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Authors: Mary Kay McComas
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it over and over with her fork, she finally muttered, “There isn’t anything I can do.”
Lucy watched her, but didn’t speak.
“I’ll just avoid him when I can and endure him when I can’t,” she concluded. “Let’s face it, Luce, I deserve it. Somewhere in that panic this morning, I actually felt relief. I remember thinking, ‘Oh, good. He’s come to kill me and I won’t feel guilty anymore!’ What I did to him is appalling. What I should do,” she stated vehemently, “is confess the whole thing and let him horsewhip me until we both feel better.”
“Meghan,” Lucy said sympathetically.
Meghan heaved a heavy sigh.
“Look, Meg, avoid him like you said before. Eventually he’ll either run out of nasty things to say or he’ll go back to Texas. It can’t go on forever,” consoled the eternal optimist.
Meghan looked at Lucy as if she were suddenly inspired with a superior idea.
“That’s it, Lucy.” Meghan grinned exultantly. “He’ll leave soon. And if he doesn’t, I’ll be leaving in a month or so anyway. If I can be pregnant for nine months, I can surely put up with him for one. At least he doesn’t make me nauseous,” she said, giggling. “Speaking of nausea, when will that go away? Greta’s not stupid, you know. If she catches me as pale as a ghost with a mouth full of crackers again, she’s going to start getting a little suspicious.”
Greta was suspicious, but not of Meghan’s physical condition.
“That big hunk of Texas called while you were out,” she reported, when the young attorney returned to her office.
“What big hunk of Texas?” Meghan inquired too casually.
“Well, how many big hunks of Texas have you met lately?” the older woman wanted to know.
Meghan’s gaze wandered around the room as she tried to recall the exact number.
After several seconds, Greta supplied the answer for herself.
“Michael Ramsey.”
“Oh. What did he want?”
“He wanted you to call him when you got back from your doctor’s appointment,” Greta relayed.
“Oh,” was Meghan’s response.
“I didn’t realize you had another appointment to see Lucy this afternoon,” a concerned Greta said, hoping for more information on Meghan’s health.
“We … we had lunch at Tonio’s,” she mumbled guiltily. She left instructions to tell all callers she’d left for the day to work on a pile of paperwork that had to be cleared up by Monday. Then she walked as nonchalantly as possible into her office and closed the door.
She didn’t hear Greta murmur a knowing, “I see.”
Five
T HAT WEEKEND WOULDN’T go down as one of Meghan’s favorites.
She stayed in the entire time, sure that now that lightning had already struck once, a second time was entirely possible.
She worked on a couple of cases she’d brought home from the office. She watched television absently. She read the first page of the same book twice and finally tossed it onto the coffee table beside one of her cooked and recooked TV dinners—not her favorite fare.
Her answering machine had been on all weekend, but on Sunday morning she took Lucy’s call and one from Connie, who inquired about her health and offered his help if she needed it. Put out with her, it was his way of letting her know he still loved her.
She didn’t, however, return any of the calls Michael Ramsey ordered her to. Not the Friday night call when he said, “I’ll pretend that I think you didn’t go back to the office this afternoon. Please call me when you get home.”
The Saturday morning call was a little nasty. Why should she answer, “Unless you were out working on another thesis last night, I’m sure you eventually got my message. I’m still waiting for your call.” In the afternoon his call was slightly threatening, “Meghan. I have the patience of Job, but don’t push me.” Meghan was too nervous to call after that. Later that night she realized the afternoon call was nothing compared to the one he made at ten-thirty.
Lucy watched her, but didn’t speak.
“I’ll just avoid him when I can and endure him when I can’t,” she concluded. “Let’s face it, Luce, I deserve it. Somewhere in that panic this morning, I actually felt relief. I remember thinking, ‘Oh, good. He’s come to kill me and I won’t feel guilty anymore!’ What I did to him is appalling. What I should do,” she stated vehemently, “is confess the whole thing and let him horsewhip me until we both feel better.”
“Meghan,” Lucy said sympathetically.
Meghan heaved a heavy sigh.
“Look, Meg, avoid him like you said before. Eventually he’ll either run out of nasty things to say or he’ll go back to Texas. It can’t go on forever,” consoled the eternal optimist.
Meghan looked at Lucy as if she were suddenly inspired with a superior idea.
“That’s it, Lucy.” Meghan grinned exultantly. “He’ll leave soon. And if he doesn’t, I’ll be leaving in a month or so anyway. If I can be pregnant for nine months, I can surely put up with him for one. At least he doesn’t make me nauseous,” she said, giggling. “Speaking of nausea, when will that go away? Greta’s not stupid, you know. If she catches me as pale as a ghost with a mouth full of crackers again, she’s going to start getting a little suspicious.”
Greta was suspicious, but not of Meghan’s physical condition.
“That big hunk of Texas called while you were out,” she reported, when the young attorney returned to her office.
“What big hunk of Texas?” Meghan inquired too casually.
“Well, how many big hunks of Texas have you met lately?” the older woman wanted to know.
Meghan’s gaze wandered around the room as she tried to recall the exact number.
After several seconds, Greta supplied the answer for herself.
“Michael Ramsey.”
“Oh. What did he want?”
“He wanted you to call him when you got back from your doctor’s appointment,” Greta relayed.
“Oh,” was Meghan’s response.
“I didn’t realize you had another appointment to see Lucy this afternoon,” a concerned Greta said, hoping for more information on Meghan’s health.
“We … we had lunch at Tonio’s,” she mumbled guiltily. She left instructions to tell all callers she’d left for the day to work on a pile of paperwork that had to be cleared up by Monday. Then she walked as nonchalantly as possible into her office and closed the door.
She didn’t hear Greta murmur a knowing, “I see.”
Five
T HAT WEEKEND WOULDN’T go down as one of Meghan’s favorites.
She stayed in the entire time, sure that now that lightning had already struck once, a second time was entirely possible.
She worked on a couple of cases she’d brought home from the office. She watched television absently. She read the first page of the same book twice and finally tossed it onto the coffee table beside one of her cooked and recooked TV dinners—not her favorite fare.
Her answering machine had been on all weekend, but on Sunday morning she took Lucy’s call and one from Connie, who inquired about her health and offered his help if she needed it. Put out with her, it was his way of letting her know he still loved her.
She didn’t, however, return any of the calls Michael Ramsey ordered her to. Not the Friday night call when he said, “I’ll pretend that I think you didn’t go back to the office this afternoon. Please call me when you get home.”
The Saturday morning call was a little nasty. Why should she answer, “Unless you were out working on another thesis last night, I’m sure you eventually got my message. I’m still waiting for your call.” In the afternoon his call was slightly threatening, “Meghan. I have the patience of Job, but don’t push me.” Meghan was too nervous to call after that. Later that night she realized the afternoon call was nothing compared to the one he made at ten-thirty.
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