Goose in the Pond - Earlene Fowler [94]
“I have to get down to the office,” he said, tossing his plastic glass into the sink with a clatter. “Let me see what I can do about a car.”
“I need to leave by ten o’clock.” I smiled sweetly at him.
“I’m only doing this because I’m too tired to argue.”
“You are a wonderful husband,” I said, not flaunting my win.
With his forefinger, he carefully traced the area underneath my swollen black eye. “People are going to think I beat you,” he said softly.
“Especially after they read the Tattler.”
He drew his hand back, his eyes full of pain.
I grabbed his hand, regretting my flippant teasing. “I was just kidding. No one would ever think that about you.”
The look on his face said he didn’t believe me.
“Friday, anyone who even suggests you wailed the tar outta me gets this.” I brandished a fist at him.
That made him laugh. He kissed my clenched fist.
“Don’t forget my speech at six o’clock,” I said, handing him his briefcase.
I was spreading blackberry jam on my toast when Rita walked in.
“What happened to you?” she exclaimed. Before I could open my mouth, she promptly started telling me about her date with Ash. “Ash is so much fun. He always has money and is not afraid to spend it. It’s nice to be treated like a lady for a change.” She grabbed the jam-covered toast I’d just put on a plate and poured herself a cup of coffee. “Good kisser, too.”
“All that practice,” I muttered, taking another slice of bread out of the bag and dropping it in the toaster.
“I know he’s a runaround, Benni,” she said, sipping her coffee, “but at least he’s up-front about it. I really respect that.”
There was no way I would even attempt to explain to her that a man being honest about the fact that he cheats on you is not exactly a virtue. I pulled my bread out of the toaster, catching a glimpse of my face in the appliance’s shiny exterior. My purple, green, and yellow eye looked like a $1.99 Mardi Gras mask. I let out a soft groan.
“I’ve got some makeup that would cover that right up,” Rita said.
I sighed. “Bring it on, then. I’ve got a speech to make tonight and I don’t want to scare the little kids.”
“Where’s Dove?” I asked when she returned with her tackle box of cosmetics. She pulled out a tube of beige goop and started smearing it on my face.
Rita shrugged, unconcerned. “She gets up so dang early. Gramma Garnet left a message this morning after Dove left. I erased it.”
“Smart move,” I replied, impressed with her cunning. I flinched when she blended the goop over my face with a cosmetic sponge “Ow, watch it.”
“Hush, you know what they say. Sometimes looking beautiful hurts,” she said. “So, what door did you run into?”
I told her the story as she finished with my skin, and we wrangled over whether iridescent pink eye shadow would or wouldn’t draw people’s eyes away from my injury (it would, but I’d rather have people gossiping about my black eye than my lack of makeup sense).
“Heavens,” she said, her eyes wide. “What a close call.”
“You’re telling me.” I inspected her work in the plastic makeup mirror she handed me. I had to give Rita credit for expertise in one area. Except for the swelling, the rainbow bruises were almost hidden.
“Oh, my, he could of slashed your face,” she said. “You would of had a scar!” Her round little mouth gaped in horror.
“Rita, I could have been dead.”
She blinked. “Oh, well, that, too.”
While dressing, I contemplated who might have been involved in the attack on me and Sam last night. Gabe was right; anyone could have arranged it. At any time. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder what Ash was doing last night around the time Sam, Gabe’s truck, and I were being bashed around. I quickly changed into new black jeans, a maroon silk cowboy shirt, and maroon Justin boots.
In the living room, Rita was lounging on the sofa painting her nails with a gruesome shade of reddish black.