“But I have a home.” She didn’t understand him. When she needed him he wasn’t available. Now she was capable of taking care of herself and he wanted to provide for her?
“What about when you have kids? It doesn’t look large enough for a family.”
“You don’t have to worry about that just yet. Don’t expect us to become bosom buddies just because we’re having lunch. It isn’t going to happen.”
“I know. But you never know. . . .” He sighed. “Anyway, I’m not selling.”
“I’m sure they offered a fortune,” she said, relieved to return to the topic of his home and not them.
He nodded. He lived in the Mt. Jefferson district of Alexandria, so close to D.C., National Airport, the Pentagon, Crystal City, and many government and commercial offices. Housing nearby was usually purchased to get the lot. Houses were often demolished and replaced by new dwellings. Condos and townhouses were sprouting up all over the place.
The chicken was delicious and the creamed potatoes were the best she’d tasted in a long while. The sweet potato biscuits were to die for. Her aunt made them like this.
“I didn’t know you could cook.”
“I cooked all the time when you were little.”
“Not when I was older.”
“No. Your mother took over.”
Quilla didn’t want to discuss her mother with him.
“I’m glad you came by.”
He seemed determined to steer the conversation away from controversial topics. Quilla knew she was picking subjects that were bound to cause an argument, although not deliberately. But she couldn’t forget the past as easily as he seemed able to. Had he been a better husband, her mother might still be alive.
She looked at him as he tore the wing apart. The wing and leg were his favorite pieces as well as hers. She hated to think they shared anything.
“What’s your friend’s name?” Quilla asked.
“Joyce.”
“How long have you dated?”
“About six months.”
“Are you thinking of marrying again? I can’t believe you’d put another woman through torture.”
He put his fork on the table. Only half his food was eaten, and Quilla was sorry she’d said anything. She was being bitchy for no reason.
“I’m sorry. That’s your business.”
“We haven’t gotten that far.”
Quilla regarded him a few seconds. “The food is delicious. Better eat before it gets cold. I don’t get home-cooked food often.”
“Why not?”
Quilla shrugged. “I don’t cook much.”
“You can take the leftovers home. I cooked plenty.”
They made it through lunch without another incident. Quilla didn’t understand why she had accepted his lunch invitation in the first place. They were awkward now, like two warriors dancing around each other. Denton had been in the shop that morning. There had been a huge upheaval. If she were in her right mind she wouldn’t have accepted. She should have called later on to cancel. She didn’t understand why she hadn’t.
She helped him gather the dishes and washed them while he dried and put them away. They worked companionably in silence.
“Thanks for lunch,” she said when they finished. She placed the dishcloth across the sink.
Her father frowned at her as if he were debating. “I want you to meet Joyce,” he finally said.
This was the last straw. “I’m not getting that involved in your life again,” Quilla murmured.
“She’s a nice—”
“I’m not going to spend nights worrying about whether you’re beating her or not.” Quilla marched to the living room and snatched her coat off the chair.
“Do you know I used to stay up nights until you got home, trembling, worried that you were going to attack Mama? The best nights were when you drove up in the yard, turned off the motor, and fell asleep at the wheel, too drunk to get up and come inside. Then I fell asleep peacefully because I didn’t have to worry about you beating on Mama that night.
“Do you know why I didn’t have sleepovers or go to other sleepovers on weekends? The one time I did, I stayed awake the whole night worrying I’d get a phone call telling me you’d killed Mama while I was away. Then I was scared to go home because I didn’t know what I’d find.
“So, no. I don’t want to meet Joyce. I don’t want to put a face to another worry. I got through the nightmares years ago and I’m never going through it again.”
Often it took years to get close enough to the source to make arrests on a case. It was a matter of acting out roles and setting everything in place until they got the information needed to make a bust.
Since Denton was hired by Tom’s father-in-law, Tom didn’t trust him. And Denton didn’t expect him to. But, hopefully, along the way Tom would make enough mistakes so they could find out how the goods were being shipped. Obviously they weren’t going out on every shipment, or Tom would have been caught by now.
What Denton didn’t like was Quilla’s getting in the midst of this. Any move she made could have a disastrous consequence. Tom could slow down his shipments, and Denton wondered if that was what had happened the last time they checked, or he could go after her. Either option was unacceptable.
Denton had dropped Lucky off that morning. Quilla’s assistant had said she was off but to leave the dog anyway. Lucky seemed fine with her. When Denton displayed reservations, she assured him that she’d spent time with Lucky and they’d be fine.
But when he arrived to retrieve Lucky, he was told she was up in the apartment with Quilla. Good, because he had a few choice words for her. Instead of trooping outside to take the stairs, Denton skirted around shoppers to the door that separated the store from the back room. He caught snipits of customers asking about holiday presents for the dogs as if the animals would know the difference on Christmas morning.
He shook his head and made his way up the stairs and knocked on her door. He heard a sharp bark from Lucky and smiled. Maybe the mutt was growing on him, after all.
Quilla opened the door wearing lounging pajamas. Lucky was perched on a chair by a reading lamp. The dog’s coat had been brushed to a high sheen and a pretty bow was tied on her head. Again. He hadn’t taken Quilla for the froufrou type.
What looked like a diary was placed facedown on a table as if she were writing in it. Denton could just imagine what she wrote about him.
“We need to talk,” he said as he shed his coat and hung it on the coat tree.
“What about?” If her back got any straighter it was going to crack.
Quilla went back to the chair, picked Lucky up, and placed her on her lap. Lucky nearly swooned when Quilla began to rub her belly. Memories of the night they had made love lingered in Denton’s mind, images of what those nimble fingers had done to his body.
“I missed you,” he said. “Why didn’t you return my phone calls?”
“You were avoiding me. And I’m not into playing games.”
“I needed to think things through. You hit me like a ton of bricks.” He brushed a hand over his head. “I wasn’t ready. And the timing stinks.”
“So why are we having this conversation?”
He sat on the sofa facing the fireplace and stretched his long legs.
A shadow of annoyance crossed his face. “Because being the wrong time doesn’t seem to matter. You’ve gotten under my skin and . . .”
“What?”
It was safer changing the subject, Denton thought, because he wasn’t ready to think things through. Didn’t want to talk about it, anyway.
“How did lunch with your father go?”
“He’s a good cook.” Her response held a note of impatience and he wondered what had happened.
“Did you make up?”
“How did you know we were having—”
“What’s going on with you and your father?”
Quilla sighed. “We went our separate ways when I graduated from high schoo
l.” She told him the sordid tale of her upbringing.
“Quilla, are you using Sadie as a means of not dealing with the problem with your father?”
“Sadie’s death has nothing to do with him. He can’t expect to play the loving father after all these years. I’ve been on my own for eleven years. A long time ago I figured out that I’m the only one I could depend on. I don’t need him now.”
“Yes, you do. You always need family.”
“Not the kind of father I had.”
“Maybe when you get over the bitterness—”
“Tell me, how many nights did your mother run out into the snow with nothing more than a nightgown because your father was beating the stuffing out of her when he was in one of his drunken rages?”
Denton moaned.
“You think that’s something I can forget because he says he’s a changed man? Because he cooked me lunch? I resent that he’s trying to make me feel guilty because I can’t forgive him. It’s not my place to forgive, anyway. It’s my mother’s and she’s not here to do it.”
“Did the abuse only occur when he was drunk?”
Quilla nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
“Why? You didn’t do it.”
“But you suffered and you’re still suffering.”
“Listen, I’m okay. I own my own place. Nobody can control me. If I don’t like what a man does, I send him packing. And if he ever takes a hand to me, he’ll be lucky to live to regret it.”
Denton believed her. “A man has no business hitting you in the first place. And you’re right not to accept abuse.”
Picking up on the tension in Quilla, Lucky had stopped wagging her tail and was gazing intently into Quilla’s face.
Quilla’s hands were knotted into fists. Rising from the sofa, Denton approached her and began to massage her shoulders until he felt some of the tension release. He’d read that massage relaxed.
“Did your father abuse you?” he asked softly from behind.
“No. He took out all his drunken anger on my mother.”
“And now?”
“He said he went through AA. That he’s wanted to contact me for years and finally his sponsor convinced him to do so. I guess he thought he was ready. And can you believe he’s dating?”
“How does he treat this woman?”
“I guess since he isn’t drinking, he treats her fine.”
“At least the treatment is working.”
“So far. But I wouldn’t bet on it lasting.”
Denton eased Quilla out of the chair and sat on it himself, pulling her onto his lap with the dog. She exhaled a long breath as she leaned against his chest. He kissed her neck.
“Why do you even care?” she asked. “You don’t want entanglements.”
“Because I care about you.”
But she looked at him as if she didn’t believe him. Still, she relaxed and laid her head back on his shoulder. She didn’t leave as he had expected her to.
“Remember we’re attending a fund-raising for the senior party tonight,” Wendy said to Tom. “Try to be there by six at the latest.”
Tom glanced up from his paper. “Can’t do. And tomorrow I’m taking a quick trip to our Arizona office.”
“You promised to be more available this year for our son. Instead of spending more time with him, he rarely sees you anymore.”
“I’m doing my best, Wendy.” He refolded the paper neatly and set it aside. Standing, he approached Wendy and kissed her lightly on the lips.
“Tom, you promised to be available more. This is Randall’s last year. He won’t be here next year. Things begin to change once they leave for college.”
“I understand. But somebody has to make the money to pay for college tuition.”
“Oh, give me a break. That’s all taken care of, and you know it. Daddy put the money aside for it as soon as Randall was born.”
Yeah, yeah. Daddy this. Daddy that. Tom was sick of her throwing Daddy in his face. Daddy’s company. Daddy’s success. Daddy’s approval for every damn thing.
“I don’t want your daddy paying for Randall’s tuition,” he said, but with his practiced smile he demonstrated exaggerated patience with his wife, even patted her firm backside.
“Honey, getting things in order to market this semiconductor is taking more time than I thought it would. The government is putting us through hoops to get export licensing. It’s working my tail off. And we’re competing with other companies here as well as in China.”
“I thought this new employee, Denton, was supposed to help lighten your load.”
“He’s a big help, but he’s still new. Doesn’t know all the ropes yet.”
“Maybe I should come back part-time and take some of the load off of you. I have time on my hands. And when Randall leaves I’ll have even more. I’ve been thinking more and more about getting back into the business world.”
He tugged her into his arms. “What about all those senior projects you promised to help with? Hum?”
“I’m not the only parent at school. And I said part-time, not full-time. Although when Randall graduates, I may even consider full-time.”
“With the long hours I work, somebody needs to spend time at home.”
“And I will. Randall’s a senior, honey. He doesn’t want to spend that much time with his mother. Besides, he’s been seeing a lot of Jennifer lately. He took her to the homecoming dance. They looked lovely.”
“Yeah? I hadn’t noticed.”
“Now, why am I not surprised?”
“Honey, between the show dogs, Randall, and the school, you have enough on your plate. Why don’t you wait until Randall’s in college before you start working again? He’s still here and he still needs you, even if he doesn’t think so.”
Giving Wendy the obligatory kiss on the cheek, Tom picked up his briefcase and started out. “Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be late again.”
He ignored the snide “Aren’t you always?” and pretended he didn’t hear it.
Tom got in his car and backed out of his parking space. He hadn’t had a good lay since before Sadie left. She’d started to get as bitchy as Wendy. He got enough of that at home. He wasn’t about to put up with that crap with a mistress. Sadie forgot her place sometimes. Still, that didn’t take care of his present little problem.
He’d drive by the apartment, maybe talk Melissa into consoling him. She certainly gave enough hints that she was available. Edward wouldn’t mind. Melissa told him Edward’s sexual drive was diminishing. Often he worked on papers or watched television, or they sat on the sofa like two teenagers watching a movie with parents listening from the next room. She was bored, but the fringe benefits were fantastic. She was unwilling to give up her lucrative meal ticket. And she wouldn’t have to, Tom considered. If Edward wasn’t up to the job, he’d fill in.
Tom turned onto I-95. Perhaps he could liven things up a bit for Melissa. Take care of both their problems.
Of course there was the problem of finding a place for their tryst. Things had been so convenient with Sadie. He had a legitimate excuse for visiting her apartment. As the family member in charge of the building, he was required to make regular visits to make sure things were running fine. But now?
Tom sighed as he inched along in the snarled traffic. He’d had to resort to a hotel room. Much more inconvenient, but it served the purpose.
But first, while keeping a careful eye on traffic, he opened his briefcase, took out his cell phone, and dialed his Arizona contact. The sooner he got those semiconductors shipped out, the sooner he’d get those assholes off his back, and by the end of the year, it was good-bye, Wendy. He wouldn’t have to answer to Wendy or come crawling at George’s beck and call.
As a matter of fact, he’d never have to work another day in his life.
“How’s it progressing?” Tom listened to the excuses for delays.
“Listen, I don’t have two months. You’re going to have to find a way around the dilem
ma.” He listened to more excuses about delays. “I’ll be there tomorrow. We can work on the strategy then. We can’t play around with these people.”
Ending up dead wasn’t part of Tom’s plans—handsomely wealthy was.
Denton had left after midnight, leaving Lucky with Quilla. Quilla was in good spirits as, with bag in hand, she walked Lucky in the park along the waterfront early the next morning before she opened the store. Many people were walking their dogs. Some were headed to the coffee shop before they drove or rode the bus or subway to their offices.
Many of the dog owners spoke. Quilla knew the dogs by name because the owners catered to her shop. During the summer many even attended the twice-a-week happy hour at the hotel.
Lucky was sniffing out areas that suited her and Quilla was thinking about the soothing evening with Denton when she bent with the bag. Suddenly she heard a rapid “pop-pop” as if a car were backfiring. Glancing up, she saw people falling to the ground all around her. It was a moment before she realized something had grazed her arm. She heard screams and shouts and felt warmth running down her arm. She fell to the ground like everyone else and looked around.
Someone was shouting into a cell phone, and another person asked if she was okay and pressed a tissue into her hand when, in a daze, Quilla glanced at the underside of her arm.
Blood was dripping between her arm and her body. Her arm felt like a hot poker had seared it. Quilla hated the sight of blood. Yes, she had patched up her mother many times in the midst of an emergency. And she’d waited till afterward to be sick. But this was her blood.
For the first time in Quilla’s life, she fainted.
Owen Day craved a drink so badly, he was sweating and shaking with the need. He’d fought it all night. Couldn’t sleep a wink, not one wink. He fought it the next morning. He fought it through the next night. But he finally gave in to the craving and last night, just before closing, found himself at the liquor store without knowing how he’d gotten there.
But he didn’t take one swallow. No. He’d left it in the trunk of his car. And this morning, he’d had to go to Wal-Mart to pick up a few things. And suddenly it hit him.
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