Edge of Black by J. T. Ellison Page B

her haircut appointments with military discipline; the shoulder-length bob she’d worn for years served her well, accentuating her heart-shaped face and staying out of her way while looking both chic and practical. Now that she wasn’t going to be spending her days bent over a dissection table, she could let things go a little, be freer. The professors she’d met thus far had long hair. They wore loose-fitting clothes, comfortable and roomy, sometimes even scrubs, and smelled faintly of patchouli. She wouldn’t go that far—she was too attached to her sumptuous fabrics and Chanel No. 5—but a bit of leeway wouldn’t hurt.
    “Xander?” she called as she went down the stairs.
    There was no answer.
    She assumed he had gone for a run; he did that often when he was here in the city. Her house was close to the canal, which was his favorite path to follow. She’d gone with him a few times, but she knew she held him back. Years of daily PT made him strong, streamlined and seemingly unstoppable. He had reserves she couldn’t come close to emulating.
    A canal run up the Potomac meant he’d come home starving, so she decided to make blueberry pancakes and eggs and bacon. That should sufficiently feed her men.
    Her men.
    She had a pang of inconsolable grief at the thought. She’d moved from daily, all-consuming sorrow to the sneak attacks, images and smells and memories that came at her out of the blue like snipers’ bullets. As much as she wanted to, Sam couldn’t replace Simon with Xander and Fletcher, couldn’t use the new people in her life to erase the ones who were gone.
    Matthew and Madeleine, her twins, had adored blueberry pancakes. It was a Sunday morning ritual: after church, they would go to Le Peep in Belle Meade, just a mile from the huge house she’d grown up in, and have a family breakfast. Sometimes her friends Taylor and Baldwin would meet them, sometimes Simon’s parents. It was a tradition, built purposely so the kids would have a memory, a habit, to cling to as they got older. So they’d understand the value of a treat. Of family. Of togetherness.
    Church. Sam hadn’t been back since they found their bodies. She couldn’t believe in a God who’d strip a woman of her family. She was surprisingly comfortable with the decision, considering she’d been a devout Catholic before the accident. It was freeing, not having to share all her little venial sins. Not taking the comfort she’d always found in communion, that feeling of magic watching the transubstantiation. She had believed in all of it. Believed down to her bones. Until she didn’t. She’d never known faith could be like a switch on a lamp, on one minute, off the next. When they died, she hadn’t even bothered trying to turn the switch on again. She never would. That ship had sailed while she scattered their ashes, the winds at the top of Xander’s mountain whipping their beings away into the ether, taking the part of her that believed in magic and mystery and faith along with them.
    She put the pancake mix back in the pantry and retrieved two baking potatoes instead. Hash browns would fill them up just fine.
    * * *
    Fletcher arrived on her doorstep just as she was sliding the bacon from the pan. She dumped the shredded potatoes into the skillet to let them cook in the rendered grease, and went to the door, wiping her hands on a towel.
    He looked like something the cat dragged in. He’d showered, but barely. Stubble bristled from his jaw, and his blue eyes were shadowed with deep pockets of dark skin. He had on a suit that was rumpled, and mismatched socks. Fletch on a case was a sight to behold.
    “You want to use my bathroom, try again?” she asked.
    He just shot her a look and came into the house. She looked to the northwest for a second, down N Street toward Georgetown University, wondering how long Xander would be, then decided feeding and watering Fletcher took precedence. Her stove had a warming setting; she’d put Xander’s