Sweet Poison (18 page)

“Just follow me.”

They started to walk north along highway 95.

“It’s dark,” said Jane, “but there’s a moon, so I think you’ll still be able to see it.”

Roughly a hundred yards on, they stopped. Kenzie stepped away from Jane and walked to the edge of a huge moonlit pit. “This better not be the scene where you shove me into the abyss so you can collect all my insurance money. Just so that we’re on the same page, I don’t have any.”

Jane laughed. The air had cleared her head, sharpened her senses. “No, this is where I tell my brilliant, amazing girlfriend that I’m opening another restaurant.” She raised her hands like she was holding up a sign. “It’s going to be called the St. Croix Roadhouse. That’s tentative. It could change.”

Kenzie turned to look at her. “Another … restaurant?
That’s
the secret?”

“Yes!” said Jane, spinning around. “I’ve got two partners this time. You know how I’ve been talking your ear off about the local food movement, sustainability, organic food, pasture raised animals—well, this is going to be the culmination of all of that. And what’s more, we’re going to build a totally green building. Low-voltage light fixtures, FSC-certified wood, low-VOC caulks and adhesives. And we’re going to reuse and repurpose existing materials whenever we can. That’s not my expertise, but it’s all part of the package. I am
so
excited!” She grabbed Kenzie and spun her around. “I’ve got the specs back at the house. I’ll show them to you when we get home.”

“Great,” said Kenzie, turning her back to Jane.

Jane waited for a show of excitement, but there wasn’t any. “Is something wrong?”

“What could be wrong?”

“What is it?” asked Jane. “Tell me.”

“I was just being silly.”

“About what?”

“Well, I thought you’d finally come to the same conclusion I had. That we should get married.”

Jane realized instantly that she’d made a huge blunder. “Oh, sweetheart, I never meant for you to—”

“Like I said, I was just being silly.”

“No, no.” Jane stared at her stupidly. “Of course you thought it would be something like that. I should have realized … but I was so caught up in the plans—”

When Kenzie finally turned around, Jane could see that an enormous distance had come into her face.

“Honestly, sweetheart … I—” She was blathering and she knew it. “I … I’m just not sure I want to get married. I love you, you know that. But do you really think it’s smart to get married when we don’t even live in the same town?”

“Smart? What’s smart got to do with it? It’s exactly what I said last summer. You’re afraid of commitment.”

“Just think for a minute. Sure, we’ve been together for two years, but when you count up the time we’ve actually spent together—weekends, some longer vacations, a couple long summer stretches—it adds up to just under six months. Not a lot of time.”

“And whose fault is that?”

“Fault?” The bitterness in Kenzie’s voice passed through Jane like an electric shock.

“In the two years I’ve known you,” said Kenzie, “you’ve opened a second restaurant, which took virtually all of your time. You told me to be patient, and I was. And then you connected with that PI. If I could drop-kick him off a cliff, I would, and I’d never look back. You’re already so busy you barely have time to breathe, but there he is, whispering in your ear every chance he gets, trying to entice you into helping him on this case or that. And now you tell me you’re
about to start work on another restaurant, which will suck away what’s left of your time. And of course, someone drops a crime ‘issue’ in you’re lap and it’s, ‘Sign me up!’ Where do I rate, Jane? When do you ever put me first on your freakin’ to-do list?” She grabbed Jane’s hand, pulled it between her breasts. “Don’t you miss this when we’re apart? I do. I ache to be with you.”

Jane could feel Kenzie’s heart beating wildly. She stumbled over an answer but quickly realized she was in way over her head. The realization of how badly she’d misjudged the situation was starting to sink in.

“What do you want from me?” asked Jane. “Just tell me. Should I back out of the deal?”

“No.” She twisted away.

“Then what?”

“I don’t know. I just know that I never come first. And it’s always going to be that way.”

“That’s not true,” said Jane, closing the space between them, trying to hold Kenzie in her arms.

But Kenzie pushed her away. “I think we better go home.”

“We should stay, talk this out.”

“Screw that.” She pulled off her scarf and stomped back toward her truck.

Jane realized she had to say something, had to make Kenzie understand that she did love her, but at the moment, she was overwhelmed, confused, silenced.

Standing numb and cold under the vast, uncaring stars, Jane looked down into the pit that was soon to become her next restaurant, feeling like a mourner at a grave.

L
uke dragged in through the front door of his condo shortly after eleven. He tossed his keys into the brass bowl in the entryway and loosened his tie. Removing his coat, he hung it in the closet next to Christopher’s suede jacket. He touched the jacket, pressing the sleeve to his cheek, remembering all the good times they’d had together when Christopher had been wearing it. He couldn’t help but wonder if those good times were all gone.

All the lights were off in the loft, but the blinds were open so the lights along the river cast a bleached silver glow over the interior. The dregs of Christopher’s dinner—a plate with a half-eaten sandwich—were sitting on the counter island between the kitchen and the dining room.

Luke should have been exhausted, but instead he felt wired. Maybe he’d poured himself one too many cups of coffee over the course of the evening, or maybe, in a rare prescient moment, he was beginning to understand that his life was beginning to come apart.

The tenor around the campaign office all day couldn’t have been more subdued, even dismal at times. The flood of support Lawless had been receiving all summer and fall had been reduced, for the
moment, to a trickle. The electorate appeared to be in a wait-and-see mode.

Luke had to give the old man credit. He was out there again today, beating the bushes for support, hammering away at his policies, the issues that mattered to him. He wasn’t dodging reporters, or off licking his wounds. He’d appeared on two talk radio shows, never ducking a question. Every morning the old guy came out fighting. The demise of his campaign, if it occurred, wouldn’t be from any one thing but from an accumulation of negatives in the voters’ minds. No matter what the pundits said, neither campaign could feel completely confident until the votes were counted. In the slightly altered words of the poet John Donne, “Never send to know for whom the fat lady sings; she sings for thee.”

Because the condo was dark and quiet, Luke assumed that Christopher had gone to bed. He’d talked to him once more in the late afternoon, long enough to find out that the church had given its okay for Christopher to officiate at Charity’s funeral service. Luke assumed the Miller family had put some pressure on the powers that be at Merriam Park United Methodist and that was the only reason he’d been granted the go-ahead. He seemed to be taking it all in stride.

Tiptoeing past the darkened bedroom, Luke went straight into the study. He switched on his desk lamp, then glanced at Christopher’s laptop and saw that, as usual, it was buried under papers, magazines, and a few books. His interest in computers would never be anything other than utilitarian.

As Luke sat down at his desk, he noticed that his bottom left-hand drawer was slightly ajar. He opened it and withdrew the only thing he’d ever kept inside—a metal box. Finding the key in the top drawer, he unlocked it and flipped back the cover.

“Oh, shit,” he whispered, sucking in a breath.

For years, Luke had carried both a .38 revolver and a taser with him on the road. He felt he needed them for protection. The revolver was in the box, but the taser was missing. Closing the top, he put the box back in the drawer and eased the drawer shut with his foot. And
then he sat there, frozen in his chair, thinking about what it meant and what he should do about it.

Rising from the chair a few minutes later, he stripped in the hallway, balled his clothes up and stuffed them in the hamper, then went into the bathroom and took a hot shower. He stood in the spray and the steam, trying to empty his mind and achieve peace. He decided he wasn’t any more successful with the Zen of life than he had been with Christianity.

After toweling off, he brushed his teeth and then crawled into bed, careful not to wake Christopher. At least he had the night to think about what to say about both the car and the taser. He’d just gotten comfortable on his stomach when Christopher said, “How was your day?”

The sound of his voice was like the prick of a knife. “Oh, shit, did I wake you?”

“No, I was just lying here, enjoying the sound of you being home.”

Steeling himself for the conversation he was dreading, he flipped over on his back, sat up a little. “My day was okay. How about you?” He wanted to start with a few easy questions. They’d made a rule right after Christopher had come home from the hospital. His sleep was so beset by bad dreams, that anything that might cause him anxiety was always left until morning. Luke was about to break that rule.

“I’ve been making notes,” said Christopher.

“About?”

“Charity’s funeral. I’ve still got a few days to pull it together.”

Luke cleared his throat. “How will you feel about going back to Merriam Park?”

“I’ve got to do it sometime. I can’t hide here forever.” Waiting a beat, Luke said, “Christopher?”

“Hmm?”

“My car wouldn’t start when I left this morning. So I took yours.”

“Oh.” He laughed. “You must have thought a ghost had been in there.”

Not what he’d expected. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d been out?”

“Because I wanted to surprise you, you knucklehead.” He put his hands behind his head, breathed in deeply. “You want the grisly details?”

“Sure.”

“Well, my first time out completely alone was about two months ago. Just for a walk that time. I had an immediate panic attack, which sent me straight back up here. I thought I’d never make it past the doors downstairs. But I tried it again a couple of weeks later, and this time, I walked around for a good twenty minutes before I got that awful feeling in my chest—like I couldn’t breathe. I’ve been working at it steadily ever since. One afternoon, I decided to get in my car. Just sit in it, you know? I touched everything, started the engine. I even turned on some music, tried to remember what it was like when I had a life.”

“Oh, baby—”

“No, don’t feel bad about it. There was no way you could help. I had to do it myself. And I didn’t want to tell you because I’d get to a point, but then I’d regress. I had to do it in my own time and in my own way. The next day I backed the car out of the parking space and took it for a drive. It seemed to help to have music on, sort of normalized things. And before I knew it, I was sailing around Lake Calhoun, feeling pretty good. Not great. Not without fear. It’s funny about panic. You get panicked that you’re going to feel panic. But the more it didn’t happen, the better it got. I even drove around at night a couple times, stopped to buy a special bottle of wine for your birthday next month. That was hard. I felt exposed, vulnerable, but I did it. And I’ve walked up to Dunn Brothers twice after dark, ordered a pastry and a cup of coffee. Honestly, Luke, I think I’m starting to feel like I’ve got my life back again.”

Luke wanted to ask about the taser, but he also wanted to make this positive moment last. Moving over, he propped his arms on either side of Christopher’s body, leaned down, and kissed him. “You’re very brave.”

“No. I just did what I had to. I did it for both of us. So we could get our lives back on track.” He pulled Luke down against him and whispered, “I love you so desperately. I’m sorry I’ve been such a trial.”

“Shhhh,” said Luke, pressing a finger to Christopher’s lips. “No more words. Show me how you feel.”

C
orey sat on his bed, completely dressed, his door partly closed, listening to Mary upstairs in the kitchen. She’d arrived home a few minutes before and turned on
Car Talk
, just like she always did on Saturday mornings. He could smell the coffee brewing. Around eight, she’d come down and listened at his door, but she hadn’t knocked. He’d gotten home late again, and, being the kind soul that she was, she must have figured he needed his sleep more than he needed to be dragged upstairs for breakfast.