Where We Found Our Home by Natasha Bishop
Lincoln
The obnoxious ring on my phone startles me out of my sleep. I’m shocked to see Ciara’s name on my screen. We may talk all hours of the day, but she never calls me at three a.m.
“Ciara, are you okay?”
“I’m so sorry. I’m so stupid for calling.” I can practically hear her heart pounding over the phone, and I’m already out of bed stumbling around for clothes.
“You’re not stupid. Tell me what’s going on.”
“Nothing. I just had a…nightmare. And then when I woke up I swore someone was inside my place. But I just did a full sweep, and there’s no one here and nothing’s out of place. I thought my coffee table was moved a little, but I honestly think that’s my mind playing tricks on me. It’s not possible. I just…I don’t know. I was already calling you before I realized what I was doing, and I figured you’d be more concerned about a missed call at three a.m. than if I just told you what happened so I stayed on the line. I’m sorry. Go back to sleep. I’m okay.” I’ve never heard her sound so scared, and all I want to do is run to her.
“Ciara.”
“Yes?”
“Don’t ever apologize for calling me when you’re scared. What kind of best friend would I be if I said ‘call me anytime, except for when you’re scared’? I’ll tell you. A shitty one.” She chuckles, and it settles right in my chest. “I’m here, okay? Do you want me to come over?”
“N-n-no!” she stutters. “That would just make me feel guilty as hell. I’m fine, really.”
I sit on the edge of my bed and debate if I should demand she give me her address so I can check in on her. I don’t want to scare her even more. We’ve made a lot of progress, but if I push her too much right now she’ll shut down. “Okay, fine. How about you talk to me for a little bit?”
“What? Linc, you don’t have to do this. I’m the jackass that woke you up. You can go back to sleep.”
“Psh, do you have spies on me or something? How would you know I was asleep?”
“It’s three a.m. and you’re boring. What else would you be doing?” There’s the Ciara I know and…woah, umm what? Don’t finish that sentence. That would be crazy talk.
“Angel, I’m far from boring. But because you called me that, you’ll never know.”
“Angel. What’s that about?” she asks.
“It’s your nickname now. Deal with it.” I don’t know why that nickname speaks to me when it comes to her. I’m sure if I really took the time to analyze it, the reason would be clear as day, but I’m not going to do that. Just let it be.
She hums her approval of the nickname. “Okay, fine. I’ll take it. Ugh, fine. What do you want to talk about?”
“Tell me about your book. How’s it coming along? You never told me the plot of your book, just that it’s a thriller.” We’ve talked about her book a few times before. It’s her happy place, so it’s the perfect subject change to get her mind off of the nightmare she had.
She takes a deep breath. “I’m a little more than halfway through, so it’s good. I’m happy with it so far. You know I’m obsessed with all things true crime. I listen to all the podcasts, read all the books, and watch the ID channel all the time. It will be about a serial killer, but that’s all I’m telling you.” The smile in her voice is the balm to my soul. I love how passionate she is about her writing. Her passion is contagious too. Last week, she had me on the phone while she watched Dateline, and before I knew it I had on that channel and was asking a bunch of questions.
“No spoilers at all? So I’m just common folk now? That’s cruel.”
“You get what you get. Besides, you can’t have a dedication and get spoilers. It’s one or the other.”
“Oh, in that case, I definitely want my dedication. Well, give me something. How does your villain kill the victims?”
“I’m not telling you that either. But I’ve looked up so many ways to kill a person that I’m pretty sure whatever FBI agent is tracing my search history thinks I’m a psycho. I found myself typing ‘I’m an author, please don’t arrest me’ into my search bar the other day just to be safe.”
I chuckle. “So what you’re saying is you could kill me and dispose of my body without a trace.”
“Exactly. So you better mind your Ps and Qs with me.”
“Well I can’t when you say shit like mind your Ps and Qs.”
Every laugh I draw from her resonates in my spirit. I strip my shirt back off and settle back into bed now that I’m more confident she doesn’t need me to run over there.
“Whatever. How was work today? Or yesterday, I should say.”
“It was good. We responded to a structure fire that was a bitch to put out, but there were no injuries or casualties so I’d call that a job well done. The rest of the night we had some medical calls and a few other small things. Pretty quiet shift.”
She chuckles. “I love how my idea of a quiet night on the job is not spilling a drink or no one throwing up and yours is you only put out one major fire and helped a few people with medical emergencies. We have two very different ideas of slow, my friend.”
I laugh, but it falls short. I know my job is a lot to take in, and this is my reminder to not get my hopes up with Ciara.
“Hey, Linc?”
“Yeah?”
“What’s your greatest fear?”
Now that gets a real laugh out of me. “Diving deep in the wee hours of the morning, huh?”
“I’m just curious. What makes the great Lincoln Cole tick.”
“Letting the people I love down.” I wasn’t planning on going that deep, but here we are.
“In what way?”
“Just disappointing them.” Leave it at that. “Or being too late to save them from some sort of danger or emergency.” Jesus. I need to go back to sleep. My guard is not up high enough for this conversation.
The silence between us borders on uncomfortable before she puts me out of my misery. “I get that. More than you know.”
“What about you? What’s your greatest fear?”
“Death.” There’s a short pause. “Or being the cause of someone I love’s death, I guess.”
“Aren’t we a pair?”
“Ha! Something like that. Wanna hear a joke?”
I want to hear everything from her lips. “Bring it on.”
“Why did the golfer bring two pairs of pants?”
“Why?”
“In case he got a hole in one.”
I’m too tired not to think that dumb shit was funny so I laugh. “I’m only laughing at how bad that was, Ci. You want dad jokes? I got you. Ready for this?”
“I was born ready.”
“What do you call a crayon dressed in a sexy outfit?”
“I don’t know, what?”
“Foxy brown.”
A laugh escapes her, and I can tell it’s against her will. “That was better than mine? I think the hell not.”
“It was way better than yours.”
“Okay, I will admit it was funnier than mine. Still trash though.”
“You know what, I’m taking that as a W. So thank you.”
“Yes, get your flowers now.”
We spend another fifteen minutes telling corny jokes and talking about our hopes and dreams. Her voice is my lullaby. The more time I spend with her the more I want from her. She brings this light to my life that I never thought I’d have again.
“Hey, Linc?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m kind of tired now.”
“Then it’s time for you to go to sleep.”
“I’m really sorry I woke you up.”
“I told you you’ll never know if I was sleeping or not.” That earns me another chuckle.
“Good night, Linc.”
“Good night, Jim Bob.”
She chuckles again as she hangs up, and I let the memory of the sound lull me back to sleep.