I ignored a twinge of sympathy for Katie, closing my portfolio. “You’re going to your grandmother’s?”
“Yeah. She left me her house. Not him, not us, just me.” She clenched her hands in her lap. “I don’t know if that’ll work, though. California is a no-fault, community-property state. My lawyer is—well, she’s doing what she can.” She moved her foot, and her dog groaned at having his pillow taken away. “So, is it okay? Can I go?” She bit her lip, and I looked away.
I stood and moved toward the door. “Yes, but only because charges were never actually filed. I guess your husband forgave you.”
Pushing up from the table, she rolled her eyes. “Sure. We can go with that.”
What did that mean? I put my coat back on and waited for her to collect her dog and bag. “What happened to your hair?”
She laughed, a quick outburst of breath, and shook her head. “I see your skill with compliments hasn’t improved. I believe you once told me I had very straight shoulders.” She walked past me without answering the question.
She had beautiful shoulders—ones I’d wanted to kiss, but hadn’t known how to talk about as a kid. And her hair had been a mass of curls when she was younger. It hung straight now. I followed her back through the station house, scowling when I noticed Mikey, my newest officer, checking out her ass. Her ass was none of my business, but that didn’t keep my jaw from clenching. “Still waiting for that report, Officer.” That did it. Eyes back on his desk where they belonged.
I trailed her through the front door, stopping on the steps. “Okay, fine. Your hair was really curly when you were younger. How can it be straight now?”
“Oh, well...” She spun away from me but not before I noticed a tinge of red touch her cheeks. “I’ve been straightening it for years.”
Hands on my hips, I studied her. Her embarrassment was clear. “Why the hell would you do that?”
She turned back quickly, surprised. “You liked my hair?”
“What’s not to like? It was beautiful. I mean, it’s nice now, but—hell, it’s your hair. Do whatever you want with it.” Damn it, what was it with this woman? I might as well have been eleven again.
She opened the rear door of her car, letting Chaucer trundle back in. She had her back to me when I heard “He didn’t care for it, thought it was too much.” She turned back around, a hand unconsciously smoothing her hair before she dropped it heavily to her side.
“Too much,” she echoed, shaking her head.
“You could shave your head, and you’d still be one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen.”
Note to self—shut up.
Kate
“DID YOU HEAR THAT? He said I was beautiful.” I grinned stupidly, but then remembered. “Unfortunately, I’m pretty sure he also thinks I’m a nutjob.”
Chaucer stood up and rested his head on my shoulder. He rendered the rearview mirror moot, but the weight of his head was comforting. I scratched his ruff. He’d witnessed my humiliation and still loved me.
“Scowling, leering, crying. What do you think, buddy? Could I have added to that fairly impressive list of asinine behaviors? I suppose I could have wet myself. I’ll try to take comfort in the fact that my pants are dry.” Sniffing grape, I added, “You know, mostly.”
I rolled down the windows and breathed deeply, the air crisp and biting. Driving back through the leaf-strewn town, my eyes were drawn to a woman with a stroller. I hugged Chaucer once more, pushing away unwelcome memories, and headed up through the hills.
Gran’s house, a charming stone cottage, was nestled back against the forest. I found it surprisingly easily, my mind no longer consumed with self-doubt, listening instead to the gruff-sounding beautiful echoing through my thoughts.
To one side of Gran’s house, the cliff dropped to a rocky shore below. From the wraparound porch, rolling emerald hills ran down to the town and the harbor beyond. The far side, opposite the ocean, was Gran’s baby, her garden. Hydrangea blossoms floated down like pink snow, settling on the peonies below. At the back of the house, Gran kept a large vegetable patch, preferring the old practice of stepping out the kitchen door to pick the food for that day’s meals.
As I crested the driveway, taking it all in, I worried that in the month since her death, her house had been damaged or broken into. I still couldn’t believe Justin, the selfish bastard, hadn’t told me she’d died until after her funeral.
They’d called the house about Gran, but it was after I’d already moved into my friend Christine’s apartment. Justin had apparently taken the message that Gran was really sick, and that I needed to come now. However, he’d never bothered to pass it along to me.
When the lawyer finally tracked me down through my mom, I’d learned of Gran’s passing and of her bequest. Rage and guilt warred. I should have been there, should have told her how much I loved her before she died. That fuckknob had kept her from me. I’d been ready to tear his balls off when I’d tracked him down at his country club. He was in his car on the phone, turning away from my knock. He thought smugly ignoring me would work when my grandmother was buried without me? I put an end to that shit.
His golf bag and clubs were standing by his open trunk. I grabbed one of his clubs, put all my weight and fury behind it and swung for the bleachers. I’d intended to break his clubs, but instead broke his back window. I stopped and stared at what I had done. Never in my life had I engaged in vandalism. I was a vandal. It felt good. I was terrified of myself, but swung again to check my response. Yep, still felt good.
Years of pent-up frustration and betrayal fueled my frenzy. At some point he jumped out of the car. I heard him yelling, but he was like a yapping dog in a neighbor’s yard. Annoying but easily ignored.
The cops showed up. I never knew if it was the country club who called or Justin. It didn’t matter. One of the officers drew a gun on me. That sobered me up real fast. His partner stepped in front of the gun, telling the other guy to put it away. Good cop asked me questions, looking in my eyes, trying to determine if I was hopped up on PCP. That’s what I assumed, anyway. His expression was a combination of concern and wariness. I would have answered his questions, but I couldn’t hear anything over the buzzing in my head.
Bad cop grabbed at my arms. I slapped his hands away, so resisting arrest was added, and I was handcuffed. I don’t remember anything about the drive to the police station. One of them apparently snagged my handbag from my car, so at least I had my ID and phone.
Once we got to the station, bad cop took off to do bad-cop stuff. Good cop told me his name was Officer Kinney. He had dark skin, kind eyes and a soft, deep voice. He let me call my mom for help, but warned me that Justin could still press charges, and that the country club was deciding if they were going to, as well. He said he’d talk to his partner and try to get the resisting charge dropped.
I broke down and told the poor guy everything. I sobbed on his desk. He patted my back reluctantly, but I appreciated it all the same. Mom showed up and drove me back to the country club to pick up my car. It was gone, although Justin’s was still there. I stared at it, shocked. I had broken and dented a gem of Bavarian automotive engineering. Holy crap! I was kind of scary.
I brushed the glass off the seats and drove to the house, wanting to confront the asswipe. I sat steaming in the driveway for an hour, and then rethought my plan. Talking to Justin never helped. I reluctantly went into the house that had never truly felt like mine to pack and leave for good. Justin didn’t come home that night, which made the process easier. I traveled from room to room, picking up a photo here, a book there. Everywhere I looked, I saw Justin’s stamp.