“Oh.” Her voice had lost the cheer, and she shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably. “I had hoped to hitch a ride to the place I’m staying, it’s close to P.V. Mall, an Airbnb,” she added.
Tristan didn’t say a word, didn’t squeeze my hand. I knew it was my call. So like the fool I am, I offered a ride to the hand with the red, swollen palm. It was the right thing to do.
Thankfully, Tristan took charge, and with Jessie in the back seat, next to her humungous suitcase, he sat himself in the passenger seat next to me and winked when our eyes met for a moment.
“Don’t you have any luggage?” Jessie asked.
“Unfortunately, it will be arriving with the next flight.” He shrugged, “The airline delivers, not a big deal.”
“I’m taking the 51 north,” I said.
That way we wouldn’t drive by Tristan’s house before getting to where I assumed the Airbnb was. A year ago some Italians friends stayed in a cute one-bedroom by the mall. They’d told me that complex was listed in many Airbnb brochures. Then again, I could be wrong.
“What’s Alexander doing these days?” Tristan asked. “Alexander was a student at the University of Arizona when we were there,” he said to me.
I nodded.
“He’s married. I don’t know his partner, but he’s the one hiring me,” Jessie said.
Did she say he’s married to a he? Interesting. I liked gay men in general, they seemed to always do things better, like better clothes, better cars. I kept that to myself since I had never heard of Alexander before.
The short trip was pure torture, the forced conversation, the long silences. Finally she told me to get off on Cactus Road and head east. Perfect, it sounded like her Airbnb was indeed in that familiar complex. Fifteen minutes later Tristan helped Jessie carry the suitcase to the second floor. He rushed back to the car the minute she was safely inside.
Alone at last. Let my panic attack begin.
I stopped at the light on the corner of Cactus and Tatum. It was mostly out of habit as there wasn’t a car around and right turns on red lights are legal in Arizona. The truth was that all I could think about was being alone with Tristan, and the anxiety grew in my chest by leaps and bounds. I couldn’t even look at him; what was wrong with me? I didn’t feel that terrified on my wedding night. Ok, well, I was already pregnant when I got married, so that wasn’t a fair comparison.
And I felt his fingertips on my neck. Just there, under my hair, back of my right earlobe. I grasped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles must have turned white. The amber glow from the dashboard bathed our faces in a surreal radiance and mingled with the precocious, barely there sunrise stretching in the east.
The brief drive to Tristan’s house was filled with sexual tension fueled by a sense of anticipation. When we reached the gate, he pulled a key ring and the remote from his briefcase. I hesitated, never having driven to the top of the driveway before. Did he sense my hesitation? He stroked my arm, his eyes on the front door.
“It’s going to be okay,” he said matter-of-factly.
And I finally smiled and let the stress slide off me like whipped cream on a chocolate sundae.
We walked to the front door, and a motion sensor light came on as we approached. Tristan kept his arm around my waist, unlocked the door, and whispered, “Watch the step. I need to turn off the alarm.”
I waited.
“Well, what do you know?” I could hear him from the other side of the wall separating the foyer from a small guest closet. “The alarm is already off. Maybe they forgot to reset it after you checked the mail.”
A picture of Angelique’s silver Escalade flashed through my mind’s eye.
“I didn’t tell anyone aside from you I was arriving tonight,” he said.
I waited, the front door still open, letting a slice of light bounce off the foyer floor.
Then Tristan was by my side, his arms around me. I sensed him kicking the massive front door closed while lifting me slightly off the floor and walking me toward the den. His lips teased my neck, my cheek. The warmth of his body against mine set my soul on fire. I wouldn’t have cared if Angelique walked in on us.
A sense of urgency rushed through me—he already had my heart; I wanted him to have my body. He tightened his embrace, and his lips searched for mine in the magic of the dark house. We stood, kissing. My back pressed against something, he lifted me slightly and the light came on. I had my back on the light switch?
Suddenly he froze. No, don’t stop. He moved me to the side until now my feet rested on the floor. And he stepped away from me. Why? What did I do wrong?
Then I saw the body on the floor of the den.
A woman’s body, curled up, one arm bent over her head as if attempting to shield herself from harm. The clothing she wore was a non-descript gray.
“Is she?” I couldn’t say dead, I just couldn’t.
Tristan nodded. He had yet to look at me. He set himself between me and the body as if to keep me from seeing the poor woman. How could I not see her or the large, dark spot her head rested in? “Do you know her?”
A shrug, he shook his head. No, he didn’t know her.
All his attention was suddenly, intensely focused on me, his amber eyes mere slits. “Fiat, you need to get out of here. Now.”
“Me? Why? I...”
“Imagine what it would look like to the outside world. I don’t want
