Sooner or later they would have to talk, Lucy thought. But a part of her was afraid to start a conversation that might not conclude the way she hoped it would.
I’m afraid.
An image of Dr. Preston sitting behind her desk in the therapy room loomed in Lucy’s imagination. She could see Preston’s neatly styled gray hair and her impassive, unreadable face.
What are you afraid of, Lucy?
“Well, damn,” Lucy said aloud.
“That’s not a promising way to start a conversation,” Mason said. He sounded wary. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She laughed. “I just realized I don’t have commitment issues after all.”
Mason relaxed and started walking again, hauling her along with him.
“Congratulations,” he said. “But I could have told you that.”
“Is that so?”
“Can’t see anyone with commitment issues risking her neck and potentially millions of dollars in stock shares to find justice for two women everyone believed had died in an accident. That kind of thing requires a major commitment.”
“That’s different,” Lucy said.
He smiled. “Sure, go ahead, blow it off.”
“Pay attention. This is a very big deal. I never had commitment issues. My problem is that I’ve been risk-averse most of my life.”
“Says the woman who cracked a bottle over the head of a crazy killer armed with a gun.”
“That’s not a good example of risk aversion. I had no choice in that situation.”
“Some people freeze in those situations.”
She frowned. “What good would that do?”
“None,” Mason said. “But a risk-averse person might choose that option. Thinking on your feet is not a natural skill for most people.”
“We’re getting off-topic here.”
“What is the topic?” Mason asked.
“Me and my history of commitment issues.”
“So this is all about you.”
“Absolutely.” She stopped, forcing Mason to halt, too. “Listen up, Fletcher. I have had an epiphany.”
He smiled. “And like everyone else who has ever had an epiphany, you can’t wait to share it with the rest of the world.”
“I don’t give a damn about the rest of the world, but I admit I feel compelled to share it with you.”
“Why me?” he asked.
“Because you are the person who inspired my epiphany. My therapist was convinced that I had commitment issues, but the truth is I have just been extremely cautious when it came to trusting other people.”
“Being cautious is not dysfunctional, it’s a smart survival tactic,” Mason said.
“Exactly my point. To be fair to Dr. Preston, I’ve got a feeling that it’s easy to confuse a bone-deep caution with an inability to commit. And to her credit, I think she was starting to close in on the real problem toward the end of therapy, but I fired her just before we got to the important revelation.”
“Are you sure you’re not overanalyzing yourself here?”
“I’m trying to describe my epiphany.”
“Right.”
“The thing is, there is a difference between being super-cautious and having commitment issues.”
“Okay,” Mason said. “So what?”
“What I’m trying to say is that after everything that has happened, I have come to the realization that life is too short to be lived cautiously.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re going to take up skydiving or bungee jumping?” Mason asked.
“No, I’m trying to tell you that thirteen years ago I got a brief glimpse of the kind of man I would one day want to marry. He was strong and solid, and somehow, even at the age of sixteen, I knew he was a man who, if he made a commitment, would honor it to hell and back. I wasn’t consciously aware of it over the years, but in hindsight I can see that I judged every man I’ve known against the standard he set. It wasn’t fair, not to the men I met or to myself. It’s not right to make those kinds of comparisons. Everyone is different. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. But I made the comparison to you anyway.”
“Hang on here,” Mason said. “Are you telling me I’m the man you used to set your so-called standard?”
“You were the prototype I had in mind when I filled out the online matchmaking questionnaires. Well, except for the poor-communicator thing, of course. I always stipulated that good communication skills were very important.”
“Don’t try to tell me that you’ve been carrying the torch for me for the past thirteen years. I’m not buying that.”
“I wasn’t carrying a torch—not exactly. I had a lot of other things to do during that time. I’ve been busy.”
He looked amused. “Doing what?”
“Growing up, going to college, traveling, meeting new people, finding a career that I love. In short, I’ve been living my life and it’s been good, and when it hasn’t been all good it’s been . . . interesting.”
“Interesting.” He smiled. “Is that the optimist’s way of saying there were times when the shit hit the fan?”
“My point—”
“You mean you’ve got one?”
“My point is that one of the things I’ve had to do along the way was figure out what I really wanted in life.”
“Did you figure that out?” Mason asked.
“Oh, yes. And it’s the one thing I’ve been afraid to risk going for.”
“You want a family.”
She tried to read his face, but it was hard because of the sunglasses.
“How did you know?” she asked.
“Give me a break.” He smiled. “I’m a detective.”
“Oh, yeah, right.” She cleared her throat. “After my big screwup with my engagement, I tried to approach the problem of getting married and having a family as carefully and as scientifically as possible.”
“The online-matchmaking thing.”
“I met some very nice men. Well-educated, successful men. Interesting men. Men who passed all the criminal background checks.”
Mason nodded. “Always a bonus, I say.”
“Men who said they wanted what I wanted: a family.”
“Could you hurry this up? I think I’m going to suffer a fit of the vapors at any minute here.”
She ignored that. “But even though, according to the computer algorithms, some of those men met many or even most of my requirements, none of them was right for me.”