Showing Off to Nick

Nick called two more times in the following week. He was still keeping his eyes peeled for something that might trigger our cat burglar friend and practically begged for updates on the investigation. I was doing my best but Faye didn't want to talk about school all the time. I can't blame her. I'd go crazy if all I talked about was work but it was so frustrating trying to drag each tiny tidbit out of her. I couldn't make her suspicious by bringing it up too often.

I always asked when she got home in a casual "how was school" kind of way but my vague phrasing frequently resulted in hearing way too much about classes I couldn't have cared less about. Of course, I had to appear riveted or she'd stop talking about school period. It was a hard line to walk.

It was worse because all Faye wanted to talk about was my budding relationship with Jon. There was nothing to tell! I told her what we talked about but she wanted to hear things like body language and subtext. Was this normal female behavior? If Cindy had lived, would we be discussing guys like this? Somehow I didn't think so. Cindy and I weren't like that. Our father probably wiped our ability to get excited about men right out of us.

After that conversation with Nick I tried to think about Cindy more, with the rationale that if I did that I could condition myself not to break down at the very mention of her name. I had a rough few days but it started to work. This method was especially helpful because Jon kept coming up to me on break at work to talk and he frequently talked about his daughter who shared my dead sister's name.

He was true to his word. Though he talked to me at almost every given opportunity, he didn't push me to talk about my feelings or make any sort of declaration. My cover was strengthening. I was a normal twenty-six year old woman who flirted with guys. Who knew? We had still technically only been on the one date but our lunch breaks matched up twice and we ate together in the café across the street.

I brought up my strategy to Nick over ice cream one day (he wanted the details of my life of crime that I said I'd only give in person), advising him to do the same. He shot me down.

"I'm still grieving, Lori. I'm not ready to be in any sort of relationship, fake or not. Maybe it's different for you. You lost a sister, not a boyfriend. I lost my wife. I'm not about to replace her for the sake of having an alibi."

My cheeks burned in shame. He made me sound so callous but he had a point. "I'm so sorry, Nick, I didn't even think of that. Don't fake date someone when you care about having something real. Just…I don't know…what do guys do together? Watch sports? Play sports? Talk about sports?"

He laughed and leaned back in his chair, relaxed, so I knew I was forgiven. "Basically. A few guys at work have been trying to form a volleyball team. I can join them, that'll give me the character witnesses you think are so necessary."

"I just don't want anything to happen to you," I said quietly. I meant it. I cared about Nick, to the extent I was capable of caring about another person. We had bonded through mutual loss and our method of making the world a better place. "I want you to cover your bases as much as you can."

"That's really sweet, coming from you," he said while bopping me on the nose with his spoon.

I scowled and wiped off the sticky patch of rocky road. "Oh, shut up."

He laughed again. "All joking aside though, it's nice to know I've got someone in my corner. You're a good person, Lori."

"Says one killer to another," I snickered.

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, yeah." I deliberated a moment before deciding to let him in on a secret no one else knew. "Do you still want to know what I do?"

"Yes, as you haven't told me yet and that was supposed to be the whole point of this meeting."

I smiled mischievously. He was in for a big surprise. "Come with me, we'll come back for your car later."

He raised an eyebrow but got in the passenger's seat anyway. "Where are we going?"

"You know I kill terrible people. I'm a social worker. I see horrible things parents do to kids every day. When necessary, I get rid of them so the kids can have a chance at a better life. What I'm about to show you is how."

Confusion and nerves battled for precedence in his expression and I almost laughed. He probably thought I was going to drag him along to a murder. When I pulled up to the gym, confusion won.

"What are we doing here?"

"You'll see!" I laughed pulling on his arm so he'd follow.

The burly African American man who ran the front desk nodded at me when we walked in. "Hey, Blondie."

"Slim," I returned the greeting. Everyone went by a nickname here. It was nice having a place where I didn't need to be Loretta Latham. Where I didn't have to act.

Nick was still obviously confused and when we got to the room with the free running equipment. I cracked up at the disbelief on his face. Some of the regulars could be seen jumping over stacks of blocks five feet high or swinging crazy distances between bars. A boyfriend/girlfriend duo I knew as the Reds because they frequently wore matching red workout clothes were practicing intricate flips on a trampoline.

"You do parkour," Nick breathed in disbelief.

I got that reaction a lot when I first started coming here, since I was shorter than most free runners. Slim used to rib me for it until he saw me fly around the equipment with ease. I came here less to train and more to maintain what I already knew.

Recognition was completely contrary to my mission. I preferred being invisible inside this gym to practicing outdoors where people I knew might see me.

He laughed and shook his head. "So this is what you meant when you said you spend a lot of time on rooftops. Geez, Lori. How on earth did you even get into this?"

I steeled myself against the onslaught of negative emotion. Nick had inspired me to be more open about Cindy's life, after all. I could tell him. "My sister wanted to win American Ninja Warrior. We spent countless hours in gyms and parks with equipment like this in high school."

His eyes softened in compassion and he put a hand on my shoulder. "I'm glad you shared this with me."

Oddly enough, so was I. Here I was, sharing a part of my sister's life with someone who understood my pain at losing her. It was comforting somehow. "Me too."

"So," he said playfully, breaking the seriousness of the moment. "Want to show me what you can do?"

I grinned back. "Prepare to be amazed."