"Excuse me." Karen rose. "There's someone at the door."
As she left the room she heard Cheryl say earnestly, "You see how she is, mister. I just can't get her to do a thing. No sense in you hanging around, is there? Hey, Karen, maybe that's your friend, that nice policeman."
Karen rather hoped it was. She didn't bother putting up the chain; hearing Jack's footsteps behind her, quick and heavy with anger, she flung the door wide.
The two men confronted one another as she involuntarily stepped aside. Mark was the first to speak. "Just leaving, were you? Don't let me stand in your way."
For a moment Karen thought Jack was going to swing the briefcase he carried in a futile, spiteful blow; but he thought better of it. Mark was coatless, his shirt sleeves rolled to the elbow; the tendons in his forearms twitched as he flexed his hands.
Jack edged past him without speaking. Once safely on the sidewalk he turned; before he could say anything, Mark had pushed Karen out of the way and closed the door.
"I'm not sure I could control myself if he started sounding off," he explained apologetically. "My constituents would hate it if I were arrested for assault and featured prominently in the evening news-"
"I'm not sure I can control myself," Karen said. She folded her arms. "What are you doing here?"
"I just happened to be… No, I guess you won't buy that. So, all right, I was parked down the street. I saw him go in; when he didn't come back out, I started to worry."
"And who licensed you to worry about me?"
"Uh-Karen-" said Cheryl, from the door of the parlor.
"Keep out of this," said Karen. "I don't blame you, Mark, for taking precautions on Cheryl's account. That's between the two of you. But if you think you can come waltzing in here whenever some situation arises that you believe I can't handle… I didn't need you. I had everything under control."
"She really did, Mark," said Cheryl. "You should have seen her. She was-"
"Keep out of this," said Mark. Cheryl threw up her hands and vanished. "Okay, you didn't need me," Mark went on. "Fine. Great. I humbly apologize."
"Don't you see, you only made matters worse! He's already been abusive and insulting, now he's going to think-"
"I get the point," Mark interrupted. "Don't worry, I'll stay out of his way from now on. I don't want to make matters more difficult for you. Good night, Karen."
The door slammed as she stood openmouthed, her hand half-extended-too late to stop him.
He had misunderstood. Small wonder; she hadn't made it clear that she was primarily concerned about the verbal vitriol Jack could throw at him. His constituents wouldn't like to hear on the evening news that their congressman had been arrested for assault? They wouldn't be too happy about the insinuations Jack was capable of feeding the press either. He could play the injured, betrayed husband to perfection. Those who lived "inside the Beltway," as Washington was sometimes designated, were cynically casual about sexual misconduct; the small-town Midwest was not.
Karen reached for the doorknob. She didn't want Mark or anyone else rushing to her rescue all the time. Affectionate concern could be as destructive of independence as Jack's domineering contempt had been. She had to learn to handle her own problems. But she might have put it more gracefully, and expressed her appreciation for his intentions, if not his actions. An impractical, romantic gesture, and wholly typical of Mark-not the cool, calculating politician he had become, but the quixotic boy she remembered. He couldn't possibly mount guard over them every night, he had to sleep sometime! He was probably out there now, sitting in his car and sweltering in the summer heat. He wouldn't go off in a huff, however badly she treated him. She knew she would toss and turn half the night, in a turmoil of self-reproach, if she didn't set things right.
It was very dark outside. She stood uncertainly at the gate, looking up and down the lines of parked cars. Then she saw him, across the street-only a shadow moving, but the glimmer of his light shirt and the very way he moved made her certain. She called out and started after him. It was hard to find a way between the cars. Many were parked almost bumper-to-bumper. Half-running, she passed out of shadow into the patch of yellow cast by a streetlight, and went back into shadow before she found a way to cross the street.
She never actually saw the car. Without headlights it was only a shape of greater darkness, suddenly growing larger. She heard it, though-a squeal of tires, the roar of abrupt acceleration. Midway across the street, which was narrowed to a single lane by vehicles on either side, she wasted several vital seconds trying to decide whether to retreat or go forward. A voice shouted; then, as the car hung over her like a moving cliff face, she was struck and flung back. She felt his arms close bruisingly around her body; pain stabbed her thighs as she was squeezed and thrust into a space too small to admit her, between the close-parked vehicles. A rush of hot air fanned her face and lifted her hair.
Then there was nothing but the rapidly fading sound of the engine and the crumpled shape at her feet. It took her a while to extricate herself from the cramped space where she was pinned by metal and hard plastic. As she crouched beside him, fumbling with numbed, frantic fingers in the darkness, she felt the sticky wetness of blood on her hands and heard Cheryl screaming her name.
"GET away from me." None too gently, Mark pushed his sister aside. "I'm not going to the Hill tomorrow swathed in bandages. It's just a scratch."
"Suit yourself," Cheryl said. "It's your face. What's left of it."
Her pallor belied her sharp tone. Suddenly she sat down hard, her legs folded under her. "My God. I've never been so scared in my life. Hearing those tires squeal, then going down and finding the door wide open, and not a sign of either of you…" She covered her face with her hands.
Karen wanted to reach out to comfort her, but she couldn't seem to move. The air in the room felt abnormally cold; she had to clench her jaw to keep her teeth from chattering.
"Calm down," Mark said. "Nobody is hurt. I knocked myself out for a second when I fell, and scraped some skin off my face. That's all. It could have been worse."
It would have been worse if you hadn't thrown yourself in the path of the car. The words formed in Karen's mind but some substance filled her throat and blocked their utterance. Cheryl took her hands from her face. She was still pale, but she had herself under control.
"Drunk driver?" she suggested.
"Could be." Mark started to shrug, winced, and changed his mind. He had fallen heavily; he'd have bruises and sore muscles next day.
"His headlights weren't on," Karen said.
The others stared at her in surprise, as if a table or a rock had spoken. She had not uttered a word since Cheryl found them-Karen sitting stupefied on the pavement, Mark trying to pull her to her feet.
"It could have been Jack," Karen said.
"It could have been anybody. I didn't get a good look at the car. All I know is it was light in color-white or tan or pale blue-and good-sized. Maybe it looked bigger than it was," Mark added with a faint smile.
"It could have been Rob," Karen said. She sounded like a parrot, even to herself.
"I thought of that," Mark said. He swung his feet off the couch and sat up, looking quite himself except for the scraped, raw patches on his forehead and cheek. "This was brutally direct, though, not the same style as the other incidents. It's almost as if…" He stopped and looked intently at Karen. "If I weren't afraid of being slapped down for butting into someone else's business, I'd suggest you go to bed. Since I am afraid of getting slapped down, I suggest I go to bed."
He levered himself carefully to his feet. Hands still folded in her lap, Karen said, "Are you going back out there to sit in your car?" Mark made a movement as if to deny the implicit accusation; before he could speak, Karen went on, "Because if that's what you are planning to do, you may as well sleep here. Cheryl, I'll leave him to you; try to talk some sense into him. I'm going to make up the bed in the guest room."