Time Off for Good Behavior (19 page)

Too bad no one was listening.

Chapter Six

“
The pizza
’
s gonna be here
?
”
Elizabeth asked, incredulous.
“
He was going to kiss you and you said,
‘
The pizza
’
s gonna be here
’
?
”

“
I know.
”
I dropped my head into my han
ds, staring down at my burger and fries.
“
There just aren
’
t enough o
’
s in the word
smooth
for me, are there?
”

“
So what happened after that?
”

“
We ate dinner and went to bed.
”
Her eyes widened and I held up my hand to ward off any bright ideas.
“
Separately.
”

She nodded, watched me for a minute, then spoke again.
“
He
’
s taking my case, you know.
”

“
Really?
”
Even though I
’
d referred her, I felt a stab of stupid jealousy. Elizabeth, as fate would have it, was thin, blonde, and naturally beautiful. It took every l
ast bit of self-esteem I had not to hate her on sight.
“
You saw him?
”

She nodded and poked at her salad.
“
This morning. He
’
s really cute.
”

“
You
’
re not helping,
”
I groaned, putting my face in my hands.

“
Not trying to,
”
she said, grinning.
“
I think glasses a
re sexy on a guy. Don
’
t you?
”

“
Shut up,
”
I said.
“
He
’
s just a nice guy, trying to help a pathetic case of a woman, that
’
s all.
”

She rolled her eyes.
“
Oh, please. I saw it in his eyes when I mentioned your name, and your face shouts it out like a damn billb
oard. You guys are a hairsbreadth away from the big bang. Better accept it now, or you
’
ll be taken by surprise with your legs all hairy.
”

I raised one eyebrow.
“
The big bang?
”

“
Denial...
”
she sang as she poked at a cherry tomato.

I slammed my palm down on
the table.
“
What are you doing eating a salad? If you turned sideways in the wind, you
’
d whistle.
”

Elizabeth took a sip of her water.
“
You know, it
’
s just as rude to make fun of a skinny person as it is a fat person. And don
’
t change the subject. We
’
re tal
king about
your
screwed-up life, not mine.
”

“
You
’
re gonna need to start taking some of this hostility out on real clients soon, or I
’
m gonna start charging you.
”

“
Ooh, nice deflection, but we
’
re still talking about you and Walter. Now, tell me. Why is it s
o bad that you
’
ve got a thing for him? It
’
s obvious the feeling
’
s mutual.
”

I ticked off my points on the fingers of one hand.
“
A: it
’
s not obvious. B: he went to Harvard. C: he
’
s a lawyer. D: he folds his towels in thirds.
”

She raised her eyebrows.
“
Really
?
”

“
See what I mean?
”
I said.
“
We
’
re not compatible. He
’
s a fine French Merlot, and I
’
m that crappy blush that comes in a box.
”
Elizabeth was quiet. I looked up.
“
What?
”

“
Blush in a box?
”
she said.
“
I think that
’
s the worst piece of shit analogy I
’
ve ever
heard. And I
’
m a therapist.
”

“
Whatever.
”
I tossed down the french fry I
’
d been dangling over my plate.
“
My point is
—
”

“
Your point is that you think you
’
re not good enough for him.
”
She sat back and crossed her arms over her stomach.
“
I cannot believe your
arrogance.
”

“
Arrogance?
”
I sputtered.
“
What the
—
?
”

She pointed her finger at me. I shut up.
“
You don
’
t even know this guy, and you think you know what he needs? Who died and left you to decide what is and is not right for him? If he wants to be with you, a
nd you want to be with him, and you
’
re not letting it happen because of blush in a box, then go ahead and run away now and save him the misery of loving you. I have a mother-in-law apartment over my garage if you want it.
”

She sat back and smiled.
“
That fe
lt good. I
’
m going to start doing that with clients. Today.
”
She winked at me.
“
Thanks, Wanda.
”

“
I
’
m glad to be of service,
”
I said, my voice in full pout.

“
Oh, stop being hurt,
”
she said.
“
You
’
ll thank me later. It
’
s common sense. Either fix the problem
or get out before you make everyone crazy.
”

She reached for her water. I stared at a piece of wilted lettuce hanging out of my burger.
“
So how do I do that?
”

“
Hmm?
”
she said.
“
Do what?
”

I huffed.
“
Don
’
t you pay attention to your own stupid advice? How do I
fix it?
”

“
Well, you can get over this blush-in-a-box crap, to start with.
”
She reached over to my plate, grabbed a fry, and popped it into her mouth.
“
You know, you
’
re right about the salad. I
’
m getting a burger next time.
”

***

I returned to Walter
’
s pl
ace with an emotional hangover and a package of yellow sticky notes. Elizabeth had given them to me, explaining that I was to write on them specific things I wanted and stick them on my wall, pulling each one down as I achieved the goal. She said the exer
c
ise was her idea, something she had done after she caught her husband, Jack, in bed with the girl from Hastings Flowers.

“
Made me feel better,
”
she said.
“
And it kept me from killing him. Everybody plays, everybody wins.
”

I lay back on the bed and flipped
the package of sticky notes over and over in my hands, having no idea what to write on them. What did I want? Did I want to be a kinder, gentler Wanda? Did I want Walter? Did I want a job? Did I want to find George dead on the side of the road? And how th
e
hell were sticky notes supposed to help me with any of that? I wasn
’
t going to say anything to Elizabeth, because she was the first real friend potential Id had in a long while, but resolving problems with sticky notes seemed like the stupidest thing I
’
d
ever heard of.

I sighed and picked up the phone, dialing my home number to check my messages.

There was only one. It was from George.

“
Wanda.
”
I could barely make out the voice in the static on the line, but knew who it was. Ice shot through my veins, and
I almost dropped the phone as I made out what I could of the rest of the message.
“
I
’
m in
—
static
—
Kansas. I need to talk to you. You have to
—
static
—
listen to me
—
static
—
Call me at
—
static
—
4-5
—
static
—
7-3-9.
”

I sat motionless as my answering machine requested I
save, forward, or delete the message. Eventually, the machine hung up on me. I realized my breathing was shallow, and I inhaled deep.

Crap.
Why the hell was I cowering in hiding from this guy? Why didn
’
t I just get a gun, go to my own apartment, and let n
ature take its course?

Well, there were a lot of reasons. I didn
’
t want to kill anyone. I didn
’
t want to die.

And the other reason was due home in about an hour.

I dropped the phone to the floor and curled up under the covers, pulling them over my head, th
e way I did when I was little and was convinced the monsters in my closet would eat me alive if not for the amazing protective powers of bed linens.

***

I woke up to the sound of my door creaking. I pulled the covers down to see Walter standing in the sh
aft of light at my doorway. His tie was loose, his top shirt buttons were open, and his hair was rumpled on one side as though he
’
d been resting his head on his hand for a while.

“
Hey,
”
I said, pushing myself up to a sitting position.
“
What time is it?
”

“
N
ine,
”
he said softly
“
I didn
’
t mean to wake you, but you
’
ve been passed out for a while. I thought you might be hungry.
”

I shook my head.
“
I had a big lunch.
”

He nodded.
“
Okay.
”
He smiled and started to shut the door behind him, then opened it up again.
“
I
’
ve been working on a case all night, and I need a break. You in the mood for some wine?
”

***

“
For a while,
”
Walter said, stretching his legs over his cream-colored leather sofa,
“
I thought it would get better. That it would be easier to come home and se
e the pictures, her things. They say it takes about a year. They lie.
”

An empty bottle of wine sat on the coffee table next to a ceramic bowl filled with grapes. The fire rolled gently in the fireplace. I couldn
’
t see the clock, but I imagined it to be som
ewhere near midnight.