I said, “That isn’t what I came to talk about.”
He quirked one thick black eyebrow, which caused my tongue to have an out-of-body experience in which it leaped across space and licked the eyebrow’s arched peak.
I said, “I mean . . . I wanted to, you know . . . just say hello, and tell you . . . .”
My voice trailed off because I hadn’t actually had a plan, and because my tongue was still vibrating from its out-of-body moment.
He said, “I think I know what you wanted to tell me. Something like, ‘I really dig you, Ethan, but not enough to make any kind of commitment to getting to know you and seeing where it might take us.’ Is that about right?”
I opened my mouth to protest, and then snapped it shut. It was exactly right, and I felt like a high school tease.
Ethan pulled his desk chair out, laid the law book on the desk, and sat down. He put both hands behind his head and leaned back. His dark eyes were serious as a coming hurricane.
“Dixie, I’ve never asked you to make any kind of commitment to me, and I never will. But I’m not the kind of man to play footsie either. You’ve sent me a different message every time we’ve met, so now I’m not sure what you want. Hell, I’ve never been sure about anything with you.”
I sat down too, dropping into one of the old butt-sprung leather chairs facing the desk. The chair’s arms were darkened by thousands of palms that had gripped them. I rubbed my fingertips on one arm and looked at the mellow sheen of the big mahogany desk where Ethan’s grandfather had sat for so many years. Everything in the office, including the law books on the shelves that lined the room, were symbols of continuity, generation to generation. Ethan might look like a man on the prowl with his dark good looks and sure manner, but deep down he was a man of tradition and family values. Not the phony family–values of politicians who use the term as code for white, straight, and Christian, but true family values of honor and integrity and loyalty. A woman would be a fool to turn away from a man like Ethan.
I said, “I don’t know what I want either. I just know what I don’t want.”
He took his hands down and laced his fingers together on his desk. “So what is it that you don’t want, Dixie?”
My voice grew suddenly thick. “I don’t want to love a man and then lose him. Not again. Not ever again.”
Ethan studied my face for a long moment. “I never took you for a coward.”
Stung, my face went hot and I stood up so fast my head swam. “It’s easy for you to say that, Ethan, you’ve never lost anybody you loved.”
“How can you be so sure of that, Dixie? How do you know what I’ve lost?”
I couldn’t answer that. The truth was that I didn’t know much about Ethan’s past. I’d been so preoccupied with my own, I’d never asked.
He said, “It may sound trite, but it really is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. And it’s cowardly to refuse to love for fear of losing. If everybody in the world operated that way, we would all live like isolated islands, never getting involved with anybody else. Is that how you want to spend your life?”
I looked away, and for a second my throat burned with threatened vomit, bile roiled from some dark ugly place I didn’t want to acknowledge.
Ethan’s voice softened. “I’m sorry, Dixie. I swore I’d never put pressure on you, and I just did.”
Through stiff lips, I said, “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, and I won’t do it again. And just for the record, that wasn’t a proposal or anything. I don’t know if we’re right for each other; maybe we’re not. But when you feel strong enough, I’d like to explore the possibility.”
And there it was, the something I thought it would be a shame to waste. It wasn’t chemistry or friendship that I might be wasting, it was the possibility of love.
I said, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
“For things too numerous and screwy to go into.”
I turned my back and walked out with a determined stride.
As usual, I hoped my butt had looked good as I left. I’m ashamed of that, but it’s the truth.
I drove home wishing I hadn’t reacted the way I had, wishing I’d kept my big mouth shut. I talked far too much, and it was time to just shut the fuck up.
It was also time to quit stringing Ethan along. He deserved better. A lot better.
When I got home, I went to the closet-office and stared a long time at the black party dress hanging by itself as the closet’s featured attraction. The party shoes were parked in their fancy box in a separate spot too, and the dinky little purse hung on a hook like a trophy.
In just three days, I would slither into that new dress, step into those new shoes, and sling that little purse over my shoulder—with or without a condom inside like the saleswoman had recommended. At the party, I would probably dance with Guidry. In his arms, moving my feet close to his feet, my legs close to his legs, his hand on my back down low.
I groaned.
Guidry was a cop. Ethan was an attorney. Cops get killed a lot more often than attorneys. Ethan was one of the nicest, smartest, sexiest men in the universe, and my hormones stood up and tap-danced every time he was near. And yet I had walked away from Ethan, and I was going to the party with Guidry.
I groaned again, and went and stood a long time under the shower. I was still as stupid when I got out as I’d been when I got in.
21
After a long nap, I went to my closet-office and listened to messages while I stepped into fresh underwear and cargo shorts. None of the messages were urgent, so after I pulled on a fresh T and laced up clean Keds, I went downstairs to visit with Michael and Ella. At that time of day the air on the key leans heavy on your back, draping its sweaty arms over your shoulders in a dazed torpor. Songbirds were hidden away having a siesta, and only a few seabirds wheeled in the sky. On the shore, some sleep-deprived gulls and terns made stubborn footprints in the sand.
In the kitchen, Michael was bent over a tray of meatballs he’d just taken out of the oven, and Ella was on her preferred perch on a stool at the butcher-block island. They both gave me I love you messages when I came in, Ella by blinking her eyes slowly, and Michael by offering me a meatball on a toothpick.
He said, “Wait, there’s stuff to dip it in.”
He plopped a spoonful of something creamy white into a small bowl and shoved it toward me. “See how you like that.”
I rolled the meatball in the dip and took a bite. “Yum. What is it?”
“Mostly ground turkey and sesame seeds, with some spices. The dip is just mayonnaise and Dijon mustard and horse radish.”
“Are you taking them all to the firehouse?” I sounded like a four-year-old about to whine.
“Don’t worry, I’ll leave some here. By the way, Paco and I are going out to dinner tonight.”
“Okay.”
“How’s the kid?”
“He’s good, they’ve moved him to a room.”
He gave me a quick sideways look, but he didn’t ask anything else about Jeffrey.
Luckily, he didn’t even think to ask anything about Laura’s murder. If I’d told him that I’d been asking questions about it, his sad look would have changed to one that said Have you lost your mind? I protected him by not volunteering any information. He already had enough worry and anxiety from being in a partnership with an undercover cop, he didn’t need to worry about his sister too. Also, I didn’t want to listen to him yell at me.
I ate another meatball, then washed my hands at the sink and took Ella out on the deck to groom her. I had just put the final stroke on her when Guidry’s dark Blazer rolled around the curve.
Damn! Why couldn’t he have given me some notice before he came? If I’d known, I could have slicked on a bit of lip gloss and run a brush through my hair. At least I was clean. Half the time when I see Guidry I’ve just thrown up on myself or I’m covered with dog drool and cat hair.