Silent Victim - C. E. Lawrence [147]
“Okay,” he said, feeling immediately it was a lame response.
“It’s not that I don’t care about you.”
“Okay,” he repeated. What were you supposed to say to something like that? And what’s with the double negatives? he thought irritably.
“Look,” she said, “the last thing I want is to hurt you.”
Too late for that.
He summoned his courage. If the truth wasn’t good enough, then to hell with the whole thing.
“Look,” he said, “relationships are hard—they just are. And we’ve both been through a lot lately. But we can handle it one of two ways. We can get over it separately, or we can work on getting through it together. Either way, we’ll probably survive. But if we do it together, we have a chance to grow closer rather than farther apart.”
Another pause, and then she said, “I’m so … angry.”
“I know. I am, too.”
“Sometimes I just want to scream. Other times I feel like I could … kill someone.” “Me, too.”
“I hate feeling that way.”
“As long as we both feel that way, we might as well feel it together.”
She gave a little laugh, and he felt a dam break inside him. Relief flooded through his veins like rushing water.
“Wise guy, eh?” she said.
“Whaddya gonna do about, ya crazy dame?”
“Think you’re a big shot, huh? Why, I oughta—”
“Just try it—you’ll be sorry, see?”
She laughed again; it sounded like water tumbling over rocks. “I’ll be in New York tomorrow. I’ll see you for dinner, but on one condition.”
“Name it.” “I’m buying.”
“Now who’s being funny? My city, I’m buying. You can pay when I come to Philly.” “See you at Keens, then.” “Hey—that place is expensive!” “Yeah, and you just said you’re buying.”
“But—”
“Eight o’clock—don’t be late. I’ll be the one behind the enormous seafood appetizer platter and single-malt Scotch.”
He hung up and looked around the kitchen as the golden light of late August filtered in through the French lace curtains his mother had snapped up at an estate sale in Frenchtown.
He watched as the sun snaked in through the lace, landing in splashes of gold on the kitchen counter, a lattice of light. It was the color of hope and of the future. All at once, he felt like laughing.
Don’t miss the next C. E. Lawrence thriller from Pinnacle, coming Fall 2011!