“I believe you,” Hurley says, pulling up in front of my cottage and shifting his car into park. “But based on what I see here, I’m not sure David does.”
Confused, I look over at him but his eyes are focused on my front porch, his expression grim. I follow his line of sight and understanding glimmers. There, sitting on the porch, is David.
“Damn it,” I mutter.
“Do you need me to stay or will you be okay?”
Every fiber of my being wants him to stay but I know that now is not the time. Reluctantly I shake my head. “I’ll be okay,” I tell him. Keenly aware of David watching us, I make an impulsive decision. I lean over and kiss Hurley on the cheek. His skin is soft and warm on my lips, and his smell is heavenly. “Thanks for driving me tonight,” I whisper in his ear.
He turns to look at me and the normal blue of his eyes has darkened into something edgy, smoldering, and electrifying. It takes every ounce of willpower I possess to open the car door and get out.
As I approach the porch, Hurley turns his car around and heads down the drive. I hear his wheels squeal as he pulls out onto the road, and a terrible sense of loss washes over me. Part of me wants to go running after his car and beg him to take me away. Part of me wishes I’d asked him to stay. But I do none of those things. Instead I climb my front steps and brace myself for whatever David has in store.
Chapter 26
“Hello, David.”
He stares at me with an annoyed expression. “Just what the hell was that?” he grumbles.
I ignore him, open my front door, and head inside. David follows, firing questions in machine-gun fashion.
“What the hell was that, Mattie? Did you just kiss that guy? Is there something going on between you two? Are you dating him? Are you sleeping with him?”
This last question piques my ire enough to make me whirl on him and fire back. “Who are you sleeping with these days, David, now that Karen’s gone?”
He pulls back, blinks hard several times, and then his whole body sags. “Okay,” he says miserably. “I had that coming. I’m sorry.”
He plops down in a nearby chair and stares at his hands, picking at a cuticle on one of his fingers. I study him, taking in the waves of his blond hair, the taut patrician angles in his face, and the tall, lean lines of his body. I still find him handsome, but its effect on me at this point is nil.
“Why are you here, David?”
“I heard you were in a car accident. I wanted to make sure you’re okay.”
“I am, as I’m sure the ER staff told you. So if that’s all you want, you—”
“I wanted to talk to you about something else, too.”
“What?”
“Us.”
“There isn’t any us anymore, David.” The words come out harsh and angry, and he shoots me a wounded look that momentarily softens me. Then I remember what he did and my spine stiffens again. “For a relationship to work there has to be trust. And I don’t trust you anymore. That’s it in a nutshell.”
He nods wearily. “I understand that, and I deserve it,” he says. He leans forward with his arms on his knees and looks up at me with that wounded, puppy-dog look again. “What I did was wrong, but I’ve learned from my mistakes, Mattie. I’m asking you to consider forgiving me and to maybe, just maybe, give me . . . give us a second chance. I know it will take time and I’m not here to push you, but I don’t want you to rush into anything else either.” He pauses and I know the “anything else” he is referring to is Hurley. “Don’t close all the doors yet, Mattie,” he says, making his final appeal. “Don’t throw away everything we had.”
I stare at him a moment, and even though I feel bone-weary tired, I remain standing, not wanting to give him the impression that this discussion is going to continue. “What we had was a façade, David. It wasn’t real. I can’t forgive what you did, at least not to the degree necessary to make things work between us.”
“Not now, maybe,” he appeals. “But if we give it some time I’m sure we can—”
“I don’t love you anymore, David.” The words stop him dead, and as I utter them, the truth of the statement rings through to my core. It’s oddly releasing, but it also leaves me feeling terribly sad. “I’m sorry,” I say honestly.
There must be something in my expression that drives home the truth of my claim because his shoulders sag with resignation.
“So that’s it then,” he says.
“Yes.”
He digests things for a few seconds, then pushes himself out of the chair and takes a last look around the small confines of my cottage. Rubbish appears from the bedroom, strolling languidly into the room, pausing for one of those luxurious cat stretches. He eyes David then dismisses him as handily as I have, walking over to me instead and winding himself around my feet. He purrs contentedly and when David takes a step in my direction, I quickly reach down and pick Rubbish up, holding his warm, soft, vibrating little body close to my chest. As barriers go, he isn’t much of one, but the action has the effect I want; David stops moving toward me.
“Are you seeing that detective who drove you home?” he asks.
“That’s none of your business.” The words come out harsher than I mean them to but if it bothers David, he doesn’t show it. In fact, he smiles.
“You’re still hurting and angry with me,” he says, turning toward the door. “But despite what you’re feeling now, I think your feelings will change over time. And I’m willing to wait.”
For a brilliant surgeon, he’s pretty clueless. Not wanting him to feel encouraged in any way, I blurt out a last parting shot. “I’m filing for a legal separation and, as soon as our waiting period is up, I plan to file for a divorce. I hope you’ll be fair in the settlement rather than spiteful.”
I see a tiny shudder course through his body, but he doesn’t look back at me. After a moment he says, “We’ll see.”
I’m not sure if his equivocation is referring to my threat of a divorce or my plea for him to be fair, but I let him go without asking for clarification. As the door closes behind him, I nuzzle my nose in Rubbish’s fur and whisper, “It’s just you and me now, kiddo. Just you and me.”
I make my way to the kitchen and treat Rubbish to a plate of tuna. Then I search the fridge for a treat of my own and, finding nothing of interest, I move to the freezer where I find a brandnew pint of Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia. I take it and a spoon back out to the living room and settle in on the couch with the remote control. After flipping through the channels I settle on an old episode of Frasier. It reminds me of Cara’s statement about Luke Nelson and that gets me to thinking about the name and address I have for the woman who owns the HOT 44D license plate. I make a mental note to try to find her tomorrow and figure out what her connection to Nelson is. Something about the man just feels wrong to me and maybe this woman is the key.
By the time Frasier ends I realize I’ve eaten the entire carton of ice cream. Feeling disgusted with myself, I set the empty container aside and silently wish I could go back in time and undo all the calories I just consumed. The thought niggles something in my brain and a seemingly unrelated montage of images flashes through my mind: the food in Shannon’s kitchen, a pathetically skinny teenager I took care of once in the ER, the clothes in Shannon’s closet, the contents of Shannon’s medicine cabinet, Jackie’s description of Erik’s visit to Dairy Airs, the discovery that Shannon had a hiatal hernia, and the abrasions I found on her right hand when I first examined her body.
It all comes together in a startling explosion of insight. I explore this new path some more, taking all the detours, considering the various implications, and examining the potential outcomes. And in the end it leads me to a stunning conclusion . . . one that will very likely change everything regarding the investigation into Shannon’s death.