Eric appeared slightly mollified. “But he didn't do anything. We just talked. I see crooks get sent to talk therapy all the time. All it does is talk the shrink into writing a letter saying that Johnny has learned to control his anger management issues, and should be let out of jail so he can go beat his wife again. Even those quacks don't claim they can guarantee results in one session.”
“ One week.”
Eric glanced at her. “What did the two of you discuss in there?”
“ Relaxation techniques.”
“ Like what?”
Megan frowned. It was a little fuzzy. She must have dozed off pretty early in the session. “Deep breathing, that sort of thing.”
“ How is that supposed to help us?”
“ He didn't say.” She paused. “How long was I in there alone?”
Eric crinkled his brow. “You don't know? Thirty — forty minutes.”
“ I think his techniques must have worked. I dozed off.”
Eric rolled his eyes and shook his head.
Eric was in bed before Megan. She walked into the bathroom. Sure enough, he had left his toothbrush on the counter. The toothpaste tube had the cap off, and was sitting next to it. His clothes had been thrown at — rather than into — the laundry basket, and despite his fondness for Indiana basketball, he wasn't a great shot. Eric's shoes were in the middle of the bathroom floor.
Goddammit, he wasn't even trying. Megan felt the familiar frustration building up inside her. She cleaned up the mess, and put his clothes where they belonged.
As she undressed, she felt Eric's eyes upon her. A chill went up her spine, driven by feeling of power at the knowledge her naked body had that effect on him — but it wouldn't be enough tonight.
When she shut the lights off and climbed into bed, she felt Eric spoon behind her. She felt his large erection pressing into the crack of her ass. His muscular arms reached across her and gently stroked her stomach and the undersides of her breasts.
Megan didn't respond. She was still annoyed about the mess in the bathroom, and Eric's accusations in Esmer' office. They had just spent $2000 because Eric wouldn't clean up his shit. It was like he was deliberately trying to piss her off.
Eric eventually gave up. He sighed, and rolled over.
Megan felt a twinge of guilt. He loved her, and thought she was sexy. Maybe she would be in the mood tomorrow. She was afraid that in the direction they were going, This might be the last year of their marriage. Next week was Valentine's Day and it might be their last. The counseling session seemed to be a bust, and she was out of ideas.
Megan fought back tears as she fell asleep.
Thursday
Eric was almost ready to head out the door. He kept his gun on top of the cabinet next to the refrigerator, and was putting it on when Megan stopped him. “There is a full basket of laundry in the bathroom with your name on it.”
“ Tonight, honey. I need to be at work.”
“ It's only seven. You told me they don't need you at work until eight.”
She saw his lips purse and his eyes roll, but he headed back into the bathroom, and returned carrying a load of laundry. It was a big load. He had over-stacked the basket, as usual. She liked the way his biceps flexed as he carried it. She thought about how much she used to love the feel of those arms around her. When he flexed, they felt like baseballs were under his skin.
Eric walked down the stairs toward the laundry room, and Megan watched how his ass moved in his khaki work slacks. On a whim, she decided to follow him.
He threw his clothes into the washing machine. He wasn't separating lights and darks, she noticed. He is such a guy. But lack of color separation didn't bother her. He was the one who had to wear the clothes, not her. If he didn't mind his white boxers turning powder blue, that was his problem. She just wanted them off the goddamned floor.
And he had done it — grudgingly, but he had done it. She felt a load of stress leave her mind, and she felt relaxed.
That was how she used to always feel when Eric was around — relaxed — safe. He looked out for her. He looked out for everybody. Wasn't that how they had met?
The text from Carmen asked her to pick her up at St. Andrews hospital. “Nthng srs but need ride plz.”
When she had arrived at the hospital, they directed her to Carmen's room. Megan had done her residency at St. Andrews, which had just ended the year before. She saw a lot of people she knew. Most nodded politely. One nurse flinched when she saw Megan, and muttered, “Dr. Bitch” under her breath. She had taken pride when that epithet was used by the less talented and hardworking staff. It only bothered her when used by people she respected. The nurse was not in the latter category, and Megan ignored her.
She noticed a man standing in the hallway outside her destination. He was tall, and muscular under his sport coat and slacks. Cookie-duster mustache. She had only the time for the occasional short term fling during her residency, and was just now getting back into the dating pool. The mustache was a turn-off, but otherwise he looked like her type.
The man watched her approach. His eyes didn't linger too long on her breasts, but he clearly was checking her out. Since he was cute, and stood with the sort of arrogance that she liked in guys, she glanced down and noted the absence of a wedding ring.
He moved to intercept her as she pivoted to head into Carmen's room.
Megan crossed her arms and met his gaze. “You a cop?” She asked.
His eyes opened slightly, and he smiled. “I am asking the questions here. How did you know?”
“ The mustache. Only cops, bikers, and gay guys wear them any more. You aren't dressed like a biker, and a gay man wouldn't have imagined me naked while I walked down the hall.”
He smiled, but self-consciously stroked his mustache with his left hand. “Cops, gays, and bikers…”
Megan frowned as the implications of his presence hit her. “Is my sister in trouble?”
“ You are Ms. Cross's sister? No, she is not in trouble, but she was the victim of an assault.”
Megan felt hatred rise in her throat. That bastard. She pushed past the detective and walked into the room.
Carmen was getting dressed behind a curtain. She looked up as Megan came into view. “Oh thank you for coming. I feel like such an idiot.” Carmen was crying — her tears flowing down past a swollen right eye. She also had a bruised lip. Chris had hit her. The fucker. I saw this coming. I warned her.
“ Can I come in yet?”
“ That's the police detective,” Carmen explained to Megan. She finished buttoning her jeans, then called out, “Yes, thanks for waiting.”
The detective pulled out a laptop and sat in a chair. “Please tell me what happened.”
Carmen relayed her story. She had finally decided to break up with her asshole boyfriend, and he wasn't happy. He went to Carmen's apartment, weaseled his way inside and beat her. He only left when the neighbors had announced they had called the police. The police had called an ambulance, which took her to the hospital.
The detective asked more questions filling in the details. How long had she known Chris? What was his full name? What was his address. Any other addresses? Phone number? Had he done this before? To the best of her memory, what exactly did he say and do? Were there any witnesses other than the neighbors who called 9-1-1?
Megan was focused on Carmen, holding her hand and hugging her. She listened to the detective, but otherwise ignored him. Her sister was her world right now.
Then Carmen started crying again. “I'm sorry. It's my fault. I shouldn't have broken up with him. I knew it would make him angry and make him do this.”
Megan felt anger welling up again, but before she could speak, the detective voiced her thoughts for her.