clattering ice cubes into the canister. “Intimate. Not the suit itself—that black one-piece is actually quite sedate.”
“She hated swimming, or any kind of exercise for that matter. She’d spend a quarter of an hour driving around a parking lot, waiting for a space
directly
in front of the store to open up so she didn’t have to walk too far. I once calculated she’d wasted two months of her life looking for parking places.”
“Interesting,” she said in a not-very voice. “Anyway, maybe the picture was taken at a party.”
“Why?”
“That look on her face. She seemed almost…vulnerable.” She poured vodka into the shaker and vigorously shook it. “I think she was looking at the picture taker with affection,” she said loudly over the rattling and slushing, “you know, somebody she was dating…maybe they went to some party together where people were lounging around a pool or something.”
“Think Iris took the photo?”
She paused. “Hadn’t thought of that, but now that you mention it…” She poured the liquid into a martini glass. “Was Wicked bisexual?”
I flashed on Iris’s arm protectively around Wicked as they walked out of the kitchen. “She never expressed an interest in women, but considering her penchant for living behind smoke screens, who knows. But if they’d had a fling, why did Iris throw away the photo?”
Laura gave me a get-with-it look. “Because the fling ended. Probably badly. I’ve done worse to pictures of boyfriends after they did me wrong.”
I didn’t want to ask. “But if they’d had a fling,” I continued, “it obviously didn’t end this week. After all, she was shtooping Sam.”
“Right. Iris didn’t seem grief-stricken at the party, and Wicked was definitely an item with Sam.” She took a thoughtful sip, swallowed. “Maybe Iris got miffed hearing Wicked would be Sam’s date?”
I thought about that.
She carefully carried the martini to her chair, pausing in front of mine. “You said earlier you were wondering about something.”
“It can wait.”
“Not like you to hold off talking about something.”
“With you.”
“Right, with me.”
She took another sip, her left eye squinting slightly.
When Laura and I first met, I thought that squinting thing meant I’d said or done something to upset her, until she’d explained it was due to minor nerve damage, the result of a teenage motorcycle accident. Although she’d said her eye twitched with a schedule of its own, that she had no control over it, I sometimes thought it happened when she felt stressed or unsure.
About us?
Time to get clear. “Why’d you say ‘no’ when I asked you to marry me?”
Jerry’s folksy, thin voice kicked off a new tune. Dire Wolf.
She studied my face. “You were
seriously
asking me?”
I nodded.
“While wearing that orange jumpsuit? Behind bullet-proof glass?” She gurgled a laugh. “No way.”
“Way.”
Her mouth curled down. “Hey, we agreed we didn’t need a piece of paper to make what we have any better.”
That talk had been on the eve of our decision—well, technically her decision—to buy this place. We’d been talking about the new responsibilities we’d share as bed and breakfast owners and live-in lovers. Although marriage had surfaced in our talk, we’d done the cliché yammer about a piece of paper not making us feel any more committed than we already were. That neither of us were interested in having children.
Problem was, I lied. At the time I gave it a five on the lie scale. But since then, I’d realized it was more like a eight-point-six. If there was anything I regretted, it was missing out on being a dad. But I didn’t want to push the issue with Laura because I knew, after raising her troubled kid sister in the vacuum left by their parents, she’d had her fill of motherhood.
“I know we said we didn’t need a piece of paper,” I agreed, “just felt differently the other day, sitting there on desolation
“She hated swimming, or any kind of exercise for that matter. She’d spend a quarter of an hour driving around a parking lot, waiting for a space
directly
in front of the store to open up so she didn’t have to walk too far. I once calculated she’d wasted two months of her life looking for parking places.”
“Interesting,” she said in a not-very voice. “Anyway, maybe the picture was taken at a party.”
“Why?”
“That look on her face. She seemed almost…vulnerable.” She poured vodka into the shaker and vigorously shook it. “I think she was looking at the picture taker with affection,” she said loudly over the rattling and slushing, “you know, somebody she was dating…maybe they went to some party together where people were lounging around a pool or something.”
“Think Iris took the photo?”
She paused. “Hadn’t thought of that, but now that you mention it…” She poured the liquid into a martini glass. “Was Wicked bisexual?”
I flashed on Iris’s arm protectively around Wicked as they walked out of the kitchen. “She never expressed an interest in women, but considering her penchant for living behind smoke screens, who knows. But if they’d had a fling, why did Iris throw away the photo?”
Laura gave me a get-with-it look. “Because the fling ended. Probably badly. I’ve done worse to pictures of boyfriends after they did me wrong.”
I didn’t want to ask. “But if they’d had a fling,” I continued, “it obviously didn’t end this week. After all, she was shtooping Sam.”
“Right. Iris didn’t seem grief-stricken at the party, and Wicked was definitely an item with Sam.” She took a thoughtful sip, swallowed. “Maybe Iris got miffed hearing Wicked would be Sam’s date?”
I thought about that.
She carefully carried the martini to her chair, pausing in front of mine. “You said earlier you were wondering about something.”
“It can wait.”
“Not like you to hold off talking about something.”
“With you.”
“Right, with me.”
She took another sip, her left eye squinting slightly.
When Laura and I first met, I thought that squinting thing meant I’d said or done something to upset her, until she’d explained it was due to minor nerve damage, the result of a teenage motorcycle accident. Although she’d said her eye twitched with a schedule of its own, that she had no control over it, I sometimes thought it happened when she felt stressed or unsure.
About us?
Time to get clear. “Why’d you say ‘no’ when I asked you to marry me?”
Jerry’s folksy, thin voice kicked off a new tune. Dire Wolf.
She studied my face. “You were
seriously
asking me?”
I nodded.
“While wearing that orange jumpsuit? Behind bullet-proof glass?” She gurgled a laugh. “No way.”
“Way.”
Her mouth curled down. “Hey, we agreed we didn’t need a piece of paper to make what we have any better.”
That talk had been on the eve of our decision—well, technically her decision—to buy this place. We’d been talking about the new responsibilities we’d share as bed and breakfast owners and live-in lovers. Although marriage had surfaced in our talk, we’d done the cliché yammer about a piece of paper not making us feel any more committed than we already were. That neither of us were interested in having children.
Problem was, I lied. At the time I gave it a five on the lie scale. But since then, I’d realized it was more like a eight-point-six. If there was anything I regretted, it was missing out on being a dad. But I didn’t want to push the issue with Laura because I knew, after raising her troubled kid sister in the vacuum left by their parents, she’d had her fill of motherhood.
“I know we said we didn’t need a piece of paper,” I agreed, “just felt differently the other day, sitting there on desolation
Similar Books
