by Nancy Warren
She dashed out of bed and he rolled to his back, stacking both pillows beneath his head to enjoy the show.
And she did put on a show. He didn’t think an efficiency expert could outdo her for a morning routine that wasted not a nanosecond.
The minute her feet hit the floor, she was in fastmo. Kitchen, bathroom, where he heard the shower, and considered climbing in with her. How difficult would it be to make her late for work?
Before he’d made up his mind about joining her, the shower was over and the welcome smell of fresh coffee reached him.
She brought them both mugs of coffee, but instead of climbing back into bed, she plonked his mug on the bedside table and, while drinking hers, went to her double closet and opened the doors.
He couldn’t hide his snort of disbelief. “You color coordinate your clothes?”
She glanced back in surprise. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“No.”
“Well, it saves a lot of time. I also arrange according to the season and separate casual from work wear.” While she spoke she was pulling things off hangers and in seconds had a perfectly matched outfit at the ready. One of her short skirts, this one in blue, a silky white top, and a fitted jacket.
Her shoes were in boxes and—he blinked in disbelief. “Is that a numbering system on your shoe boxes?”
Even she must have realized it was a little over the top for as she selected one, she got a bit huffy. “I know, I should be more like you. Two boxes. Beat up boots, and even more beat-up boots.”
“Well, at least I don’t need a card catalog to find a pair of shoes.”
They were in perfect rows, too.
Just as he was thinking she really was too organized to live, she went to a drawer and pulled out underwear that made him almost swallow his tongue. She slipped into a black thong, deliberately keeping her back to him and wiggling her butt as she slipped the narrow ribbon of fabric between her cheeks.
“You’re torturing me, you know that.”
She chuckled, and turned so he could watch her put on her bra, an absurd see-through affair that was about displaying the goods, not supporting them. In less than a minute she was fully dressed.
Another ten minutes and she was pretty much done. To look at her, fastening a gold belt around her waist, you’d think she’d spent the morning in bed with a fashion magazine and a nail file, not that she’d prepared and eaten breakfast, showered, dressed, done some kind of makeup and hair thing, and cleaned the kitchen all in under half an hour. She’d impressed the hell out of him but he couldn’t admit that.
He rose once he felt he wasn’t in danger of getting run over by one super-efficient librarian, stretched, and, since she was clearly close to leaving for work, started shoving himself into yesterday’s clothes.
She regarded him for a moment and he felt her debating whether to leave him alone in her apartment. What was her level of trust? He was anxious to find out.
“Look, you can stay for a while if you like. Shower and eat something. Let yourself out when you’re ready. The door self-locks.”
He was glad he was looking down as he shrugged into his jeans so she wouldn’t spot the triumph in his face. She trusted him.
He had no intention of taking her up on her offer, however. He’d come back later for a quiet snoop if he felt the need.
What was the point of having a father who’d devoted his life to crime if you couldn’t manage a candy ass lock like the one on her front door?
“No, thanks. I’ve got fresh clothes at my place. I’ll shower there and grab something to eat.”
He found his jacket under the bed, shrugged into it, and pulled her to him for one last kiss. She followed him all the way until he opened the door.
“Hey,” he said, glancing back. “I had a good time.”
She looked like every sex goddess in history as she sent him back a close-lipped half-smile. She didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to.
“Cocaine addiction is one of the most difficult addictions to treat,” Gillian read aloud.
“Tell me about it,” she mumbled to herself, tossing the booklet aside and flopping her head into her hand. Some days her head felt too heavy for her to hold it up unsupported.
Addiction had ruined the best years of her life.
And her husband’s.
Pushing the well-meaning but depressing booklets off the bed, she pulled herself to her feet and staggered to the shower to start another day.
Alone.
Gillian wasn’t any good at being alone. She never had been. People had various handicaps and idiosyncrasies, and she’d learned to accept that this was hers.
She wasn’t strong. She wasn’t brave. She wasn’t independent. That was Alex’s department. Gillian needed to lean. A strong man was her first choice, but, as she’d discovered over the years, alcohol and chemicals could give the illusion of safety. At least for a while.
Now she had no one, and she was going to have to figure out how to make a life for herself.
While the shower pounded, she thought of her cousin, Alex, who’d always done everything right. Smart, educated, well-liked. When she’d been younger and clueless about guys, while Gillian had been born with the knowledge of a courtesan, there had been some balance at least. Each played to her strength.
Alex was the girl who spent her lunch hours chairing a debating club meeting, or editing the yearbook, while Gillian had painted her nails, snuck out to smoke pot and flirted—sometimes a lot more than flirted.
She tried to help her clueless cousin with hair and makeup and Alex tried to help her study, and, in the end, wrote a few term papers that were good enough to help Gill pass school, but not so good that anyone could become suspicious.
Then Alex blossomed into a sex goddess on top of everything else, and the power balance tipped like a teeter-totter when one person gets off. Thump. Gill was dumped on her ass with nothing but a drug and alcohol problem. Addictive personality, that’s what one therapist had told her, which didn’t help, when one cousin became the shining star of the family and she took the position of screw-up.
Maybe it was too late to heal the breach that had sprung up between them over the years, but she was short on people she could count on. Alex might be insufferably snooty and her success might snap at Gillian’s heels, but she was family, and right now Gill needed her.
She hadn’t missed the way Alex watched her like a hawk every second she was in the library. What did she think she was going to do? Snort coke off the baby books? Shoot up in the middle of toddler story time?
One day she hoped Alex would trust her enough to let her read the stories to the little kids. She’d love that, and she’d be good at it, too. She loved the kids, and when no one was looking she’d sometimes take a break from whatever shit job Alex or Myrna assigned her and sit on the floor to play with the little guys.
The moms were only too happy for a few minutes’ break, and she loved to spend time with the only human beings in Swiftcurrent who seemed to think she was okay. She loved their round, chubby faces, and their delight in bright colors and pictures. The way they’d squeal and their whole bodies wriggle with delight when they spotted a picture they recognized—dog, cat, cow. Mama.
Eric had phoned this morning and awakened her. For a moment her heart had spun out of control at the sound of his voice. He was coming by later. He wanted to talk.
She poured a dime-size dollop of herbal shampoo into her hand and lathered the hair she still wore long even though it was a drag to take care of. What had happened to the girl she’d been? The one so full of hope and promise?
While she rubbed shampoo into her scalp, she thought about all the roads she could have taken and hadn’t, and the one disastrous path she had chosen.
When she washed out the suds, tears of bitterness washed down the drain with them.
When her phone rang that evening, Alex was snapping clean linen sheets onto her bed. They felt crisp, cool and sensual and smelled vaguely of f
lowers. She’d sprayed the bottom sheet lightly with lavender-scented body spray, a tip she read in one of this month’s women’s magazines she’d flipped through before placing it in the Periodicals section.
The first ring had her insides going syrupy. Duncan must be looking for some action. After the way he’d felt her up in the stacks this afternoon, before she smacked his hand away, then tried to trace the path of her thong, well, his call wasn’t completely unexpected.
Normally she wasn’t a woman to drop everything for a man, but in this case, she was coincidentally looking for some action herself. They could help each other out.
“Hello?”
“Alex, I’m sorry to bother you like this.” The syrup immediately hardened to lead. It was Eric, and he sounded shaken.
“Eric, what is it?” All erotic thoughts fled as her heart trip hammered. Eric only called her regarding one subject. “Is it Gill?”
“I went to see her, to explain about selling the house. She went nuts on me. Attacked me. I tried to calm her down but she was out of her mind. She –” He dragged in a shaken breath and Alex got the feeling he was one gasp away from breaking down and crying. “She came after me when I tried to leave, and she tripped down the outside stairs. I tried to pick her up but she screamed obscenities at me and told me to leave her alone. I hate to dump this on you, but she won’t let me near her and I’m worried she might harm herself.”
For one cowardly moment Alex wished she hadn’t picked up the phone. She didn’t want to run to her cousin’s side, pick her up and dust her off as she had so many times before. Maybe it was hard hearted, but she felt like she’d used up her stock of sympathy where Gill was concerned. Pity mixed with frustration. “Is she badly hurt?”
“Bruised and shaken, I’d guess. She was so high she probably didn’t feel much.”
Something inside Alex went snap. Gillian had done so well in the library that she’d foolishly allowed herself to hope that her cousin might turn her life around. Once more that hope was smashed. “This has gone far enough. I’m going to see about getting her into rehab.” She sighed.
“No. Please don’t do that. I promised her. Let’s just give her some time. She’s got to get over splitting from me, and your grandfather’s passing.”
“Maybe it’s time for some tough love, Eric.” But she was having a difficult time with the concept herself.
“Please, Alex. I wouldn’t have called you if I thought you’d turn her in. She’s probably fine. She’ll fall asleep and wake up wondering why her head hurts. Really. It’s not the first time. Forget I called.”
Now she felt hard and mean. Gillian’s ex-husband was willing to try and help the woman who’d attacked him, and all she wanted to do was shunt the problem to some clinic. Except she was beginning to think it was the right thing to do. How long could Gill go on like this?
“No. I’m glad you called. Thanks for letting me know. I’ll go over and make sure she’s okay.”
She hung up and smoothed the bedspread over the freshly made bed, but the smile on her face was gone.
As she lifted her car keys, they felt like a fifty-pound pack she was hoisting to her shoulders.
The phone trilled again. “I’m on my way,” she snapped before the wailing could begin.
“Eager to jump my bones. I like that in a woman,” said the sexy, sleepy voice that turned her inside out.
She groaned into the phone. “Why didn’t you call ten minutes ago? I’ve got a family crisis to deal with.”
“For someone with no family to speak of, you get a lot of that.”
“Don’t remind me.” All day she’d been thinking about him, exchanging X-rated glances in the library. Thinking of all the things she was going to do with that hot man in her bed. All for nothing. “I’ll call you later if I can get away.”
“Need any help?”
There it was again, that calm assumption that he could share her burdens. She felt that same rush of relief she had the day she’d flown out the door right into him after discovering the dead body. Suddenly, everything wasn’t quite so terrible and the burden of Gill’s latest escapade wasn’t so heavy on her shoulders. “No. My cousin probably needs to sleep it off. But sometimes it takes a while to calm her down and get her into bed.”
“I stay away from girl problems,” he said with deep feeling.
“My hero.” But she chuckled as she put down the phone, hoping she could get Gill calmed down and to bed and then maybe get herself to bed. With Duncan, and far from calm.
She ran down the stairs, hopped into her car, and drove to the subdivision of newish ranchers that Gill and Eric had called home.
Every light seemed to be burning in the house, she noted, as she pulled into the drive.
She’d been irritated when Eric first told her of the latest drama. And that was before she found out she was giving up sex with a man who topped her list of great lovers to babysit an overgrown, rebellious teen.
Alex wasn’t in the best of moods when she stomped up the drive and banged her fist on the door. They had a perfectly functioning doorbell, but she needed the physical outlet of pounding something.
She heard Gill sobbing before she saw her. But irritation turned to reluctant pity when her cousin opened the door. There was a livid mark across her cheekbone that was going to be Technicolor bruising in a day or two. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her hair a mess, her jeans torn at the knee. A bleeding scrape showed through.
Her faux-hippie gauzy top also had a tear, exposing the slope of one full breast. The beauty and allure that had broken countless hearts in their time were still there, but they were faded. Those pretty blue eyes that usually sparkled with mischief were watery and lost.
Gill held keys in her hand and a worn denim bag hooked over her shoulder.
Her cousin was so damned needy that before she said a word, Alex opened her arms and pulled her in for a hug.
While Gillian sobbed on her shoulder, for some reason she remembered her sophomore year when she, the bookworm with the nerd wardrobe, had been the needy one. She’d been in Gill’s room, sniffling with unrequited love for Jacob Koropatnyk, who was now bald, the father of three, and the proprietor of a marine hardware store in Seattle.
Gill had climbed in her window long after she should have been in bed, and collapsed, drunk, on the bed. No. Not drunk, but beyond tipsy.
“Whasamatter?” she’d asked.
Alex was miserable enough, and Gill drunk enough, that Alex had poured out her grieving heart. “I’m so ugly,” she’d wailed. “No guy will ever want me.”
“You’re not ugly. You don’t bother.” It hadn’t come out that clearly, of course, more like one long word with a few sibilants thrown in that didn’t belong. But even that pathetic straw of comfort had helped.
Amazingly, Gillian had remembered their conversation the next day and started Alex on the road to discovering her own style. It was hard to turn her back on the woman who’d shared so much of her life.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” she said gently. “Eric told me what happened.”
Gill pulled away and nodded, raising a trembling hand to her face. “He told you?” she asked in a pitiful little girl’s tone.
“Yes. It sounds like you took quite a tumble when you chased after him.”
Gillian turned away, her face blooming crimson, and hauled off and kicked the wall, obviously wishing it were her cousin. “Oh, and you always believe everything Eric tells you,” she yelled.
And in that second, all the compassion dried up like an autumn leaf in a bonfire. “You ungrateful wretch!” she yelled back. “I’m trying to help you, and I’m telling you right now, you need to get yourself into rehab.”
“Would it ever occur to you that everything Eric tells you isn’t true?” Gillian was shrieking at the top of her lungs now, beyond hysteria.
I’m the sober, drug-free one, Alex reminded herself, forcing herself to calm down. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. She tried again. “Gi
ll, you need help. Making up stories only makes you look pathetic.”
With an angry howl, Gill jumped away. “How can you say that? He — he –” Then she raised her gaze and the blankness was replaced with a flash of such bitterness that Alex drew back. “Oh, go to hell,” Gill shouted, and bolted past her cousin, knocking her bodily away from the door.
“Don’t you get in that car,” Alex yelled. But, by the time she’d righted herself and realized Gill’s intention, it was too late. She raced out behind her, begging her to wait but, with an angry squeal of rubber, her cousin was gone.
Alex’s first thought was for the innocent citizens of Swiftcurrent who could be out playing street hockey, or walking the dog, and were liable to be crushed by a woman driving under the influence of God knew what.
She bit her lip for a moment, thinking of how many times Eric had been through scenes like this, but he’d always managed to keep them quiet. Well, she’d blown it and instead of soothing her cousin as she should have, she’d allowed Gill to provoke her.
She wasn’t going to race all over town in pursuit—a chase would only urge her cousin to drive faster, putting more people, including her fool self, in danger.
She fingered her cell phone, then, firming her jaw along with her resolve, punched out a number. “Tom, it’s Alex.”
Gillian didn’t even know where she was going. Her face felt raw, burning with pain and tears. She’d rubbed mascara in her eyes somehow and that made it harder to see. She had only one destination in mind. The hell out of here.
She’d been sobbing so long she’d reached the hiccup stage, little puffs of breath that sounded childish and pathetic. She wanted a cigarette, but her hands were shaking so badly she’d never manage it. She should pull over but it was easier to keep on driving.
There was half a tank of gas in the boring gray sedan Eric had insisted on. The orange Mustang she’d had her heart set on was too wild, he told her. Like she’d ever been anything else in her life.
She had maybe fifty bucks in her wallet, Alanis Morissette howling out of her CD player. She’d left town before with a lot less. She smiled sadly. Maybe this time she’d do a better job of running away.
