offered once . Try as you might, you can’t save all your patients. You’re going to lose some of them. We’re none of us gods.
Eloise forced herself out of bed. As soon as she was moving, she felt lighter—if not better. Something heavy had been lifted. She didn’t know what. She went to the bathroom and regarded her battered face.
Sometimes there’s nothing to do but observe. We can’t always control the outcome.
“Shut up,” she told the voice. Maybe it was just her own deep subconscious. Whatever it was, she was sick to death of hearing it. “Just shut up.”
Eloise took a shower in her bathroom that badly needed updating. Then she chose a white blouse and a pair of jeans from a closet of clothes that consisted only of items in white, gray, or denim. Why were there no colors in her closet? she found herself wondering. She used to wear colors, didn’t she?
Eloise had money, and a lot of it. There had been a life insurance payout when Alfie died fourteen years ago, and she’d banked it. They’d had a decent amount saved before that. They were never spenders. Since Alfie’s death, the onset of the visions, and the work that had resulted from them, there had been consulting fees and rewards, big ones. When she partnered with Ray in his private detective business, she agreed to do so only when he agreed to handle all client interface, billing, accounting, et cetera.
“You can just pay me what you think you owe me at the end of each case,” she’d told him.
He’d stared at her a minute with the look he got, that cop’s look, like what’s your angle?
“You’re not a very good businesswoman, are you?” he said finally.
“I’m not,” she admitted. “And it’s good that you know that going in.”
“Aren’t you worried that I’m going to take advantage of you, not pay you what you’re owed? How about you get a lawyer and we draw up a contract?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not worried about that at all. You’re the last person I’m worried about, Ray Muldune. And I don’t want a lawyer.”
He shrugged. “If you’re sure,” he said. They shook on it.
“Can your accountant do my taxes, too?” she asked him. “As part of our arrangement.”
He laughed and gave his head a little shake. “Sure, Eloise,” he said. “Why not?”
The last time Eloise visited Ray’s accountant, who was also her accountant now, she thought he was joking when he told her how much money she had. It was split up in various stocks, bonds, mutual funds, CDs (all things they had discussed and she promptly forgot). Ray had established a 401(k) and pension plan for their business. They got salaries and profit sharing. He did everything right, totally aboveboard, just as she knew he would. And the money that had amassed in her various accounts was significant.
“Your expenses are very low,” her accountant told her. He was young, younger than Amanda. He had a sweet, round face, and round spectacles to match, a flop of blonde hair. He had a tattoo on his arm—a mermaid on a jetty—and wore a tee-shirt to their meeting. Was that how people dressed for business these days? Ray seemed to like him, though. “You’re living far below your means.”
“Is that a bad thing?” she’d asked.
“No,” he said. “But your house is paid off. Your daughter’s education is paid for. And you have more than enough for whichever school your grandchildren choose, which I know is your wish.”
He looked at her a little shyly, the way that respectful young people look when they are trying to give older people advice. “I’m just saying that you can afford to live a little.”
Live a little. His words came back to her now as she looked at the drab, old clothes in her closet. It was a sad collection of frumpy, worn items. The only new things in there were clothes Amanda sent her.
“Oh my God, Mom! What are you wearing?” she’d asked when Eloise had picked her up from the airport last visit.
“What?” She
Eloise forced herself out of bed. As soon as she was moving, she felt lighter—if not better. Something heavy had been lifted. She didn’t know what. She went to the bathroom and regarded her battered face.
Sometimes there’s nothing to do but observe. We can’t always control the outcome.
“Shut up,” she told the voice. Maybe it was just her own deep subconscious. Whatever it was, she was sick to death of hearing it. “Just shut up.”
Eloise took a shower in her bathroom that badly needed updating. Then she chose a white blouse and a pair of jeans from a closet of clothes that consisted only of items in white, gray, or denim. Why were there no colors in her closet? she found herself wondering. She used to wear colors, didn’t she?
Eloise had money, and a lot of it. There had been a life insurance payout when Alfie died fourteen years ago, and she’d banked it. They’d had a decent amount saved before that. They were never spenders. Since Alfie’s death, the onset of the visions, and the work that had resulted from them, there had been consulting fees and rewards, big ones. When she partnered with Ray in his private detective business, she agreed to do so only when he agreed to handle all client interface, billing, accounting, et cetera.
“You can just pay me what you think you owe me at the end of each case,” she’d told him.
He’d stared at her a minute with the look he got, that cop’s look, like what’s your angle?
“You’re not a very good businesswoman, are you?” he said finally.
“I’m not,” she admitted. “And it’s good that you know that going in.”
“Aren’t you worried that I’m going to take advantage of you, not pay you what you’re owed? How about you get a lawyer and we draw up a contract?”
“No,” she said. “I’m not worried about that at all. You’re the last person I’m worried about, Ray Muldune. And I don’t want a lawyer.”
He shrugged. “If you’re sure,” he said. They shook on it.
“Can your accountant do my taxes, too?” she asked him. “As part of our arrangement.”
He laughed and gave his head a little shake. “Sure, Eloise,” he said. “Why not?”
The last time Eloise visited Ray’s accountant, who was also her accountant now, she thought he was joking when he told her how much money she had. It was split up in various stocks, bonds, mutual funds, CDs (all things they had discussed and she promptly forgot). Ray had established a 401(k) and pension plan for their business. They got salaries and profit sharing. He did everything right, totally aboveboard, just as she knew he would. And the money that had amassed in her various accounts was significant.
“Your expenses are very low,” her accountant told her. He was young, younger than Amanda. He had a sweet, round face, and round spectacles to match, a flop of blonde hair. He had a tattoo on his arm—a mermaid on a jetty—and wore a tee-shirt to their meeting. Was that how people dressed for business these days? Ray seemed to like him, though. “You’re living far below your means.”
“Is that a bad thing?” she’d asked.
“No,” he said. “But your house is paid off. Your daughter’s education is paid for. And you have more than enough for whichever school your grandchildren choose, which I know is your wish.”
He looked at her a little shyly, the way that respectful young people look when they are trying to give older people advice. “I’m just saying that you can afford to live a little.”
Live a little. His words came back to her now as she looked at the drab, old clothes in her closet. It was a sad collection of frumpy, worn items. The only new things in there were clothes Amanda sent her.
“Oh my God, Mom! What are you wearing?” she’d asked when Eloise had picked her up from the airport last visit.
“What?” She
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