Friday, December 30 #4
If she and Nicky admit that the undertow is too strong to ignore and that they might drown while crossing to the other side alone, it’s easy to understand why.
But if getting back together involves climbing too many rocks along the way, the outcome will be the same—she must leave.
Aside from Walmart or the IGA supermarket, Greenhill County didn’t offer her any career opportunities. She’d end up 200 miles away by default.
Angelica spoke honestly yet solemnly, saying, “Perfect, because I want to talk to you then, Garrett.”
“We’ll talk. Am I in arrears on my IOUs, Miss?”
“No, you’re up to date,” she said, with a trace of a smile and a wayward tear. “Your slate’s been wiped clean, Sir.”
“Good night, honey.”
As a weight settled on her chest, she murmured, “Good night, Garrett.”
Angelica gently placed the phone back on its base. She stared into an empty void, eyes moist, shaking her head at the what-ifs.
What if she had met the detective a year earlier?
What if she had been pretty? What if she had been better educated?
What if money had never been an issue? What if Nicky hadn’t lived next door?
What if the outcome had been different when she became pregnant?
What if she had never stepped off the curb into the path of the pickup truck? What if she had never met Matt?
What-ifs. They’re a swamp of disappointment, and once you fall in, you can’t get out.
Things are what they are. She can’t alter the past, and nothing can be different.
She remains the plain woman from Blankville with the hideous scar—one that bears a striking resemblance to a road buckled by extreme heat.
That was after plastic surgery and skin grafts.
Sadly, she was cursed with a tendency to heal with keloid scars rather than fine, thin pencil lines. It is what it is.
With all that against her, was this Angelica’s second chance to grab the gold ring?
* * *
Ending the call, Garrett reached for the Coors can. There was none. Abstaining while away from Angelica was worse than hell. What a time to go dry. He slumped back against his couch cushions.
Beer became a crutch. He should have quit years ago. It began harmlessly enough—one drink after work each night. The number rose to two when he transferred to the homicide unit. After Carolyn walked out, he had no limit.
Ed was right; he was a drunk. He didn’t even know how he managed to function at work. Miraculously, he did. All the coffee didn’t hurt. It sobered up this drunk.
His drinking buddy knew him better than Garrett knew himself. One night over beers, Ed joked that he was a “softy.” Maybe he was, maybe he always had been. If a detective hit a quota for corpses, he did.
Just imagine, he felt this way after only six years on the job. How the hell do the others manage after twenty? They either end up like Ed and Bickney, joking about the sergeant who died at his retirement party, or they become permanent fixtures at Clancy’s.
Then there’s Angelica. Gosh, she didn’t help his drinking problem at all. All her sensuality. He’s sex-starved and climbing out of his testosterone skin. It’s a miracle he kept his hands off her. She possessed the power to drive any man to drink. She was innocently volatile to a man’s composure.
Has she figured out the secret to a good night’s sleep?
What will Angelica do if she does? Will she ask Garrett to come over and hold her?
What would he do if she asked? No contest—he’d quit the force the same day.
Not because he was lusting, but because he loved her enough to want her to get some sleep.
Even so, did they have enough going for them to move beyond comforting hugs? Did she want this “friend” as a temporary “sleep” partner, or was she hoping for something more?
As much as Garrett loved her—and he loved her passionately—a lifelong friendship wouldn’t work.
Maybe for her, but not for him. He once thought that would be enough, but not anymore.
How long could he stay in this role? Who knows?
Forever would be like being in an ice cream parlor during a sweltering heat wave, with no air conditioning anywhere, and being told he couldn’t have any.
How this tiny wisp of a thing captured his heart. Something about Angelica—she broke through his bitter, hardened core. Had he fallen in love with her at first sight? If not, it had to have been when he held her by the side of the road. He never saw it coming.
Angelica sounded so exhausted on the phone. How long could she go without sleep? She’ll crumble if she doesn’t get a decent night’s sleep. She was falling apart yesterday.
She said she wanted to talk. Perhaps she’s ready to give up on Greenhill County. Was Jenkins’s murder the proverbial nail in the coffin? Could he persuade her to stay? Would she stay if he revealed his feelings, or might that drive her away? Garrett shook his head.
He reached for his beer again and grunted. Living with her or without her was killing him. How could he have fallen so hard? With no way to erase or soothe his misery, he chose his new remedy—going out back to sit on the concrete step.
Blowing off steam in the cold night air, Garrett thought things over. He couldn’t take it anymore. He needed to tell her. Tell Angelica how he felt. He’d tell her Sunday night. Let the chips fall where they may. But sure as hell, they’d better fall on his number.