“Fuck, Stella. Please,” he begged, clearly not wanting to get into it with her about all that he did for his family.

“Do you pay all your sisters’ mortgages?”

Silence.

“You do, don’t you?” She was stunned. This wasn’t anything she’d even contemplated.

“Can we please save this conversation for face to face?” he pleaded.

Stella relented. Really, in the grand scheme of things, this was nothing and definitely something that could be discussed later. “Fine, George. I’ll call you later.”

“Love.” His voice was full of relief.

“Love.”

* * *

“When is this happening?” Denise asked.

Stella was sitting in her usual spot, gazing out the window. She was getting to the point where she looked forward to and dreaded these appointments at the same time.

“That’s a matter of top secret clearance and you don’t have that, so…”

“Stella, you can continue to play cat and mouse with me or you can genuinely make efforts to get better. Be better.” Denise sipped her tea and watched Stella with her doe eyes.

“I’m already better.” Stella didn’t know if she believed this or that she could even get “better,” but it felt good to say. And she was at least feeling “less bad” since she started seeing Denise.

“No. You’re not. I know you think you’re ugly, lost, not good enough for George, and you’re in a job you aren’t sure you want, but you have yet to open up the closet that holds all the things that scare you so I can help you and protect you.”

“All of the things that scare me are out of my closet.” After their last session, Denise knew most everything that happened with Jamie and Jack, except that they were the same person. “I answered all your questions in our top secret session and the only thing I didn’t get a chance to tell you about was trying to get my shooter to admit to it while I’m recording it so that I can finally be free of him.”

Denise was unable to keep the shock from her face. “But your dreams are getting worse. Maybe it’s the impending showdown that’s causing such stress on your psyche.”

“A showdown?” She scoffed. “I was shot. I’m scared of the person who shot me. I was kidnapped. I’m scared of the person who kidnapped me. I’m scared that the person who shot me and kidnapped me will hurt George or someone else I love. I’m so fucking scared all the time. I’m tired of being scared. I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m okay with being the broken, bent, fucked up person I am, but I worry George will see all that and leave me.”

“Why is it that you think George will leave you? We always come back to this. I just don’t understand. He’s been with you through the last several years and he’s told you repeatedly he’s not going anywhere.”

“I…I just feel it. I know that doesn’t make a ton of sense, but I just…George is one of the most beautiful people I’ve ever met. His soul is sunshine and Nutter Butter cookies. There’s nothing ugly, scary, or mean in him. Me, on the other hand—I’m the imitation Oreos that are just pretending to be real cookies.” Stella shook her head. “There’s no sunshine there, only the moon. The moon is always hiding part of itself.”

“Well, the cookie analogy is well thought out. I do love Nutter Butters and hate those cheap imitation Oreos. Let’s dig a little deeper. Why do you feel like a cheap imitation of anything? You’re a woman who has gone through many different traumas in her life. Your traumas are not only for you to deal with privately, but out in the open for the entire world to see and judge, which makes everything more difficult and you extra strong for dealing with it with such finesse.”

“I feel like I’m just pretending to go through this life until I get killed.” After the words left her, she realized what she said. She inwardly cringed because she’d meant every single word. Stella looked around like she couldn’t believe it. She’d never thought of her herself as biding her time until she died. It wasn’t even just death—everyone dies—she was waiting to be killed. How fucked up can one person get?

Denise cleared her throat. “I actually think it’s very rational to feel like you’ll die after your fiancé died and you were shot during a bombing. I think you’d be delusional if you didn’t have some sort of residual fear about your mortality. Now we just need to help you deal with this precarious thing called life.”

Stella looked at her phone. “My time’s up.” She stood and walked toward the door.

“Stella. We’ll get you through this.” Denise took a sip of tea and then smiled.

“See you next week.”

As she walked back to her office she contemplated the words she’d just spoken out loud. She was waiting to be killed. I’m waiting on Jamie to kill me. It was true, but nothing is really true until you speak it out loud. Once it’s spoken, then you have to acknowledge it and deal with it. Fuck.

She got back to her office and buried herself in her work until her alarm went off, letting her know she needed to get home to let Cooper out before her yoga class.

* * *

After yoga, Stella drove to Finnegan’s and got a check out of George’s safe for his fucking sister’s mortgage. She couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the fact that grown ass women needed their brother to pay for their shit. Kara’s husband had a job. Kelly and her husband had jobs. She just didn’t understand; maybe she never would. As she got back in her car, her phone rang.

“Hi, Dad,” she answered.

“Hey, Stella,” his voice was strained, “you doing okay?”

“Yes, sir.” She drove home to grab Cooper before heading back to Patrick and Billy’s. “You?”

“I’ve had better days.” He sighed into the phone.

“What’s up?”

“I don’t know, I just…” his words got lost by a bad connection.

“Dad? Are you there?” she called into the phone.

“I’m worried about you. I don’t like George not being there with all this shit going on. I’m worried about something happening to you that I can’t control.”

“Shit, Dad, if you’re worried about that, you may get an ulcer,” she joked. “I know all of this is taking a toll on you and Mom. I really am trying to handle it with the FBI and have everything worked out. Jamie is back in the DC office and just walking around like it’s nothing.” She shook her head at the audacity of the bastard.

“I know, I talked to Patrick,” he said, voice bordering on rage. “I can’t even believe the size of this guy’s balls.”

“Dad, I know. I can’t believe that it’s the same guy that spent Christmas with us for four years. I’ve been trying to reconcile this for a year and a half. It’s not possible.”

“I hurt for his family, Stella. I went to that funeral too…” His voice trailed off. “I just don’t know what to think about this.”

“I’m sorry we have to think about it at all.”

He sighed again. “How’s your hand?” he asked, changing the subject, or so he thought.

“It’s okay. It’ll be fine. The cast itches like a bitch though.”

“You coming home for Christmas?” he asked hopefully.

“I don’t know.” She hadn’t even thought about Christmas. “Let me talk to George.”

“Alright. I gotta go.” He was quiet for a few seconds. “I love you, Stella.”

“You too, Dad.” She hung up, worried about her dad’s tone. That was a stranger conversation than usual.

* * *

Stella walked into Patrick and Billy’s house, still clad in her yoga wear. She peeled off the fleece she had worn to Finnegan’s and tossed it on a chair. Cooper was sitting in the middle of the kitchen watching Millie’s every movement at the counter. He didn’t even get up to greet Stella for fear of missing a stray scrap.

“Hey,” Millie said, looking up.

“Hey.” Stella bent down to rub Cooper’s ears and down his back. Cooper’s tail swished the floor rhythmically, happy to see her as always. When he didn’t get up to meet her, worries about his age came to the forefront of her mind, but she shoved them back down. Coop was going to live forever. “Your day good?”

“Oh yeah,” Millie replied. “I sat in an eight hour meeting about the re-authorization of I.D.E.A.” She was stirring two separate pots of pasta and spaghetti sauce, her normal Wednesday meal.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but any eight hour meeting sounds horrible.” She opened the oven and saw garlic bread baking. The smell alone made her mouth water.

“You have no clue how bored I was today.” Pulling out the strainer, Millie threw a piece of pasta at Cooper. “I mean, I was so bored I looked at tattoos on Pinterest. Your pictures are on there, did you know that?”

“What the fuck is Pinterest?” Stella inquired as she opened the fridge and pulled out the white wine she opened last night.

“As healthy as you are, you sure do drink a lot,” Millie commented.

Stella snorted. “You’ve know me for five years and you’re just now realizing this?” She raised her eyebrows.

Millie shrugged. “Pour me a glass.” Millie was still in the dress she wore to work, her cobalt shoes kicked off to the side. Her dress was black and gathered at the waist, but the collar was wide and open.

“Where are the boys?”

“I think they’re playing softball on the mall tonight.”

“Why didn’t they ask me to play?” she wondered out loud.

“Because you have a broken hand, jackass.”

“Oh, that’s true,” Stella acknowledged, setting Millie’s wine on the counter. “Duh.” Stella went over to the couch and sat down with her wine.

“Stella…you okay?” Millie didn’t look at Stella, but continued to make their dinner. She didn’t want Stella to think this was some sort of intervention. “You know I love you, but I’m worried about you. First the Jamie run-in and now you’ve basically moved in.”