Death By a Dark Horse

for all his pompousness, never said anything to me like Paul had tonight.

Be honest, Thea. He never had any call to. And you sure trumped him in the name-calling department.

But I knew Paul could be kind and thoughtful. In our conversations before… well, before that horrible, very public scene, he talked to me in a way Jonathan never had. He shared his thoughts, was interested in what I had to say, and – and his kisses, the way his body felt against mine, like I had at last reached home – complete with the relief of being able to touch him, hold him – oh, God. And then to lose it all.

What's wrong with you? You barely know him. Don't you jump on Juliet for the same thing? What happened to your resolve to be more self reliant, to stand on your own two feet? Thank goodness that's no longer an issue. You made damn sure of that.

Tears trickled out of the corners of my eyes and into my ears. I felt like a really bad Country Western song.

Chapter Fourteen

I was too steeped in my own misery to sleep. But I must have, because the last I remembered my room was dark. Now it wasn't.

I squeezed my eyes shut against the light and groaned. I was woozy, and someone was sticking a knife into my skull above my right eyebrow. That had to be it. Nothing else could hurt as bad. When I sat up it got worse. Dull knives pounded into my face below my eyes. I considered lying down again, but my stomach was awake and threatening. I went into the bathroom, leaned against the sink and waited for something to happen. While I waited I glared at myself in the mirror. I looked even worse than the night before. My eyelids were nearly swollen shut, and my face beyond colorless – except for the bruises that had turned green and yellow on the edges, blacker toward the middle. My lips were swollen, too. I still wore my clothes.

Surely I suffered more than Paul. He hated me. I deserved it. And Jonathan hated me. Good cause there, too. I was the poster child for poor judgment and indiscretion. I was never going to recover from this. It would haunt me the rest of my life and for punishment I would probably live to be one hundred. I soaked a wash cloth in cold water and held it, dripping, over my face.

When I could stand upright without my head threatening to split down the middle I went to the kitchen and made coffee. Somewhere through my first cup, as I tortured myself with a mental picture of Paul entertaining a Valerie look-alike in his apartment and laughing over how stupidly I'd behaved, reality gave me a thump on the head. My turn to do stalls. I dashed to the phone and called Uncle Henry to apologize. Aunt Vi answered. I told her I'd overslept and wasn't feeling well, all true – if incomplete.

'Don't worry, dear. Henry's taken care of them. It's no trouble,' she said over my protest. Then with the accuracy of a laser guided Patriot missile she zeroed in on exactly what I hoped to hide. 'You haven't seen Paul, have you? He didn't come home last night.'

I choked up. In a small voice I said. 'No.' followed by a tiny sniff. That's all it took for Aunt Vi to confirm her hit.

'Oh, no.' Did you two have a fight?'

'Yes,' I squeaked.

'I'll be over straightaway. I'll make you a nice cup of tea and you can tell me what happened.'

It should have taken her ten minutes to get to my house, but it seemed she knocked on my door almost before I had time to hang up the phone. Time flies when you're feeling sorry for yourself.

'Who's that in the fancy black car out front?' she asked when I opened the front door.

She took off her damp coat and folded it inside out over her arm. It was raining. Figures. I looked past her and saw Frederick Parsons's black Mercedes. The big guy with the dark glasses sat behind the wheel, looking intently at me. A picture flashed in my mind and for a moment the floor under me shifted. I caught my balance on the door jam. Holy crap. I wasn't sure if I'd just been diverted from my latest misery or added to it. Either way, there was no doubt. Frederick Parsons's chauffeur was the driver of the silver Honda I'd nearly flattened with Delores's truck on Carpenter Road. He must have made the first 9-1-1 call – the one Thurman had mentioned. But why had he taken off?

'Never seen him before,' I lied, shutting the door and locking it. 'Aunt Vi -'

'Now you hush and come sit down.' She propelled me toward the kitchen. 'What you need is a nice cup of tea and a little something in your belly. Where're you slippers? You'll catch your death running around barefoot.' She went to my bedroom and came back with the pink bunnies. Even the one that still had its tongue, whose crooked eyes made it appear demented, couldn't cheer me up.

After I downed two slices of toast and a cup of strong tea, she pried the previous evening's sorry tale out of me, piece by embarrassing piece. Then she spun it with her own perspective. It was not quite the flavor of sympathy I had in mind. I hoped for a good dose of men-are-scum (except for Uncle Henry and Dad), and a sample of you're better-off-without-the-Neanderthals. Instead I got something completely different.

'Give Paul time. He's unhappy right now and feeling a little foolish. It doesn't hurt a man to feel foolish every once in a while.' She patted my hand and winked. 'Keeps 'em humble. That's what my mum always used to say.'

'He should feel foolish. He certainly acted that way. And I'm not interested in 'giving him time.' I made a huge mistake agreeing to go out with him, thinking it would just be a friendly little get-together instead of, of -' I waved my hands in the air.

'Well, your timing wasn't the best.'

'My timing?'

She nodded and patted my hand. 'Well, no help for that now, is there? Still some things have their own schedules and there's nothing you can do about it. Like Eric and your sis.'

'I'm not Juliet. I don't jump into things. I take my time and evaluate.' I shifted in my chair and sat up a little straighter. Maybe I sounded righteous, but I was in real pain here.

'Oh, now, there was no jumping going on there with those two. I always thought they should have gotten together sooner. They've been friends for quite some time. Probably a good two years, and they've been dating for a good three months now.'

'Huh. Three months? That's a record for her.' And not quite what she told me. I sniffed. 'Well, I need to be on my own, anyway…'

'Thea, love, you've been on your own for a lot longer than most women your age.'

'No I haven't. I've always depended on you and Uncle Henry, and Juliet and -'

'You've always made your own way. And what's wrong with having people around who love and support you? Do you think that makes you weak?'

'Well, no, but…'

'It does open you up to pain, and it takes a strong person to risk being vulnerable.' Without so much as a pause for breath, she adjusted her sights. 'Don't push him away because the timing doesn't seem right.'

'I didn't push him away. He left under his own steam.'

'I know, dear.'

'Well, it's true. You didn't see his face or hear what he said. He said hateful things.'

More patting. 'I know, dear.'

'Then I said hateful things, too.'

This time I got a shoulder squeeze. 'I know, dear.'

'He thinks I'm scheming and duplicitous. God,' I groaned, covering my face with my hands, 'I don't want to feel like this.'

She sighed and poured me another cup of tea. 'You know, your uncle and I have been together forty-six years.'

'Great. I can't sustain even a date for two hours. I'm so far off the bell curve of success and failure in relationships I could be classified an anomaly.'

She looked over the top of her glasses at me. I shut my mouth.