The case? She blinked, confused, then realized that of course he thought that. He had spent most of his day either being interrogated or watching his home and business be searched.
“No.” She shook her head. “This is about me. And you.” She clasped her hands together. “I’m sorry. For pushing you away. For shutting down after Sadie died. You needed me and instead I-”
She broke down and sobbed. In the way she hadn’t allowed herself to before now. After several moments, he drew her stiffly into his arms.
She clung to him until her tears stopped. “I’m sorry,” she said, taking a step back.
“Don’t worry about it.”
She swiped at tears with the back of her hands. “I didn’t cry after Sadie. Instead I drowned myself in the Sleeping Angel investigation. When I didn’t have that anymore, I turned to the bottle.”
She drew a tear-choked breath. “If I didn’t grieve, I didn’t have to let go.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
“I could have turned to you. I should have. I see that now.”
“Water under the bridge.”
“No, Joe, it’s not. I still love you. I’m still in love with you.”
For long moments, he simply gazed at her. What was he feeling? she wondered, unable to read his expression. Was he angry? Happy? Relieved? Annoyed?
Or after all this time, did he feel nothing at all?
Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. He caught one with his index finger. “It’s going to be okay, Kitt. I love you, too.”
It took a full ten seconds for his words to sink in. When they did, a cry rushed to her throat. She threw herself into his arms, cheek pressed to his chest.
His arms went around her. “You’re trembling. And so cold.” He rubbed her back, then eased her out of his arms.
She saw that his T-shirt was wet and made a sound of distress. “I’m sorry, I-”
“Come.” He led her into the house, to the master bathroom. He gave her a fluffy bath towel and his white terry-cloth robe. “Take a shower, if you like. I’ll be in the other room.”
She couldn’t find her voice and nodded. The intimate surroundings felt both odd and invigorating. When he had exited the bathroom, she started the shower. She removed her clothes, laid them over the side of the tub, then stepped into the shower.
Within moments under the hot spray, she was warm. She quickly washed; the shower filled with the scent of Joe’s shampoo and soap. After drying and slipping into the big, soft robe, she padded out to the bedroom.
And found Joe sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands.
A lump in her throat, she crossed to him. Kneeling in front of him, she gathered his hands in hers. He met her eyes.
He had been crying.
She wanted to ask him whether they were tears of joy or despair, ones for the past or the future.
Instead, she cupped his face in her palms and kissed him. Softly at first, then deeply, with growing passion. That passion drove them to want more, to take more.
To make love.
Afterward, they lay in each other’s arms. Kitt felt at peace for the first time since Sadie died. She pressed her face to Joe’s chest, breathed in his familiar spicy scent.
He stroked her hair. “Not that I care, but what brought all this on?”
Brian. Her psychotic caller. The investigation. “I don’t think I should tell you. Not now, anyway.”
He tipped his face down to hers and frowned. “Why?”
“Because it’ll ruin this.” Her throat closed and she cleared it. “And I want to hang on to now, this moment, as long as I can.”
Even as she said the words, the ugliness seeped in, licking at the edges of her happiness.
She wondered if she would ever get it back again.
56
Tuesday, March 21, 2006
8:10 a.m.
The next morning, Kitt awakened to the smell of bacon. Eyes closed, she breathed deeply. Joe’s famous bacon-and-egg breakfasts. Another thing she had missed about the man.
She cracked open her eyes. Sun trickled in around the blinds. To stay in bed, she thought. The way they used to when they were first married. Be lazy, make love-sometimes they hadn’t gotten out of bed until one or two in the afternoon.
She smiled at the memory, sat up and stretched, then climbed out of bed. She snatched up her panties, stepped into them and crossed to the bureau. Joe had always stored his T-shirts in the second drawer down.
He still did, she saw when she opened the drawer. She drew one out and brought it to her face. It smelled liked him and was soft from wear and washings.
Kitt slipped it on, then padded out to the kitchen.
Joe stood with his back to her as he scrambled the eggs. The kitchen looked as if a small hurricane had hit: he had always been a horrendously messy cook.
“Good morning,” she said.
He looked over his shoulder at her and smiled. “You’re up.”
“I should have been up a while ago.” She dragged a hand through her hair. “I’m going to be really late.”
He poured her a mug of coffee and held it out. “You were so soundly asleep. I couldn’t bring myself to wake you.”
A deep, dreamless sleep, she thought. Real rest. For body and soul.
She crossed to him and took the coffee. “Still buying into the ‘breakfast is the most important meal of the day’ theory, I see.”
“Absolutely.”
She sipped her coffee and watched as he took two plates from a cabinet, utensils from a drawer, and plucked napkins out of the holder near the stove.
It felt odd to be doing nothing. Joe had always been the breakfast chef, but in the old days she and Sadie would have been setting the table. Cleaning up after him as he went.
It was a strange sensation, being in the home that had been hers but wasn’t anymore. Seeing that he had left some things organized the same way she had, but that others had been moved.
She wondered if her lame hovering felt odd to him, as well?
Kitt shifted her gaze. It landed on the plates. She and Sadie had picked out the stoneware pattern. White with a sunny-yellow-and-black geometric pattern on the edge.
Like bumble bees! Sadie had exclaimed.
When they divorced, Kitt had given him everything. She hadn’t wanted the reminders of their life. Their family.
A lump in her throat, she ran her fingers along the plate’s patterned edge. Now she found herself hungry for those reminders. For the memories.
She found Joe watching her. “Sadie picked these.”
“Yes.”
“These, too.” She picked up the Mickey Mouse and Pluto salt-and-pepper shakers. “From our trip to Disney World. Remember?”
“I remember everything, Kitt.”
Something in his tone took her breath.
She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes. She scolded herself for being a coward, a ninny. What was she afraid of?
The moment passed and he spooned scrambled eggs-he’d made them with mushrooms, onions and cheese-onto her plate. “Bacon?”
“Silly man. Of course, bacon.”
He laid two strips on her plate and pointed her toward the already toasted and buttered English muffins.
While they ate, they talked about nothing of consequence. The weather. Food. News of mutual acquaintances and family members. When they’d finished, Joe said her name softly. She lifted her gaze to his.
“Are you ready to talk about what brought you here?”
It all came crashing back. Brian. The call from Peanut. His questions. She felt the euphoria of the last hours slipping away.
She fought to hold on to it, at least for a few more moments. “Besides the promise of great sex and a real breakfast?”
“Don’t do that. Don’t make it all a joke and shut me out. That’s what you-”
He bit the words back and pushed away from the table. He carried his plate and utensils to the sink, then turned back to her. She saw that he shook. “You broke my heart, Kitt. We lost Sadie. Then I…lost you.”