Bloody Mary

I was doing that, unsuccessfully, when the phone rang. The desk sergeant informed me that a man was downstairs, asking to see me.

“Says he’s your husband.”

I felt my pulse jump. Anger, or excitement?

“Can someone escort him up?”

My mirror compact called to me, begging to check my hair and makeup.

I resisted, and read the same line on an arrest report fifteen times until the knock at the door came.

“Hi, Jack.”

I didn’t look up at him, reading the line two more times before answering. Then I gave him my slightly a

“What is it, Alan? I’m busy.”

“I wanted to apologize. For last night. I shouldn’t have acted like that.”

“I accept your apology. Now if you don’t mind…”

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

The words hurt. I stayed silent.

“I shouldn’t have come to Chicago. I didn’t mean to intrude on your life. I guess… I don’t know… I always questioned my decision. Leaving you. I wanted to see you again, to see if I was wrong.”

“Were you wrong?”

His eyes softened. “Yes.”

What do you say to a man whom you cursed ten thousand times, begged the universe to make him understand what a jerk he was, and then he finally agrees with you?

“Have a safe trip back, Alan.”

His eyes got teary. Maybe mine did too.

“Can we be friends, Jack? Stay in touch?”

Don’t play with fire, Jack. You got burned the last time.

“That’s probably not a good idea.”

He chewed his lower lip.

“You know, I never visited you at work, when we were married. Not once.”

“I know.”

“I can finally cross that off my list of should-haves.” He tried to smile. “Have a nice life, Jack.”

“You too, Alan.”

He walked out.

The first time he left me, I didn’t try to stop him. I always wondered what would have happened if I’d tried. Would we have lasted? Would we have worked out our problems? Would love have conquered all?

Was I destined to keep making the same mistakes, over and over again?

“Alan… wait.”

He turned, eyes hopeful.

“Yeah?”

Looking at him, I knew.

“You’re wearing my jacket.”

Alan took off the bomber jacket, held it out.

I went to him.

Our hands met.

“Jack, I love this jacket too much to give it up.”

“So do I.”

“Maybe we can work out some kind of joint custody.”

“Maybe.”

“Can we discuss it over di

“That might be best.”

I touched his face, wiped off a tear with my thumb.

“Can I call you? After work?”

“No. The work can wait.”

“Excuse me?”

“The work can wait, Alan. Let’s go.”

We didn’t go out to di

Twice.

CHAPTER 32

I stared at the ceiling, naked and tangled in a sheet, sleep a faraway concept.

Alan slept curled up next to me. Looking at him, I felt an odd mixture of love and remorse. The sex had been good, like putting on an old pair of blue jeans you haven’t worn in ages. Alan and I knew each other’s buttons.

I’d called Mom earlier, explaining I wouldn’t be home, without giving her details.

She figured them out anyway.

“I’ll let Nathan know where you are if he calls.”

“His name is Latham, Mom. And no, you won’t. If he calls or drops by, have him call my cell.”

Latham never did call, and I felt another odd mixture, of guilt and relief. I fleetingly wished I could feel just one emotion at a time, but that added confusion to my melting pot of conflicting feelings.

The ceiling had no answers for me.

I didn’t have any sleeping pills, and my insomnia knew it; shifting, restless leg syndrome, unable to get comfortable in any position.

At two in the morning, heart palpitations and shallow breathing hopped on the symptom train, and I knew enough modern psychology to recognize I was having a panic attack.

It was horrible.

I’d had a physical, four months back, and been given a clean bill of health, so I knew this wasn’t a heart attack. But still, I was enveloped by an overwhelming sense that I was going to die.

I got out of bed, paced, did some push-ups, tried yoga, drank two glasses of water, flipped through fifteen cha

At five in the morning, in a near hysterical effort to simplify my life, I went into the bathroom and called Latham.

“Jack? That you?”

“I need to take a break, Latham. From us. Too much is happening too fast.”

“You sound terrible. Are you okay?”

“No. I think I’m having a nervous breakdown. It’s probably just a panic attack. I don’t have my damn sleeping pills and I’m bouncing off the walls.”

“Why don’t you have your pills?”

Moment of truth time.

“I’m in Alan’s hotel room.”

I waited for Latham to scream at me, call me names. Hell, I wanted him to.

“You still love him.”

“Yes.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.”

I heard him take a quick breath. A sob?

“You need some time apart, to figure things out?”

“Yes.” I was crying now.

“A week? A month?”

“I don’t know, Latham.”

“I understand.”

Dammit, why did he have to be so freaking nice?

“I might never come back, Latham.”

“You have to choose what’s right for you, Jack.”

“Aren’t you mad at me?”

“I love you. I want you to be happy.”

I gripped the phone so hard my knuckles lost color.

“There’s no goddamn way you can be that mature about this! Call me a cheating bitch! Tell me I ruined your life!”

“Call me when you’ve made a decision, Jack.”

He hung up.

I raised the cell over my head, wanting to smash it against the tiled floor.

I settled for placing it on the sink and blubbering like a baby.

Alan knocked on the door.

“Jack? Are you okay?”

He let himself in, sat down next to me.

“Dammit,” I cursed, rubbing my eyes. “Dammit, dammit, dammit. I’m not this weak.”

Alan laughed.

“Why are you laughing?”

He put his arms around me.

“You’re not weak, Jack. You’re human.”

“And that’s fu

“I always suspected it. I just never thought I’d see it.”

He held me until the tears stopped and embarrassment set in. I finally pushed him away and jumped in the shower.

If I hoped to get my life in order, I needed to start compartmentalizing. If I dealt with one thing at a time, I wouldn’t get overwhelmed.

Number one on the hierarchy of importance was Fuller. He couldn’t be allowed out.

After the shower, I got dressed, kissed my sleeping ex-husband on the top of his head, and went to the office.

One thing at a time.

CHAPTER 33

“Who’s there?”

No answer.

I squinted, trying to see through the darkness of my bedroom. My digital clock displayed 3:35 in bright red; the only light in the room.

I sat up and reached for the lamp by my bedside. Clicked it on.

Nothing happened.

I reached higher and felt that the lightbulb was missing.

Carefully, slowly, I eased open my nightstand drawer, seeking out the.38 I put in there every night.

The gun was gone.

Something in the darkness moved.

“Mom? Alan?”

No answer.

I breathed in deep, held it, straining to hear any sound.

A faint chuckle came from nearby.

My digital clock went out.

The hair rose on the back of my neck. The darkness was complete, a thick inky cloth. Sweat trickled down my spine.

The closet.

“I’ve got a gun!” I yelled to the darkness.

Another chuckle. Low and soft.

Fuller.

Another movement. Closer this time.

My heart pumped ice through my veins. Where were Mom and Alan? What had he done to them?