward tolerable. Alice, this is my former private investigator turned, ah, boyfriend,” I said, wincing a little at that word. It just sounded so wrong for what he meant to me.
“As a psych ward alum, I have to thank you for being that old timer who helped out the new kid. I had someone do that for me once upon a time too. It meant a lot,” Brock said.
“See, now, you just have a type!” Alice said, pointing to herself and then Brock. “Kind of crazy, but also super hot. Great combination in my humble opinion. So what kind of crazy are you, Smoky McHotpants? Judging by that posture… PTSD? Mix in a little major depression? Maybe some anxiety and panic?”
“You’re good,” he said, nodding.
“I know. If I could keep my own ass on the straight-and-narrow for long enough, I would probably make a great head shrinker. Oh, is that the Chinese you were talking about?” she asked, hearing a buzz on the intercom. “I’ll go grab it,” she said, rushing out to do just that before either of us could object.
“She’s a lot, but she’s amazing,” I told him because he looked a little bit shell-shocked.
“No, yeah, I can see that. I was just thinking…”
“Yeah?”
“Maybe you should consider having her on the staff of your nonprofit,” he said.
I might not have actually needed to go to the mental health facility when I’d been forced there. But there were many people, like Alice, like Brock, who benefited from them.