Page 107 of PSYCHOlogical

Chapter Forty-Seven

Vincent

The avocado-colored sinks, toilets, and draperies hinted that it had been 50 years since Mickey last remodeled the home. The pale-yellow kitchen cabinets reminded me of Boyle’s west Texas interrogation room.

I carried the empty box to the garage, using caution not to trip on the blue shag carpet’s long piles. I added it to the massive pile of flattened cardboard and gazed into the front yard. Mickey’s landscaping would be a highlight by anyone’s standards.

The home may have been in desperate need of updates but the thought of making them excited me. Deciding the colors to paint the walls, the type of flooring we preferred, and choosing cabinets together would convert Mickey’s house into our home.

I traipsed through the lush lawn—barefoot—and retrieved a palm frond that had fallen. When I returned to the garage, Val was tossing a flattened box on top of the others.

“That’s it,” she announced with a clap of her hands.

“The last one?”

She chuckled. “It was full of shoes.”

“I own four pair, total.”

“You’re a guy. Girls need options.”

“Apparently.”

“Can you believe it’s December?” she asked. “It’s eighty-something degrees.”

“I know.” I gazed at the clear blue sky. “It’s perfect.”

“I think I’m really going to like it here.”

“I think I am, too.”

“What are you going to do?” she asked. “We’ve never discussed it.”

“I’m going to buy a fishing boat.”

She belted out a laugh. I put my hands on my hips and glared back at her.

When she caught her breath, she gave me a look. “You’re serious?”

“I am.”

“What do you know about fishing?”

“Absolutely nothing. That’s what’s attractive about the entire concept. It’ll give me something to focus on. I figured I’d do some studying, take a few chartered tours, and find out what people expect when they pay a guide to take them fishing. Then, I’ll start my own fishing tours.”

“It should be relaxing.”

“Relaxing and rewarding.”

“No more military operations? That desire’s gone?” she asked. “For good?”

“I’m done saving people for a while,” I responded. “It’s time I focus on saving myself.”

“Just for a while?”

“A long while.” I put my arm around her. “What are you going to do with your time?”

“I haven’t decided. I thought I’d like to open a practice where I focus on veterans and their needs. I don’t know. I need some time to think. I may not want to be exposed to that mindset for a while. For now, I feel like I need to get my head screwed on straight before I can fix anyone else’s.”