I missed Zahra, so she's back. I missed Susan, she's back too. Thanksgiving fallout? I think so :D :S

As always, enjoy x

Tuesday 28th November 2017, 2.14pm, Bartholomew & Chantal Sloane Library, Emory University

It wasn't the dark green hijab that cascaded from her neck that caught Taylor's eye. He could spot her from a mile away without trying because Zahra possessed a quiet confidence and a presence that took him in the year before. Even since his mother's disclosure about her mental health, he'd been more aware of his anxiety and how it affected him; like how seeing her made him feel guilty and made his stomach a little uneasy.

"Can I sit here?" She nodded and he joined her table. "Are you okay?"

She smiled. "You read that blog. I'm fine, Taylor. How are you?"

He noticed her Sociology of Religion and Feminism in the Eastern World textbooks. "I'm okay."

"Good." She looked him up and down. "They asked you to be a witness, right?"

He cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'm sorry I couldn't."

She smiled again. "I never asked you to. I didn't give any names."

He was confused. "What?"

"Margot, she must have. I don't need you to speak for me, Taylor. I can speak for myself."

"Can I ask you something?" She shrugged her shoulders, so he conflated three questions into one. "Are you engaged, are you okay, and why did you file the complaint?"

"Yes, again yes, and because it's hard enough to be on this campus looking like me without people like Margot sitting high and looking down low. We were friends, roommates, and she never asked me where I came from. For one; I'm East African, not Middle-Eastern. Two; the only radicals I met on this campus are your White-American roommate and that weirdo Hugh. And three, that blog pissed me off."

He remembered that she liked an argument and called it as she saw it, and he missed that. "What's his name?"

She lowered her voice. "Bashiir. He's from Columbus…and he's hot…"

3.07pm, Sabores Mexican Kitchen, New York

Detectives Fusco and Carter had never been so thankful to be back on their day jobs at the 8th Precinct as their assignment on Operation Neptune ended. The Operation would continue for at least another nine months until it was replaced with a new 'tough on crime' initiative. The recently reinstated Captain Noguerra welcomed them back with five more cold cases – three of which were related to a serial killer nicknamed "Scissorhands" which was currently serving four consecutive life sentences. Even Noguerra's watchful eye and salty attitude couldn't get them down as Thanksgiving 2017 had given them great and small things to be grateful for, things they were sharing over a late lunch with extra guac and salsa verde.

"…What's the point of having a lady if you don't talk about it, Fusco?" Joss pried, because she really wanted to know more about MollyMia and if she was the real deal. "How was Thanksgiving with Lee?"

"It was good you know, just the two of us. We made Ma's meatballs, passing on tradition." The tradition was making them with red wine, fresh plum tomatoes and prosciutto in the sauce and he willfully neglected to mention that Martina Corti and her 10-year-old twin boys came over in the late afternoon to watch Jumanji and eat store-bought pumpkin pie. He could see himself playing The Game of Life with her long term but didn't utter a word of that either.

"…Fusco?" She called, bringing him out of his spaced-out zone. "I said I wanted to interview James "Scissorhands" Windsor in Sing-Sing. He's writing a book and I was hoping he'd talk to me."

"You go without me."

"You sure?"

"Yeah, I'll wait for the Watchflix movie."

It wasn't like him to turn down an opportunity to get up close and personal with a serial killer, especially one who's signature was repeatedly stabbing their victims then combing and cutting their hair. "You have a date coming up."

"Carter," He warned.

"Come on, Fusco. You know way too much of my business. I even told you all about the Summerville pazzia at Ma's place. And I was the one who liked her for you."

He sighed because he couldn't argue when she used Italian against him. "You got three questions. Three, Carter. And I'm not telling you her name, either."

She chewed her naked beef burrito and pondered. "Are you happy, Fusco?"

The first question stopped him in his tracks and then he remembered this is what she did in her Army days. "I hate this game." She stared at him, expectantly. "They teach you that in Iraq?" She blew her nails and kept on staring. "Yes…dammit."

Her next question was more pedestrian. "D'you think her boys would get on with Lee?"

He sniffed because he already knew they got along because of the heated game of Jenga and accidental swearwords that slipped that afternoon. "Yeah, I do."

She ate some more, then licked her lips in thought. "So when the time comes, can I help you pick the ring? Square cut, princess cut, halo…"

His face changed colour. "I used to think Batman was the problem, but no; it's just you."

He couldn't stop her from grinning or teasing him. "I wonder if she's a white, yellow or rose gold kinda gal…"

Thursday 30th November 2017, 7.02pm, The R.E.M. Group, Glendale, Queens

Paul Carter noticed the subtle changes his counsellor had made to the room. The painting of the man inside the boat was replaced by a seed mosaic daisy with different coloured grains in each petal, the blue fabric couch had been reupholstered and he sat about three inches higher off the ground, and the rug had been removed. Absorbing the changes into his peripheral vision gave him a starting point for that week's session. "Leanne called again." He opened, referring to his care home assistant cousin in Virginia. "She said Jeremy's staying with her for a while and she needs money. She always needs money."

"Have you shared that with her?" Susan asked.

He shook his head. "I'm used to her calling me for something. I guess it's a small price to take Jeremy off my hands. He blew the money already on a used Cadillac."

She scribbled down some notes. "How was Thanksgiving?"

"Okay I guess. When Aunt Cammie invited me, I thought Joss was over it."

"Over what?"

"The Jeremy crap; the whole-not talking thing. But she's not. She didn't say one word to me, then she dipped out early with Jackass John." Susan waited for the rest. "I asked Taylor about the gun thing. And he said he enjoys it."

"Does that bother you? That Taylor would enjoy guns recreationally?"

He wrung his hands together. "He doesn't know what he's getting himself into. It's a slippery slope."

"Is it?" She inquired. "He didn't hide it from you, which he could've done with another card or by paying cash. He was willing to discuss it amongst family and was honest about how it makes him feel."

Paul's nostrils flared as he breathed heavily. "Fine. It was a slippery slope for me, and I don't want that happening to him."

"Understandably. Though I have to say I'm concerned."

"About Taylor? Yeah, me too."

"About you, Paul. You accepted an invitation to your ex-mother-in-law's home that didn't come from her, so you could talk to your ex-wife who previously stated she didn't want to talk to you."

Ahh shit, she's about to give me homework. "I'd like you to complete this worksheet on Boundaries…"

8.23pm, Paul's House, Elmhurst, Queens

Speaking of boundaries, Gina was feeling much lighter after a weekly counselling session of her own. Pastor Dorian had shared his musings on Psalm 8 and a song the Sunday School was learning, which lifted her. His warm voice lifted her too. "God is mindful of us, Sister Gina, remember that; no matter what you're going through…"

"Gina." Paul's hand on her lower back brought her out of her private thoughts. "I brought chicken from the Co-Op. Tariq said hey."

"Oh, yeah, great."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm good. You want yams?" She took in a whiff of the rotisserie chicken and the paprika spice mix and smiled.

He looked at her closely; she was less tired these days, she was singing off-key again, she read magazines for fun while her toenails dried, and sometimes she smiled to herself for no reason. Subtle changes, not like those in Susan's counselling room. Something had changed about the woman he laid next to every night, and he couldn't figure out what, when, where, how or why. Not yet at least. "No, just veggies."

Like a dog with a bone, Paul couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about her. She was talkative at dinner, full of details about a potential sponsor for her dance troupe and recent ticket sales for their winter showcase. She spent longer in the shower than usual and came out smelling like orange and bergamot instead of vanilla and cocoa butter. He watched her stretch her glutes and hamstrings before bed and noticed the peace on her face as she breathed through it. But it didn't click until she straddled him in a brand-new long black t-shirt that read I don't do mornings in white. The sex had been better – much better – lately and it wasn't just the autumn-cuffing-season vibes that brought it on.

There's someone else.