Tears on a Sunday Afternoon - Michael Presley [47]
Donna stopped and I followed suit. “Are you implying that I don’t love my husband?”
“Whether you love him or not is absolutely none of my business.”
“Just because I have a little fun on the side doesn’t mean that I don’t love my husband.” Donna turned around to look directly into my eyes. “Well, let me tell you something. I’ve been with my husband for over ten years and there isn’t a man alive that I would trade him for. That man is part of my soul.”
I yawned visibly. Whatever love Donna had for her husband was none of my concern. “Are you finished?”
Donna realized that her affirmation of her love for her husband had been wasted on me. “Go to hell, Donald.”
“Does that mean that you, Kathleen and I won’t be getting together again?” I was trying to piss her off even more. “I thought we had a good time.”
“We did, but I’ve had better,” she said, widening her stance.
“Maybe I need to try harder.” I brought my heel to the back of my thigh. “They say it’s always better the second time around.”
Donna reached into her pocket for her keys. “Donald, I’m going to give you a call, if I need to talk to you.”
I watched Donna disappear behind some trees on her way to the exit. Even though the run wasn’t even close to what I was used to, it energized me. The swelling on my face had gone down so that it was barely visible. I wanted to go home and be with Emerald but the thought of dealing with Lauren and Annette on any level did not sit right with me at that moment. I took out my cell phone and called Julie. She didn’t answer. I called Brian but his cell phone went straight to voice mail. I scrolled through my address book looking for a number to call. It was filled with female numbers and a few males. I put the phone back into my pocket. I needed a shower and a few hours to relax. I slowly walked back to the car. A slight headache started to play with my nerves. Yes, I was going home. Home was where both my headache and my salvation resided.
Chapter 12
9TH DAY
“Donald, you’re taking all the risks, yet you have to cut it down the middle,” Julie said; a cold harshness in her voice. “Granted, Donna was the one who brought it to you and helped plan the robbery, but do you think that she deserves half?”
“Julie’s right, Donald. Donna doesn’t deserve half,” Brian said.
“How much do you think she deserves, Julie?” I asked, looking at her across the table. She had previously informed me that it made her uncomfortable when I looked at her.
Julie averted her eyes. “To be honest, I don’t think she deserves anything.”
“And you, Brian?” I asked.
Brian glanced at Julie. “I’d say give her twenty-five percent.”
“She’ll be mad,” I said, “and that could create major problems.”
“Do you care?” Julie asked.
I didn’t know exactly how to answer. It seemed like Julie was trying to ascertain if I had feelings for Donna. “No, I don’t.”
“What’s the most she could do?” Brian asked.
“Well, for starters, she could land my ass behind bars,” I said.
“Without incriminating herself?” Brian asked.
I thought about it, but the answer wasn’t forthcoming. “I don’t know.”
Julie straightened herself up in her chair. “Donald, you said you didn’t touch the gloves or the knife she gave you?”
“I don’t know why I didn’t; I guess my body works faster than my mind sometimes.”
“So that means Donna’s fingerprints are on the knife and the gloves,” Julie added.
I saw where Julie was going. “Dropping the gloves and knife at the scene won’t accomplish anything.”
Julie shook her head. “No, I’m not telling you to drop the gloves and the knife.”
“What then?” I asked.
Julie smiled as if an idea for the Nobel Peace Prize had entered her head. “You can kill two birds with one stone.”
“How?” Brian asked as we both stared at Julie.
“Listen to this. The only fingerprints on the knife and gloves are Donna’s. Now Kathleen is going to take the knife and stab her husband, then give it back to you. Once she does that, the fingerprints on the knife will belong to Donna and Kathleen. You’re supposed to give the gloves and knife back to Kathleen, but you won’t do that.