“Sometimes there’s something to be said for being a chickenshit.” She turned the burner off under the eggs she’d scrambled. “Thank you again for being here last night.”

He shot her a smoldery look over the toaster. “Anything for you, Glo. Thanks for talking to me last night.”

“Silence keeps it too powerful,” she recited. “Or at least, that’s what my therapist says. Keeping it a secret that no one else knows gives it this unholy strength. But talking about it? It’s ugly and hard, but it takes the power away.”

“How do you feel today?” he asked, watching her carefully.

She thought about it as she shoveled eggs onto plates and divided the bacon between the two. “I feel okay. I know everyone’s going to be gossiping about Mrs. Diller. But I made my choice, and I stood my ground. And I didn’t cry in front of anyone last night.”

“You’re allowed to cry or do whatever the hell you want, Gloria. No one’s here to make you do anything,” Aldo reminded her, his voice rough enough around the edges that she felt it on her skin.

“I know.” And then, “thank you.”

“Do you mind if I read the letter?”

Ah, the letter. She’d temporarily put the fact that Glenn was still pulling strings from a place where he physically couldn’t touch her out of her mind.

Yes. She minded. Hadn’t she given him enough of her garbage, her baggage, last night? Did he need this piece, too?

“Please?” Aldo added. Her resolve crumbled like burnt toast.

She shrugged a shoulder. “Sure. Not that it’ll do any good. Nothing actionable.”

He didn’t say anything but ambled out of the kitchen in the direction of the dining table. He’d have this part of her too now. But how else could she know if she could trust him?

44

“Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in.” Jamilah stretched in her ergonomic chair and crossed her arms over her chest.

Aldo leaned against the doorway. This was his first time stepping foot—ha—in the office since his return. Jamilah had called, texted, emailed, messaged, and even dropped by a few times before effectively giving up on her pissed-off, depressed partner. He couldn’t blame her.

“Taking a trip down memory lane?” she asked. “Because I know you’re not here to work. The last time I saw you and asked when you were coming back, you said when you fucking felt like it. Then I said ‘Oh, no. When I fucking feel like looking at your dumb face.’” She twirled in her chair, tapping a pen to her chin. “Do I feel like looking at your dumb face today?”

Aldo pulled his right hand from behind his back. Gloria, pretty in pink this morning, had whipped up a cheery apology bouquet for him. He had a lot of apologizing to do.