Jonathan′s face was rigid. ″Not in that… way. There was no intimacy between us this time. Not on this trip.″
″Well, say hallelujah for that. So what exactly were you doing when Gi said you two were fucking like love bunnies?″
″We weren′t having sex, Kate. That′s just Gi′s craziness.″
″If you expect me to believe that, Jonathan, then you must think I′m crazy.″
Jonathan shifted to one side and looked into my eyes. ″I don′t think you′re crazy,″ he said. ″I think you′re sanest woman I′ve ever met. But I let you down. I know that I did.″
His voice turned leaden and defeated as he continued. ″I have to tell you everything now.″
″You mean there′s more?″
″Yes.″
God.
″But first I want you to know,″ he said. ″There′s nothing left emotionally between Gi and me. Absolutely nothing.″
″Absolutely nothing but a little vacation sex every few years?″
″Please, Kate. Can I just finish what I have to say?″
When I shrugged, he resumed, ″I have no feelings for Gi anymore except for maybe pity. There′s nothing left in my heart and hasn′t been for a long time. But…″
Something bad was coming. Something that was even worse than being cheated on. Instinctively I rolled away from him.
Jonathan shielded his eyes with his hand. ″Gi′s eight months pregnant,″ he said. ″She says she conceived during that one time we were together at the Christmas holiday.
″Gi says the baby is mine.″
Chapter 27
A Personal Grooming Tool
I wish I′d known about facial-grooming tools long ago-it would have spared me a lot of episodes of embarrassing chin hair. Usually battery operated, the grooming tool is used to whisk away facial hairs. You can also use it to remove the hair in the… ahem, deli cate areas of your body.
Make sure you invest in a good-quality tool. The better-made facial groomers are a bit more expensive but well worth the price.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
″She′s pregnant? Gi is having your baby?″
Oh God oh God oh God. Oh, Jesus.
A blinding pain shot through my head. ″Tell me everything else right now, Jonathan,″ I gasped. ″Are you even divorced? On the phone Gi said she′s still your wife.″
″Not technically.″
″Not divorced technically? You′re a cop, for God′s sake!″
″Not technically, because the original paperwork was doctored. I can′t even get a legitimate divorce in England. Right now, legally I′m stuck with her. It′s like I made a deal with the devil when I smuggled her in.″
More like he′d married the devil. And now she was having the devil′s child.
The second that thought entered my head, the ghost of my Catholic upbringing reared its disapproving head and glared at me. Quickly, I made the sign of the cross over my chest. Back in grade school, the nuns had taught me that it was a serious sin to condemn an unborn baby, even in one′s thoughts. No matter how unstable Gi was or what Jonathan had done, their baby was God′s precious being. Never a spawn of the devil.
I hadn′t made the sign of the cross since I was thirteen years old. And I hadn′t been to a priest to make a confession in nearly that long. Clearly I was overdue.
At the sight of my making the sign of the cross, Jonathan sat upright in the bed. He had a nervous look on his face.
And he had plenty of cause to be afraid. I was like an IED ready to go off. It was all I could do to keep my finger from releasing the trigger button.
″You better go home now, Jonathan,″ I said, heaving with the desire to claw at him.
″I don′t want to go. I think we need to talk some more.″
″I don′t want to talk to you. Get out of my house right now, because I don′t want to be charged with assaulting an officer.″
He reached for my hand. ″Don′t be ridicu-″
″Get out of here!″
The hand he′d touched exploded. My fingers unfurled and slashed across his face.
Jonathan didn′t try to defend himself or control me. A drop of his blood remained on my finger as I pulled it away, smearing the linen pillowcase.
I didn′t pause to consider that I′d drawn blood; rage had taken the driver′s seat. I pushed Jonathan out of my bed and drove him before me. In the living room Jonathan opened the front door, then held on to the knob for a few seconds while I screamed foul-sounding names at him. I don′t even know what kinds of things I was screaming. I wasn′t even Kate Gallagher anymore. I was a Greek Fury, only with a vocabulary of pithy Irish insults.
After an uncertain amount of time passed in this drama, the sound of a dog′s barking jerked me into awareness of the world around us. In the house next door to mine, the older lady who heads our neighborhood watch group had emerged onto her lighted front porch. She was holding her Rottweiler by its collar.
″Dear, are you okay? Do you need the dog, or shall I call the police?″ she called to me in a worried-sounding voice.
″No, it′s okay. He is the police,″ I replied. ″I′m very sorry for the disturbance. Don′t worry, ma′am. We′re fine.″
Except that we weren′t. We never would be again.
The neighbor′s intervention had lanced my boil′s rage, releasing its pressure. I turned my head away from Jonathan.
″Go on now, Jonathan,″ I said, closing my eyes. ″Just go away.″
When I opened them again, he was gone.
I backed up against the couch and dropped onto it. I remained there for a very long time, dimly aware of the changes of light and cooling air coming through my front door, which was still open a few inches. At some point I must have closed it.
I snapped out of my trance when the alarm clock buzzer in the bedroom went off. It was five a.m.
My gaze landed on the dark red roses that Jonathan had brought with him earlier. I picked them up off the table and cradled them against me for a long moment, inhaling their delicate fragrance. I walked with them outside.
The morning air felt cool and moist against my skin as I headed down the sidewalk in front of my house. Destination: a Dumpster located in front of a house that was being built down the street.
In front of the Dumpster I hesitated a moment, cradling the damp-stemmed roses against me. Their fragrance mixed in my nostrils with the smells of concrete and sawdust from the construction bin. Then I heaved the bouquet into the trash. The roses broke apart in the air, scattering petals into the bin and the sidewalk below.
I walked away.
Chapter 28
Got Dough to Blow?
If you really love long lashes, consider investing in eyelash extensions. They last much longer than false eyelashes (four to five weeks on average), and give you round-the-clock glamour.
– From The Little Book of Beauty Secrets by Mimi Morgan
It was Sunday morning at eleven a.m., the time of day when many people in Durham were dressed up in their Sunday clothes, heading to their places of worship to bow their heads in prayer.
Inside Durham County Jail on East Main Street, a much less reverential scene was taking place. Antoine Hurley, accused murderer of Jana Miller, was sitting across from me in the inmates′ visitors room on the opposite side of a plastic partition. He was dressed in the orange scrubs of a county inmate, and his head was bowed. But not in prayer. Antoine was just eighteen years old, and he didn′t look like a murderer. He looked as scared as hell.