“Yes,” I admitted. Jolie had a nose for the truth, and she was as persistent as a bloodhound.

“So it’s back on with you two?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “He has kids, an ex-wife. And he’s thinking of changing jobs. There’s a pretty good chance Tucker’s rebounding, and I’m the trampoline.”

Jolie winced. “Not good,” she said.

“Not good at all,” I agreed.

“And then there’s the sex.”

I sighed again. “And then there’s the sex.”

“Good?”

“Beyond good. Beyond excellent.”

“Aaak,” Jolie said.

That about summed it up.

At the IHOP, over breakfast suppers swimming in syrup, we switched subjects.

“You still thinking of becoming a crime scene tech?” I asked.

“I’ve got an interview with Phoenix PD,” she said. “Tomorrow afternoon, one o’clock.” She smiled softly, holding a crisp slice of bacon between two fingers. “Remember how we used to love it when Lillian served breakfast food for supper?”

I felt a pang. Nodded. “It was always a treat,” I said. “Looking back, I figure it really meant she and Ham had run out of money before they ran out of month.”

Jolie grinned. “Probably.”

“Did you get Sweetie all squared away with the friends in the country?”

“Yes,” Jolie said. “And it’s okay to say you’re relieved I didn’t bring him with me. He gave you a pretty hard time the other day.”

I shuddered slightly at the reminder of being trapped on top of Jolie’s refrigerator for several hours with nothing to do but memorize the instruction book for the microwave. If I ever ran into a French person with thawing problems, though, I’d be ready.

“I don’t think Sweetie likes me,” I said.

“He likes you fine,” Jolie replied, chomping into her bacon.

“Maybe with salt and pepper and a side of fries.”

Jolie laughed. “He wouldn’t have eaten you.”

“It wasn’t the eating part I was worried about,” I told her. “It was the gnawing.”

She smiled.

“It would be great to have you living in Phoenix,” I said. “I miss you, big-time.”

“If you miss me so much,” Jolie reasoned, “why did you boogie like that the other night? Why didn’t you stay and talk it through?”

“I don’t know.” It seemed I’d been saying that a lot lately.

“I’m on your side, Moje. You were rattled because some of your memories were coming back, and you panicked. I could have listened, maybe helped you sort things out, if you’d given me a chance.”

“A part of me doesn’t want to remember,” I confessed.

“Ya think?” Jolie chimed. She sounded smart-ass, but I saw the concern in her eyes.

“Maybe it’s better not to start digging things up,” I mused. “After all, it’s been twenty-three years. It’s old news.”