Read Online Steps to the Altar by Earlene Fowler - Free Book Online
Authors: Earlene Fowler
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stables that now held the co-op workshops and my office. It was quiet for a weekday. No quilt guild was meeting here today to stitch a quilt, and even the wood shop held only one lone carver sitting on a stool hand-sanding to the sound of a classical music station.
Scout settled down on his rug and I was in the middle of writing the short speech I’d have to give at the Mardi Gras ball thanking everyone for their generous support of the folk art museum, when from the doorway, there came the sound of a clearing voice. I turned my head toward the sound and resisted the urge to groan out loud.
Lydia, Gabe’s ex-wife, stood in the doorway in a dark green suit looking gorgeous and a little embarrassed.
My first thought was, Dang it all, what does she want?
6
GABE
HE POURED HIMSELF a cup of coffee and took it back to his desk. Del would be here any minute. His heart sounded like a drum in his ears.
He’d never expected to see her again after Rudy’s funeral. There was so much going on then, so many people, they had only a few minutes to speak. Long enough for him to say how sorry he was, what a great guy Rudy was, how much he would be missed. He remembered the look in her eyes, a fear he’d never seen before, not in all the dangerous situations they’d encountered. Like a wild cat he’d caught once in a trap back in Kansas. That same glossy, panicked look.
“I’m sorry,” he’d said. “Del, I’m so sorry.”
She’d grabbed his hand with both of hers for a second, her look as intense as a lover’s, and for a moment, he remembered those hands on his naked back and his brain sizzled in his skull.
He didn’t go to the house afterward, though her brothers had invited him. He was smart enough, wise enough, he thought, to avoid that situation. He loved Benni. She possessed his heart like no woman ever had. He had no business dwelling in a past he wasn’t especially proud of.
But seeing Del brought back memories of a time when he was young, when he felt powerful, invincible. When the only thing that meant anything was the cat-and-mouse game of undercover narcotics, the feint and jab of psychological fencing between buyer and seller, between bad guy and good guy, when sometimes you almost couldn’t tell who was who and all that mattered was the game of “gotcha.”
When Del had walked into his office yesterday, a flood of physical memories had hit him in the stomach like a fist. Of nights that he’d long since relegated to the dark corners of his brain. Nights only half remembered, of the drive back to her place and later his, after Lydia had left taking Sam; half remembered because they were punctuated with that crazy, hysterical euphoria brought on by a successful buy and the “choir practice” they attended afterward in bar after bar, drink after drink, all running into each other like one long highway of blurred neon signs. Lydia could take him stumbling in drunk and exhausted at 4 A.M. for only so long. He couldn’t blame her. But he also couldn’t explain to her how alive he felt after a successful buy, how it brought back the adrenaline high of combat, which he inexplicably missed. He could never tell her how narcotics work felt like a war, the planning of a buy like the planning of a battle. And like Vietnam, it didn’t seem to matter who won and who didn’t. How, at the moment he was doing it, when the buys went down, the sellers in cuffs, and he survived, it felt like he would live forever.
And Del was a big part of that. She was just as crazy, maybe crazier, than the rest of them. Would try anything, go anywhere. No matter how many times her tits and ass were grabbed by the sellers, no matter how crude their remarks, she never lost her cool. Practically every buy she and Gabe made were good ones. Yes, Del Hernandez was as crazy and committed as they come. Would not back down for anyone. And they all loved her for it. Gabe, most of all.
Everyone knew she was his from the moment she joined
Scout settled down on his rug and I was in the middle of writing the short speech I’d have to give at the Mardi Gras ball thanking everyone for their generous support of the folk art museum, when from the doorway, there came the sound of a clearing voice. I turned my head toward the sound and resisted the urge to groan out loud.
Lydia, Gabe’s ex-wife, stood in the doorway in a dark green suit looking gorgeous and a little embarrassed.
My first thought was, Dang it all, what does she want?
6
GABE
HE POURED HIMSELF a cup of coffee and took it back to his desk. Del would be here any minute. His heart sounded like a drum in his ears.
He’d never expected to see her again after Rudy’s funeral. There was so much going on then, so many people, they had only a few minutes to speak. Long enough for him to say how sorry he was, what a great guy Rudy was, how much he would be missed. He remembered the look in her eyes, a fear he’d never seen before, not in all the dangerous situations they’d encountered. Like a wild cat he’d caught once in a trap back in Kansas. That same glossy, panicked look.
“I’m sorry,” he’d said. “Del, I’m so sorry.”
She’d grabbed his hand with both of hers for a second, her look as intense as a lover’s, and for a moment, he remembered those hands on his naked back and his brain sizzled in his skull.
He didn’t go to the house afterward, though her brothers had invited him. He was smart enough, wise enough, he thought, to avoid that situation. He loved Benni. She possessed his heart like no woman ever had. He had no business dwelling in a past he wasn’t especially proud of.
But seeing Del brought back memories of a time when he was young, when he felt powerful, invincible. When the only thing that meant anything was the cat-and-mouse game of undercover narcotics, the feint and jab of psychological fencing between buyer and seller, between bad guy and good guy, when sometimes you almost couldn’t tell who was who and all that mattered was the game of “gotcha.”
When Del had walked into his office yesterday, a flood of physical memories had hit him in the stomach like a fist. Of nights that he’d long since relegated to the dark corners of his brain. Nights only half remembered, of the drive back to her place and later his, after Lydia had left taking Sam; half remembered because they were punctuated with that crazy, hysterical euphoria brought on by a successful buy and the “choir practice” they attended afterward in bar after bar, drink after drink, all running into each other like one long highway of blurred neon signs. Lydia could take him stumbling in drunk and exhausted at 4 A.M. for only so long. He couldn’t blame her. But he also couldn’t explain to her how alive he felt after a successful buy, how it brought back the adrenaline high of combat, which he inexplicably missed. He could never tell her how narcotics work felt like a war, the planning of a buy like the planning of a battle. And like Vietnam, it didn’t seem to matter who won and who didn’t. How, at the moment he was doing it, when the buys went down, the sellers in cuffs, and he survived, it felt like he would live forever.
And Del was a big part of that. She was just as crazy, maybe crazier, than the rest of them. Would try anything, go anywhere. No matter how many times her tits and ass were grabbed by the sellers, no matter how crude their remarks, she never lost her cool. Practically every buy she and Gabe made were good ones. Yes, Del Hernandez was as crazy and committed as they come. Would not back down for anyone. And they all loved her for it. Gabe, most of all.
Everyone knew she was his from the moment she joined
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