There’s no way I can prove how I got my information, and cops are big on proof.
I’m a psychic, so please take me seriously.’ They’d laugh in my face as they locked me up in the looney bin.Īnd what if I was right? What if the information I had did help them? You can bet that instead of taking my gift seriously they’d think I had something to do with the crime. I mean, I could just see myself walking up to the police counter and saying, ‘Hey, I have some information about a murder.
There’s no way a cop would take me at my word. As a rule I find them cynical and too analytical, very one-plus-one-equals-two types. Every little thing needs to have a motive behind it. I mean, it’s all well and good that they’re out there defending us against anarchy and all, but most of the cops I’ve met are suspicious of everything and everyone. Sometimes it’s good to have people in your life that know you better than you know yourself.” On some level I think I’d known that and yet I’d needed my sister to point it out to me and help me change. And it likely would save our marriage, because, at some point, all that withholding would’ve turned a loving man bitter. It was like being able to take a full breath of air for the first time in my life. And whatever wounds had never fully healed from my childhood finally, at long last, formed scar tissue. I’d loved him as much as I thought I could love anybody before I’d married him, but in treating him like my own personal Superman, I discovered how much of a superhero he actually was. I found myself falling madly, deeply, passionately, head-over-heels in love with my husband. And, in those times when Dutch was in the mood and maybe I wasn’t, well, I got in the mood and we had fun.Īs the weeks passed and I kept discovering little ways to open myself up to him, the most amazing thing happened. On those weekends when he’d head outside to mow the lawn, I’d bring him an ice-cold beer. After dinner, he’d clear the table and I’d do the dishes, making sure to compliment him on the meal. He’d come home and cook dinner and instead of camping out in front of the TV while he fussed in the kitchen, I’d keep him company at the kitchen table and we’d talk about our days, about our future, about whatever came to mind. He’d head to work and I’d put a love note in his bag-just a line about how proud I was of him. He’d slip into a crisp white shirt and dark slacks and run a little goop through his hair, and I’d eye him in the mirror with desire and a sultry smile that he couldn’t miss. Dutch would come home from his morning workout and I’d bring him coffee as he stepped out of the shower. “I immersed myself in my relationship with my husband, in little ways at first.
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