I look over at David feeling mad as hell, though I’m not sure if it’s him I’m mad at or myself. I realize that the money from the insurance settlement is more important to me now than ever. If I get fired from my job, I’m going to need that money to live on, and probably to find a new place to live. Remaining here as Izzy’s tenant will be too awkward.
“Half of that money is mine, David, and I have no intention of using my half to build you a new house.”
“Yes, I realize that, which is why I also contacted an attorney today. I’m prepared to make you an offer. I’ll sign your divorce papers as long as you don’t ask for any type of alimony. I’m willing to split the house money sixty- forty, and I’ll use my portion to rebuild something that will be in my name only. It will be smaller, but that house was too big for me anyway.”
“I want half the money, David.”
“I don’t think you understand. I’m offering you the sixty percent,” he says, making me nearly drop my spoon. “To compensate you for the value in the land the house stands on, which won’t be included in the insurance settlement.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes, seriously.”
“Why the sudden change of heart?”
“Because I know now that you’ve had a change of heart with regards to me so there isn’t much sense in dragging things out any longer. It’s time to cut my losses and move on.”
I narrow my eyes at him, suspicious of his sudden acquiescence. But I can’t afford to question his motives for too long. I need that money.
“Okay, you have a deal. But it has to be in writing, as a formal part of the divorce settlement.”
“No problem. I’ll have my attorney draw up the papers next week.”
I turn my back to him to toss my spoon in the sink and recap my ice cream, hoping to hide the shock and suspicion I’m feeling. I’m tickled that things have been so easily resolved yet it all feels too easy. There’s more to the story, I’m certain of it. The question is what.
“I’m going to load my stuff into your . . . car.” He says this last word with obvious distaste. “Let me know when you’re ready.” He turns and walks back to the living room, grabs several of last night’s shopping bags, and carries them outside to the hearse.
I head for the bathroom to pee, but also to have a private moment to think. If David carries through on his end of our bargain, it will eliminate some of the immediate financial pressure if I do lose my job. But it won’t lessen my sense of loss. I truly like what I’m doing now. Oddly enough, the job suits me and I’ve been looking forward to learning more and expanding my duties. While the settlement David is offering is generous, it’s hardly enough to allow me to live a lifetime of leisure. I’ll still need some type of job, and while I could go back to the hospital to work, I don’t want to.
Plus there’s Izzy. Losing my job would be upsetting, but losing Izzy as my friend would be devastating. Somehow I have to make things right again.
By the time I come out of the bathroom, David has all his stuff loaded into the hearse. Our ride to the motel is a silent one and when we get there, our only utterances are a few polite “I got it” comments as I help him carry his stuff into his temporary new home. As I carry the last of the bags into his suite and drop them on the counter of his tiny kitchenette, there is an awkward moment where we both stand there staring at one another, trying to find the right thing to say. This is such a momentous juncture in our lives that I feel the need say something meaningful and profound. But in the end all I come up with is “Gotta go,” before hurrying back out to my car.
I’ve got an hour before I’m supposed to meet Richmond at Slim’s Dungeon for our next torture session and I’m tempted to blow it off given that my body is still in agony from yesterday’s session. Then I figure some physical exertion may help me get rid of some of the frustration and anger I have pent up inside, not to mention the ice cream I just ate.
After trying once more to call Callie’s sister, Andi, and getting her voice mail again, I drive home to let Hoover out and to change into my loose-fitting dungeon clothes, momentarily imagining myself in some cute, tight-fitting little leotard like some of the other women at the gym had on. Since I have a little time, I decide to make a quick run to the store to see if I can find some more suitable gym wear.
Ten minutes later, I’m inside a dressing room trying to squeeze into the largest size leotard the store has. It’s a struggle—the thing is at least two sizes too small—but I’m hoping that all that elastic material will not only stretch to accommodate my body, but that it might help hold certain parts of it in and keep them from jiggling.
When I finally get it all the way on, I look in the mirror. The forgiving Lycra isn’t. Every seam is strained as tight as it can be and I can barely breathe. I fear that if I bump into something with the least little bit of force, my fat will burst out of the leotard like popping-fresh dough from the can. Resigned to looking frumpy, I get back into my sweatpants and T-shirt and head out of the store with my head hung low.
When I arrive at the gym I park out back in my designated hiding spot behind the building. I’m a few minutes early and Richmond isn’t here yet, so after a few brief warm-up exercises, I head for the birthing chair machine and begin my workout. Helga is there and after a brief greeting, she leaves me to my own devices. I make my way through the circuit the way she showed me the day before but my performance isn’t the best because my muscles are protesting every move. I keep an eye out for Richmond the entire time, but he never shows up.
By the time I’m done with my workout, I’ve dreamed up a hundred different names I’m going to call Richmond the next time I see him, none of them very ladylike. I’m muttering to myself as I leave the gym, rehearsing what I’m going to say as I dial Richmond’s number on my cell. He doesn’t answer—not surprising since I’m sure he knows I’m going to rip him a new one—and it flips over to voice mail just as I get to my car. With my keys in one hand and my cell in the other, I give him a piece of my mind.
“Richmond, you lying piece of shit. I’m at the gym and you’re not. Now you’re a dead man for sure because if your fat doesn’t kill you, I’m going to. You better call me.”
I disconnect the call and put my key in the door of the hearse to unlock it when my phone rings. Thinking it’s Richmond, I answer without bothering to look at the caller ID. “You better have a damned good excuse for not being here. That fat of yours isn’t going to disappear on its own, you know.”
“What about my fat?”
“Actually, Richmond is here with me. I’ve got some new evidence regarding Callie Dunkirk’s murder,” he says. “Can you come to the office?”
“Sure. I’ll be there in five minutes. Does this mean you haven’t fired me yet?”
I hear footsteps approaching behind me and I turn to see who it is. But before I can, I hear a strange crackling noise—like firecrackers going off in my left ear—and then the left side of my neck burns like someone just lit it on fire. My body is wracked with a sudden, searing pain and I hear myself scream as my brain explodes in a flash of blinding light.
Chapter 34
The next few minutes are a kaleidoscope of fractured sounds and images: my body colliding with the hard pavement; my left ankle screaming with pain; someone grabbing me beneath my arms; my body being slowly dragged across the parking lot; someone grunting; a man’s voice yelling—
“Can you stand?” he asks me, sounding breathless. He grabs my hands and tries to pull me up but my left ankle refuses to support much weight. Hurley drapes my right arm over his shoulders, grabs me around my waist, and hoists me across the small parking lot. “Come on, we need to get out of here,” he says, and the urgency in his voice helps me to get past the pain.
Hurley drags me to his car, which is parked at the far end of the front lot, dumps me into the passenger side, slams my door closed, and runs around to hop behind the wheel. “Can you fasten your seat belt?” he asks as he starts the engine. He doesn’t wait for an answer, whipping the steering wheel hard and hitting the gas. As the car
