Still, Derek’s kiss at the door to my hotel room managed to curl my toes and heat up my insides so completely that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see sparks fly out of my ears.
He pressed his forehead against mine, stared soulfully into my eyes, and smiled. I smiled back and was about to drag him inside my room, when his smile turned to a grin and he chuckled. Then he guffawed, and seconds later he was leaning against the wall, holding his stomach, laughing and begging for mercy.
So much for the famous unruffled calm of the British secret agent.
“Pooper shooter!” He gasped. “Christ on a cross, she’s priceless!”
That was when I thanked him for the good time and called it a night.
As I rolled out of bed, I felt a small twinge in my lower back, probably from landing smack-dab on my ass more than once yesterday. I did some slow stretches, bringing my knees up, then bending right, left, then over. They seemed to help. The hot shower helped, too.
My sore ankle barely even registered on the pain-o-meter, so that was something to be thankful for.
I popped two ibuprofen and drank my cup of hot chocolate as I dressed. Frankly, I was ecstatic to feel only a slight throbbing in my head, considering the half bottle of wine and Scotch nightcap I’d consumed the evening before. Okay, maybe it was a little more than half a bottle of wine, but the hangover gods must’ve taken pity on me anyway. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the astral plane, where I figured most hangover gods hung out during the day.
My luck ran out when I stepped into the elevator and saw the only other passenger inside: Martin Warrington, Helen’s estranged husband. For once, he was alone, without Helen to hide behind.
“Hello, Martin,” I said, unable to be completely rude and ignore him.
“ Brooklyn,” he said. “I’m glad I ran into you.”
“You’re kidding, right?” I made a face. I guess I could be a little rude, after all.
“No.” He smiled contritely. “I’ve been meaning to track you down and force you to listen to me.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to apologize.”
“Apologize?” I said. “For what?”
“For being a consummate clod, of course.” He took a deep breath and exhaled. “This isn’t easy to admit, but when Helen and I first got together, I was jealous of all her friends and I acted like a complete ass.”
“Well,” I started, but didn’t know what to say next. I couldn’t dispute his words, because they were true, and frankly, I was still suspicious of his motives.
He chuckled. He had to know what I was thinking. “I screwed up,” he said. “I admit it. But I’m trying to make up for lost time. I love Helen, and I’ve spent these last few days realizing how unhappy I made her, and I hate myself for it. I just want her to be happy.”
“I want that, too,” I said cautiously.
He smiled and it seemed sincere, not the least bit reptilian or smug. “You’re a good friend of hers and your opinion matters to her, so I’m hoping it’s not too late for us to be friends.”
“That might be asking a lot,” I said, but I tried to smile as I said it.
He grinned, relaxing a bit more. “I completely understand. Perhaps we can start over as semifriendly acquaintances, then.”
He held out his hand, and after a moment of consideration, I shook it, then said, “I’m not sure Helen cares what I think of you, Martin.”
“She cares,” he said. “A lot.”
“Okay, then here’s the deal. If you do anything to make her unhappy, all bets are off.”
“I love her,” he said simply. “I don’t want her to be unhappy.”
We stood in silence. To fill the void, I asked, “I guess this means you two aren’t filing for divorce?”
He smiled tightly. “She told you about the divorce?”
“She mentioned it.”
He exhaled heavily again. “Let’s just say I’m determined to change her mind.”
I studied him for a moment, then nodded. “Well, good luck with it.”
He laughed. “Thanks, I’ll need it.”
That might’ve been the first time I ever heard Martin laugh. A small miracle.
Bemused, I walked away from the elevator. That was weird, I thought. But good, I guess. I’d actually seen a glimmer of the nice guy Helen had always said he could be.
I walked into the restaurant and found my parents and Robin eating fresh fruit and oatmeal.
“What’s with the oatmeal?” I asked Robin as I sat. She never ate oatmeal, and I was in the mood for French toast and bacon.
“It’s good for me,” she mumbled.
“Since when?”
“Since your mother swears by it.”
I frowned at Mom. “You do?”
She nodded resolutely. “Robin needs more fiber.”
Robin smiled weakly. “I seem to be experiencing psychic energy interference.”
Glancing back at Mom, I said, “That’s not another euphemism for the colon thing, is it?”
She pressed her hands together in a prayer pose. “All is connected,” she said, evading the question. Which I guess meant, yeah, it all came back to the colon thing.
I turned back to Robin. “Are you sure you don’t just have a hangover?”
She yawned. “Probably. I was up kind of late.”
I sighed. “Okay, I’ll have the oatmeal.”
“Solidarity,” Robin whispered, and held out her fist to bump mine.
“Tomorrow, we’re starting a juice fast,” Mom said. “Then we’ll join the screaming prayer circle that meets at sunrise on the Salisbury Crags. Are you in?”
I coughed. “ Sunrise?”
“Absolutely,” Mom said. “That’s when the core fire of enlightenment is most rampant.”
“But that’s, like, in the morning.”
“Exactly.”
“No, thanks.”
“Your father will be there.”
“Really?” I turned to him. “Dad, are you going on a juice fast?”
“Sure,” Dad said, spearing a thick piece of bacon. “If cabernet is considered juice, I’m there.”
They didn’t seem to be suffering any lingering effects from the alcohol they’d consumed last night. Maybe there was something to the whole colon thing, after all.
I shivered as I remembered Mom’s statement from the night before. On second thought, I was going to forget I ever had that thought.
After breakfast, as we waited for the valet to bring the minivan around, a taxicab pulled up and Helen climbed out of the back, carrying three Jaeger shopping bags. She paid the driver, then rushed over to Mom and gave her a big hug.
“I feel like I haven’t seen you in days,” she said, then laughed. “It’s crazy how life can change in a day.”
“It’s so funny you should say so,” I said as I pulled her away from the family and walked with her toward the wide sliding doors of the hotel. “Because I rode down in the elevator with Martin a little while ago.”
Her smile wobbled. “Oh, dear. Should I apologize?”
I frowned, then shook my head and chuckled. “No, strangely enough, he took care of that.”
“What do you mean?”
“He apologized to me,” I said.
Her eyes widened. “That’s weird.”
“I know.” I laughed. “But he did. He was actually nice about it, said he’s determined to talk you out of the divorce and make your relationship work. And he wants us to try to be friends.”
She tensed up. “He mentioned the divorce?”
“Just that he wants to change your mind about it.”
“And what did you say?”
“I wished him luck.” I frowned. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She breathed again. “I’m just surprised he approached you.”
“It couldn’t be avoided. We were stuck in the elevator together.”
She smiled. “At least he made the effort.”
I studied her. “Helen, are you going to go back to him?”
“I don’t know,” she said, waving her hands in frustration. “I’m so confused. He’s been on his best behavior. I should go find him.” She checked her watch. “Phooey. I think he just started a two-hour meeting.”