Chapter 7 #2
Christine got out, so Bonnie followed, watching the people come and go.
She was glad she’d be at Christine’s today.
Every time she was alone and still, she was missing Mark.
Although recently, that had changed. Lately all she could see was that frying pan smashing Mr. Terrence’s skull, and she wondered at what precise moment his life had ended.
Was it right then? At the first impact? Or after his head hit the mantel?
Or at some point as he fell to the floor?
Had he been afraid? Had he known he was dying before his life fled his body?
It was immense, knowing she had taken a life. She didn’t know what to do with the weight of it.
They walked between cars and trucks and in through the closest entrance. The diner was huge and sprawling, half of it a retail store with supplies for the road, the other half an eatery. Bonnie skimmed the tables but didn’t see their mark.
Christine did, though. She touched Bonnie’s shoulder to draw her eyes, and said, “Get a table, hon. I might be a minute.”
“Oookay.”
And then her friend slunk toward the unsuspecting cemetery maintenance worker like a puma sneaking up on a wounded baby gazelle.
The stool beside his was empty, so Christine slid onto it, bumping him gently as she did, then pressing a hand to her cleavage as she apologized.
Her attack should’ve knocked him right off his chair.
He took off his hat, and said something like, “No problem at all, pretty lady.”
Bonnie rolled her eyes. A waitress noticed and hurried over. “Sorry for the wait, hon.”
“Oh! I wasn’t rolling my eyes at you,” Bonnie said, laughing a little. “I have this friend… Never mind. I need some carbs and coffee. But decaf. I need to sleep when I get home.”
“Carbs, huh? You know I’ve got a triple chocolate cake with whipped cream topping and cherry sauce that has your name on it. Uh, what’s your name?”
“Sheila,” she said, since they were on a murder-related mission. “And that sounds perfect. Can you double that and make it to go? I’m with a friend, and we’re tight on time.”
“Gotcha.” She shot a finger pistol and winked. “Tight on time, I know about.” Then she headed off to fetch the dessert, returning so fast with the cake and coffee that Christine still hadn’t made it to first base. She did, however, have her hand on the groundskeeper’s thigh.
The waitress had packed their coffees into a cardboard tray with holes for the cups, and their desserts in cardboard clamshells inside a white paper bag.
Bonnie paid up, then moved within Christine’s earshot and cleared her throat.
Christine laid a hand on the man’s chest and said something soft, turning over a receipt on the counter in front of him. He patted himself down rapidly, then found the pen in his pocket, pulled it out and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said, before scrawling something on the back of the receipt. She leaned in and pecked his cheek, then she turned to face Bonnie, tucked the pen into her cleavage and wiggled her eyebrows up and down.
Bonnie just shook her head. When her friend joined her at the exit, Bonnie said, “You’ve still got it, baby.”
“You’re damn straight, I do, Bon-Bon.”
Hitting on Groundskeeper Jimbo had provided a balm to Christine’s wounded ego.
There wasn’t much she could do about her heart.
She told herself she didn’t know anything for sure yet, though, and threw her attention into giving Bonnie the royal treatment.
Mud masks and margaritas in the freestanding redwood sauna beside the house, followed by hot showers and weighted spa robes and heated towels.
“Do you think you’ll be able to sleep for a few hours?” Christine asked her friend after they’d finished. “I can see if my favorite masseuse is free for a house call if you still need unwinding.”
Bonnie smiled. “I’m barely keeping my eyes open as it is. You didn’t put anything in my drink, did you?” She got up as she asked the question, heading inside from the deck, where they’d sipped their drinks in beach chairs.
“Yeah,” Christine said. “Booze and plenty of it. But if you want something stronger—” She walked Bonnie through the house, and down the short hallway which accessed its three bedrooms.
“No, I’m good,” Bonnie said. “Thanks for taking such good care of me, Christine. That sauna was nice. The warmth seeps right into you, doesn’t it?”
“It does.” She opened the door to a guest room. “Why don’t you nap, then, and I’ll do the same. Okay?”
“Yeah, okay.”
“Good girl. Sleep as long as you can. Don’t worry about an alarm. I’ll wake you when it’s time for our next…mission.”
Christine watched her go into the small room. It was a shade deeper than the blue in her own room, and darker than those in the living room. The place was done in blues and white with grays here and there to set them off and accent pieces of teal and green. Lake colors.
Bonnie peeled back the cerulean comforter. Christine closed her door and tiptoed away.
She didn’t go to her own room, though. She grabbed a blanket off the back of the sofa and went outside and down to the beach.
Diane’s earlier question about whether she thought Harry might be cheating on her had awakened something inside Christine that had been dormant for six years.
Knowing, as she did, that Harry would never do that, reminded her of Jon, a man she’d felt that way about.
There was just no question. There wasn’t a bad bone in his body.
She missed having that kind of faith, and she didn’t have it with Jeff.
He’d killed any spore of it that might have found purchase in her, when she’d caught him having an affair six years ago.
She’d been clueless then. Completely oblivious, until she opened her Valentine’s Day gift box to find that the card was addressed to someone named Cindi-with-an-i.
“I’ll never forget last night,” it had said.
The night before, Jeff said he had worked late. He’d gone home to their place in town to shower up and then headed out to join her at the lake house, gift in hand, along with chocolates and roses and wine.
The pretty jewelry box came from her favorite jewelry shop, the one owned by Belle and Jolene Holinger, who knew her by name.
She’d always wondered if they’d mixed up the cards on purpose to tip her off.
Anyway, she’d left his ass, and he’d spent the next six months groveling to win her back. Eventually, she’d given in, but she’d never felt the same way about him again.
Christine’s heart was guarded now. She was determined to be all right without him, just in case. She’d made sure she would be, by insisting on a lovely post-nup agreement as a condition of taking him back.
Cool as a cucumber, ready for anything. She didn’t even like him all that much. Those were the lines she repeated to herself over and over in her head as she crossed the deck. That was the attitude she sought to cultivate.
She walked into the sand, nearer the water’s edge, spa robe dragging in the surf. The breeze was warmer than it had been earlier in the morning, and it carried the smells of fish and seaweed, yet somehow felt fresh.
She turned her face to the wind and looked out over the water.
The only problem with the attitude she was trying to cultivate was that it was a lie. She loved her husband.
She sat down in the sand with a blanket around her against the still lake’s incessant breeze, and her tears came on like a storm at sea.
Rosa tipped the rearview mirror toward her face, pinched her cheeks a few times, and tried to make her eyes wider.
She was so sleep-deprived she looked like a stoner, her eyes puffy and half-closed.
Her pain meds had worn off an hour ago, but there was still another hour before she was supposed to take more.
She couldn’t handle physical exertion like she used to, and it pissed her off. Irrationally, she was mad at her body. And at herself, and at her genes, and at whatever freaking caused shit like this to happen to ordinary people like her.
She got out of the car, which she’d parked in the square, shared lot behind the building, and went in through the green back door, putting her bag and jacket on a hook just inside. Then she hurried through to the bookstore itself.
It was midday. Jenna was in one of the reading chairs—there were three reading nooks tucked among the stacks.
She was sipping tea from an oversized, wide-rimmed white cup all covered in tiny hearts.
The mugs had been a gift from a reader on the love holiday, only she’d called it Galentine’s.
Each mug had been filled with chocolate kisses and a tiny stuffed animal.
Jenna got the eagle, so Rosa was left with the crow, shaking her head at God’s dark sense of humor.
“Hey, Mom. How’d it go?” Jenna asked.
It was amazing to Rosa how bright her daughter was—as if an inner light beamed from her pores. Not that she was biased or anything.
“You would not even believe how badly three grown-ass women can frick things up, chica.”
“Sounds juicy,” Jenna said.
“Old people juicy. Erectile dysfunction and the like.”
“Okay, okay, I’m good on that.” Jenna held up a hand like it could block her mom’s words from reaching her.
Rosa managed not to smile. “How was your morning?”
“Slow.”
“Good,” Rosa replied. She went to the teapot and poured herself a cup, choosing the mug that matched Jenna’s from the mostly mismatched stack.
Jenna got to her feet and came closer. “You look tired, Mom. You feeling okay?”
“Well, at my age, all-nighters hurt more,” she said, then elbowed her kid. “I’m fine. Go on, you have interviews to do, articles to write.”