Читать книгу Return To Me - Shannon McKenna - Страница 7

So Simon had been all over the world. Yay for him. Ellen felt very provincial. Domestic, garden-variety, boring. She’d never had a real adventure in her life. She had no tales to tell.

The thought was supremely depressing.

And Simon was in one of her bathrooms at this moment. Naked in the shower. Soapsuds running down his body. She wanted to turn herself into vapor, slide under his bathroom door and watch him shave.

The thought made her face go hotter and damper than it already was. She was disgusted with herself. Ranting at him like a fishwife. For years, she’d pictured meeting him again, but not dressed in cut-offs and a limp, sweaty blouse. Not with her hair all frizzy, clinging to her sweaty neck and forehead. Frowsy, frumpy. Mystery quotient, less than zero.

She was gratified to see a large pot of coffee already perking in the kitchen, sending its heady fragrance into the room. She was filling the creamers with half and half when Missy let out an agonized squeak.

“There’s broken cups behind the drainboard! They weren’t broken when I washed up the cups this morning, I swear they weren’t!”

Ellen hastened to reassure her. “No, Missy, that was my fault. I broke them earlier and forgot to clean them up. Why don’t you carry the coffee tray into the dining room while I take care of it?”

Missy seized the tray and scurried out, her face pathetically relieved. Ellen gazed after her and sighed. Missy had been working for her for over a month, but she was as skittish as the day she started.

Ellen was sympathetic of the girl’s anxiety. She of all people knew how it felt to be speechless and shy, but it bugged her today. Everything bugged her. She had to calm down before Brad came to get her. They were supposed to pick out her ring this afternoon.

Her fiancé. All of a sudden, that sounded so strange and far from her. Her stomach cramped painfully.

Engagement jitters, she told herself. Marriage was a huge step. It was normal to be nervous. It would be stupid not to be.

When she’d accepted Brad’s proposal, she’d accepted reality over fantasy. About time, too. Smoky passion in the flowers belonged to the fantasies of the past. Brad was the real, concrete future.

Concrete. Yes. That was the perfect metaphor for Brad. Solid for sure, but such a heavy, inflexible material to work with.

Simon was startled to find the room completely full of people. There was an elderly guy with a bow tie and striped suspenders. A sunburned, athletic-looking couple, tenderly feeding each other bites of buttered scone. A harried lady, who had to be the mother of the two boys of about eight and ten who were chasing each other around the table. A middle-aged man with gingery hair. El presided over everything, gracefully pouring coffee into delicate porcelain cups. Baskets of pastry steamed on the table, breathing out a buttery, mouth-watering scent.

The old guy’s eyes lit up when he saw Simon. “Hey, it’s the motorcycle man! You all have to check out that BMW he’s got!”

“Coffee, tea, iced coffee, iced tea or lemonade?” El asked him.

Simon’s heart sank when he saw those fragile teacups. “Got any Styrofoam?”

Her lips twitched. “These aren’t Great-grandmother Kent’s teacups. These I bought for ten bucks apiece at the Hood River Antique Show. If you break one, I’ll just bill you.”

“Great,” he said, relieved. “Coffee, then.”

“Everybody, this is Simon Riley, who just checked into the tower room. Simon, this is Phil Endicott, Lionel Hempstead, Mary Ann Phillips and her two boys Alex and Boyd. Down at the end are Chuck and Suzie Simms, our honeymooners.” El passed a basket of pastries to him and pushed a lazy Susan loaded with butter, honey, and jam after it.

“Do you really have a motorcycle?” Boyd asked, wide-eyed.

“Sure do.” Simon slathered butter on a scone. He took a big bite and almost moaned. Wow. Oh, yeah.

“Will you give us a ride on it?” Alex chimed in.

“Alex, that’s rude!” his mother protested.

“It’s OK,” Simon offered. He broke off a corner of scone and heaped it with two different kinds of jam. “I’d be glad to.”

The boys shrieked with delight, but the horror on Mary Ann’s face dismayed him. Shit. Score: LaRue, one. Simon, zero.

Phil Endicott hastened to cover the awkward pause. “So, uh…what line of work are you in?”

“Photojournalist,” Simon said.

Phil’s eyes widened. “Oh really? How did you get into that?”

He’d answered that question often enough to anticipate it. “I just answered a want ad. A documentary filmmaker needed an assistant who was willing to travel. He taught me the trade.”

“Been anyplace interesting?” Chuck asked.

“Depends on what you’d call interesting, I guess.” Simon snagged another couple of scones from the basket and piled them on his napkin, for safety’s sake. “I just came back from Afghanistan. Before that I was in Iraq. I go to wherever the action is with my team, get the story and the pictures, and sell it to the big news agencies.”

He regaled them with a few of his tamer adventures. El played it cool, pretending not to listen, but he knew she was catching every word.

“So what brings you to this neck of the woods, Mr. Riley?” Mary Ann asked. “Nothing newsworthy happens around here.”

“Call me Simon.” He seized his fourth scone. “I’m here to see El.”

“You mean Ellen? You mean, you two know each other?” Mary Ann’s curious eyes darted from him to El, then back again.

“Simon grew up in the house next door,” El hastened to explain. “We knew each other when we were kids.”

“She baked great cookies even then,” Simon said. “My God, these things are good. Pass me the basket, please. She hasn’t lost her touch.”

Lionel winked at him. “Better work fast, Riley, if you like them scones so much. You got yourself some competition, boy!”

“Lionel!” El hissed. “Do you mind?”

“I’m a believer in telling it like it is, young lady.” Lionel’s voice had a self-righteous ring.

Simon stopped chewing. His mouth had gone dry. Of course a woman like El wouldn’t have stayed single. Of course not. He swallowed with difficulty and washed the crumbs down with a gulp of coffee.

He turned to El. “So?”

“So what?” El poured coffee into Phil’s cup and avoided his gaze.

“Who is he?” he demanded.

“Simon, this is hardly the time or place to—”

“Spit it out.” His voice was steely.

She set the coffeepot on the trivet with a thud. “Brad Mitchell.”

The room went dead silent. The grandfather clock on the mantel ticked loudly. The other guests exchanged nervous glances.

Simon finally found his voice. “Brad Mitchell?” The name almost strangled him. “You’re kidding, right? Tell me you’re kidding.”

There was a chorus of thuds and squeaks as many chairs were shoved back from the table all at once.

“Boyd, Alex, come along.” Mary Ann hustled her offspring out the door and looked back with a pained smile. “Bye-bye, folks!”

“We’re, uh, going to go, ah, hiking,” Chuck mumbled, as he and Suzie scurried out the kitchen entrance. “See you guys around.”

“Good luck, young fella!” Lionel called, as Phil Endicott nudged him firmly out the door. “My vote’s for you!”

El stared down at the table. “Gracefully done, Simon. You cleared the room in less than ten seconds.”

“Brad Mitchell?” he repeated stupidly.

“Yes. I fail to see why that is so hard to believe.”

“Hard to believe? It’s impossible to believe! I know the guy, El! He’s a snake!”

She bristled. “I’m sure he’s changed. Brad is a very nice man.”

Simon shook his head, speechless. A woman like El, so bright and sweet and generous, wasted on that sneaky, self-important bastard. It was criminal. “El, let me tell you a couple of things about Brad—”

“No, Simon.” Her voice was resolute. “I don’t want to hear it. I believe in seeing the best in people. And I never listen to cruel gossip.”

She was right. It wasn’t his place to tell her. She would have to figure it out for herself, but it made him sick to think of it.

He set down the teacup and stuck his clenched hands into his lap where they couldn’t do any damage. “He won’t stand by you, El,” he said tightly. “Not like you deserve.”

She made a sharp, angry gesture. “So? Who gets what they deserve in this world? Besides, I don’t expect anyone to stand by me. No one has so far.”

Simon stared at the crumbs on the tablecloth. “I’m sorry I let you down. I didn’t have a choice. At least that’s how I saw it at the time.”

El covered her face with her hands. “I cannot believe I said that,” she whispered. “I’m sorry, Simon. It wasn’t right. You don’t owe me a thing. I don’t even know you. I don’t know anything about you.”

“That’s not true. You know me better than anyone.”

El’s hands dropped away from wet eyes. “Oh, please! Get real! We were just kids!” She dabbed her nose with a napkin.

“Weren’t you listening? I tried to fill you in,” he protested.

“In front of a whole roomful of people!”

“It’s just as well there are people around,” Simon said.

El took a careful sip of coffee. “What do you mean by that?”

Ah, what the hell. He never could keep his big mouth shut to save his life. “You know what I mean,” he said. “The thing between us. It hasn’t gone anywhere.”

El set her cup down and rose to her feet. His dismissal was written all over her face. “Maybe it hasn’t gone anywhere, but we have,” she said quietly. “So if you’ll excuse me—”

“Have dinner with me.” He sprang to his feet and moved to block her exit. Her retreat made him feel panicked and furious.

El backed up. “Simon, I—”

“Just dinner. Please. It’s been so long, El. I missed you. I want to know every single thing that’s happened to you since I left.”

The nervous tremor that shook her could have been laughter or tears. “Wouldn’t take long. We’d run out of conversation by the time we finished the appetizers.”

“Like hell we would. We never ran out of conversation before. I never met such a chatterbox as you in my life.”

Her smile was tight. “Things change.”

“Yeah, right, whatever. If you run out of things to tell me, which I doubt, then I can tell you everything that’s happened to me.”

She laughed softly. “Oh, yeah? Over the past sixteen years, eleven months and thirteen days?”

Her words startled and moved him. He stared at her downcast eyes and willed her to look up at him. “You didn’t forget me, then?”

She shook her head. He took a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. It glittered with its own light against his brown hand. If she just looked up, if she just met his eyes, he would have her.

“Look at me, El,” he commanded softly.

She shook her head again. She was no fool. She was on to him.

“Have dinner with me,” he begged.

El blew out a sharp breath and shook her head hard, like she was shaking herself awake. “I can’t, Simon. I didn’t forget you, but I had to assume that you’d forgotten me. Brad’s picking me up in a little while. We’re going to Sigmund’s Jewelry to pick out a ring.”

Simon turned and stared out the window until he was sure he could control his voice. “That serious already?”

“We’ve been seeing each other for a while.”

He didn’t want to go to the next place his mind was taking him, but it was a one-way street. Brad Mitchell was her lover. It was Brad who was having decorous, old-fashioned sex with El in her fancy four-poster.

And those fancy teacups would make a real loud, satisfying noise when they smashed against the fine wood paneling.

He pushed that impulse right back down into the depths from which it had arisen. “So? When’s the happy day?”

She started gathering teacups from the table into her arms. “We haven’t set an official date yet, but we’re thinking about September.”

“Congratulations,” he said. “Excuse me if I was out of line.”

“Please, don’t worry about it,” she assured him.

El flinched as a car horn blatted outside. She looked out the window. “Oh. There’s Brad now.”

Simon joined her at the window and peered out at the car that waited for El beneath the maple. A Porsche. Of course. Brad Mitchell would settle for nothing less than top of the line, being the crown prince of the known universe.

El looked flustered and guilty. “Um…please excuse me.”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Simon said as she scurried out the door.

Brad beeped again. The sound jarred her, and she steadied herself against the maple. Her heart hammered, her face was red, her eyes watered like she’d been chopping onions. She couldn’t get into Brad’s car in this condition. Let him beep all he liked.

She gritted her teeth as Brad’s horn let out a loud, impatient bray. She’d tried to break him of that rude habit. It didn’t seem so much to ask for him to come to the door, but Brad had told her not to be silly. What was the sense? Coming to the door was an inefficient use of his time and energy. Assuming, of course, that she was punctual.

Brad was very, very good at getting the last word.

She wiped her eyes, counted slowly down from ten and walked down to where the Porsche waited, motor humming.

The chilly blast of air-conditioning made goose bumps prickle on her arms. Brad pulled her face to his and gave her a quick kiss.

“We’re late, honey,” he said. “You’re flushed. You feeling OK?”

“Yes,” she said. Her back flattened into the seat as the car surged forward. She fastened her seat belt.

“Mom’s put an engagement announcement in the Chronicle.”

Ellen was startled. “Already? But I thought that we—”

“I heard her talking to your mom on the phone this morning,” he said. “They’re already arguing about caterers and florists.”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came out.

“Moms,” Brad said philosophically. “Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em. Dwight Collier will do our engagement photos.”

“Dwight Collier? But he hasn’t changed his style since the seventies!”

“Yes, I know,” Brad said impatiently. “But he’s a golfing—”

“Golfing buddy of your dad’s, yes, of course,” she muttered.

Brad frowned. “I would appreciate it if you made an effort to be more positive about this. Our wedding will be a community event. Of course our friends want to be involved. Mom said to tell you our appointment with Dwight is Saturday at nine A.M.”

“But I can’t make that appointment!” Ellen protested. “I serve a full breakfast until noon for my guests on weekends, and I have a full house! That’s nine people to cook for!”

Brad swooped around a curve with enough centrifugal force to fling her against the seat belt. “Get someone else to do it for one morning, for God’s sake. This just points out the fact that you’re going to have to rearrange your priorities once we’re married.”

Ellen braced herself against the dashboard and the door as Brad executed another sharp curve. “She might have asked my schedule,” she said. “Two hours later would have been fine.”

“Mom takes some getting used to,” Brad said. “My advice is to pick your battles carefully, or you’ll just exhaust yourself. But this brunch issue brings me to another thing I’ve been meaning to discuss with you. Your business.”

Ellen chomped down on her tongue as they bumped over a cattle crossing guard. “Brad, could you please slow down?”

“Relax, Ellen. I know what I’m doing. Now, it’s great that you’ve got this hotel thing going—”

“‘Bed and Breakfast’ is the term,” she said tightly.

“Whatever. The point is, it’s a nice little business, and you’ve done an excellent job. One of the reasons I proposed to you is because I admire your initiative. You’re a self-starter. I respect that.”

“Uh, thanks.” Ellen shot him a nervous glance. “I sense a ‘but.’”

“But you can’t run a hotel forever,” Brad said. “We have to have to set up housekeeping somewhere, right? You can’t possibly expect me to live in a hotel with strangers underfoot.”

“Uh, I guess not,” she faltered. She actually hadn’t thought that far ahead. A glaring oversight if there ever was one.

“You must turn a nice profit these days, but you work long, hard hours for it, right?”

“I guess so,” she admitted. “But I don’t mind. I enjoy the work.”

“I’ll need some of that quality time for myself, once we’re married,” Brad said. “And it’s not like money’s going to be a problem for us.”

“I, uh, hadn’t really thought about it that way,” Ellen said. “Brad! Look out for that cow!”

Brad braked. They skidded to a stop just inches from the placid cow. Brad honked. She ambled off the road, taking her own sweet time.

“Stupid animals,” he muttered.

“Brad, would you please, please slow down?” Ellen pleaded.

“Don’t worry,” he snapped. “Everything is under control.” He took off with a roar. The Porsche bounced down the hill. “Where was I? Oh, yeah. You’ve been playing house for a bunch of strangers, Ellen. It’s time to grow up and do the real thing. So?”

“Um, so what?” she hedged.

Brad’s jaw tightened. “Weren’t you even listening?”

Ellen twirled a lock of her hair. “Let me see if I’ve got this straight,” she said. “You want me to give up my business.”

Brad frowned. “I’m not asking you not to work. I’m asking you to shift your focus, and work with me, on our own household and our own future. You’ve got to think about the family.”

“What family? Yours?”

Brad looked hurt. “Ours. I assume you want one. The pitter-patter of little feet, and all that? I thought that was a priority for you.”

“Yes,” Ellen said. “I do want that.”

“Well, then? You can keep your baking business for the time being, as long as it’s not too time-consuming, and we’ll set up Kent House for the two of us. Mom can’t wait to help you redecorate.”

Ellen stared straight ahead. “Oh. How nice of her to take such an interest,” she said woodenly. “A seven-bedroom house for two people?”

Brad’s hand tangled possessively in her hair. “Like I said, it won’t always be just us,” he pointed out. “It’s a great piece of property. A real showplace. Wasted as a hotel. You’re lucky to have it.”

“Luck has nothing to do with it,” Ellen said. “I’ll be paying twelve hundred dollars a month on it for the next twenty-four years.”

Brad was silent as the car bumped over the railroad crossing. “I was under the impression that your mother had given you the house.”

“Nope,” Ellen said. “She gave me as good a deal as she could, but it’s a valuable property. Expensive to maintain, too.”

“You should have told me.”

“I’m telling you now,” she said shortly. “It never occurred to me that you might assume that I owned Kent House free and clear.”

They drove in utter silence for a couple of minutes. Ellen stared out the window at the storefronts. Brad had hit the nail on the head when he said she was “playing house.” Making a welcoming, beautiful home, even if it was just for strangers, had given her more satisfaction than any other work she’d tried since college.

Her dream had always been to fill that house with people, laughter, cooking smells, but there was a hollowness to her “playing house” that all her hard work couldn’t fill. She felt it most keenly at night in her bed. The only thing that could really fill that house was a family. Not like her own when she was a kid. She’d rattled around all alone in that huge house. Her mother had been busy with her volunteer work for charity foundations. Her distant father had been absorbed with his business. She’d been a shy kid, lost in her books and dreams.

Her strongest connection had been with Simon. The fantasy of making a home with him had sustained her throughout the loneliness of her adolescence. But she could not have Simon. She’d accepted that. If she wanted to fill that house, she had to look elsewhere.

Brad had offered her a family. A way to fill that hollow space and give it meaning. And he was correct when he guessed that she would value family over work. All of this was true, right, and reasonable.

So why did she feel so frightened?

She looked over at Brad’s grim profile. When he wasn’t scowling, he was a very handsome man. Tall, powerfully built, his catlike green eyes striking against his tan. The bulge of his biceps stretched out the sleeves of his polo shirt. “Our kids will be great-looking, whether they take after you or me,” he’d once remarked.

Ellen tried to imagine making kids with Brad, but her brain couldn’t quite encompass the idea. They hadn’t gotten around to becoming lovers yet. Once they were married, she was hopeful that—no, she was absolutely confident that these details would iron themselves out. After all, Brad was very attractive. Women sighed over him. He was ambitious, smart, shrewd. Princeton educated. A successful lawyer. Rich, too. Not that she cared, but there it was.

Brad slid his hand underneath her hair and rubbed her neck. “Don’t pout, Ellen.”

Ellen shook her head. “Just thinking.”

“Stop thinking, then, if it puts that sour look on your face.” Brad pulled up in front of the sparkling window display of Sigmund’s Jewelry. “Diamonds ought to make you feel better.”

A half hour later, her head was throbbing as she stared at the array of diamond rings. They all looked very much the same. Cold, glittering stones, clutched in ruthless prongs like fleshless golden claws.

“I still think the white gold one with the tiny sapphires on either side is the prettiest,” she insisted wearily.

Brad exchanged a speaking glance with Bob Sigmund. “Ellen,” he said with exaggerated patience. “That’s the most inexpensive ring we’ve looked at so far. Get it through your head that it’s not just yourself you have to consider. The ring you choose reflects on me, as well.”

“Check out this beauty, Ellen.” Bob Sigmund waved a huge diamond under her nose. “Two carats, pure white, and not a single flaw. Just look at the clarity of this baby. Very impressive.”

“It doesn’t feel right on my hand,” Ellen protested. “It’s just too—”

The bell dinged, the door flew open. Brad’s mother, Diana Mitchell, swept in. She was a tall, attractive woman, elegantly dressed in flowing white pants and a long, filmy pastel shirt. Her pale blonde hair was swept up into pouffy curls. “Ah! How are you, Ellen?”

“Wonderful, thanks.” Ellen smiled and did the air-kiss thing.

“Hi, Mom. Glad you could make it,” Brad said.

“Wouldn’t miss it! When Bradley told me that you two were getting the ring today, I just couldn’t resist! I thought that you could use a woman’s advice! Am I right?” She paused expectantly.

Ellen gathered her strength for a cheerful affirmative, but Brad broke in before she could speak. “I’m glad you’re here, Mom. I’ve been trying to convince Ellen to think a little bigger. She keeps saying she wants this one.” Brad held up the offending ring to his mother.

Diana peered through her bifocals and dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Oh, for heaven’s sake. You can’t get that one. People will call my son stingy. A pretty girl like you deserves a beautiful ring, like this one Bob’s showing you. Now, that’s a proper engagement ring!”

The flashing brilliance of the stone sent a needle of pain through Ellen’s throbbing head. She looked at Diana Mitchell’s expectant smile. She looked at Brad’s annoyed frown. She wondered if it was actually worth all this resistance. After all, it was just a ring.

The big, protruding diamond was beautiful, too, in its own garish way. She would learn to like it. The same way she would have to learn to like a lot of things. Like her future mother-in-law, for instance.

“OK,” she said.

“Excellent choice!” Diana beamed.

Brad grabbed her hand, slid the ring onto the appropriate finger and kissed her hand. “Good girl,” he murmured.

Arf, arf, she restrained herself from saying.

Diana Mitchell gave Ellen a stiff hug and kissed the air beside her ear. “Congratulations! You’ll be a lovely bride, sweetheart. Your mother and I think the third Saturday in September would be perfect. It won’t be quite so hot anymore, but the weather should still be holding. I’ve already reserved the country club. Won’t that be nice?”

“Oh. Ah…yes.” Ellen followed them out onto the sidewalk.

“Time’s a’ wasting, my dear! Speaking of time, be bright and early for your engagement portrait at Dwight’s studio Saturday!”

“Actually, Mrs. Mitchell—”

“Bring at least five or six changes of clothing. We’ll do casual, formal, and everything in between.” Diana gave her a critical once-over. “We should aim for the old-fashioned look, with all that hair of yours. Better yet, maybe I should schedule a hair appointment before the session, at eight o’clock. Maybe a layered cut. Oh, you’ll be adorable. I’ll call Marilee, my stylist, and tell her exactly what we need.”

“Mrs. Mitchell, what I was trying to say is that Saturday morning isn’t good for me. I’m in the middle of serving brunch to my guests.”

Diana looked shocked. “You’ll just have to arrange something, Ellen! That’s the earliest appointment Dwight could give me! We need to get moving! It takes time to organize these things!”

“But I—”

“And speaking of your guests, what’s this I hear about Simon Riley actually staying at your house?”

“What?” Brad spun around and stared at her.

Diana folded her arms over her ample bosom. “I assumed that Bea Campbell had gotten her facts wrong. I never believe gossip.”

Ellen cleared her throat. “Uh, well, actually, it’s…true.”

The silence that followed her words made her feel as cold and transparent as one of those diamonds, caught in a relentless golden prong. “He arrived right before teatime,” she said, with false bravado. “A room opened up this morning, so I, uh, checked him in.” She sneaked a glance at Brad’s face. A vein pulsed visibly in his temple.

Diana cleared her throat. “Well. All the more reason for you to be done with this hotel business. What was your mother thinking?”

“Mother has nothing to do with it,” Ellen snapped. “I am an adult, and I have a living to make.”

“And if she knew you let trash like that into her family home?”

Brad opened the passenger door and made a curt gesture towards Ellen. “Get in. We need to talk.”

Ellen clutched the seat as they swooped around the curves of the twisting road over the bluffs. Brad pulled into the over-flow parking lot below Kent House, but as she reached for the door handle, the automatic locks slammed down with a menacing thunk.

“Hold it,” Brad said. “You need to explain yourself to me.”

“Simon happens to be my friend,” she said quietly.

Brad’s eyes narrowed. “Oh? Just how good a ‘friend’ is he?”

Ellen rubbed her pounding temples. “I haven’t seen him for years, Brad. Don’t start.”

“Don’t play dumb with me. It’s not possible for you to be my fiancée and Simon Riley’s ‘friend’ at the same time. He leaves. Today. Is that clear?”

“No. It is not clear.” Ellen’s chin lifted. “I will not throw him out.”

Brad unlocked his door and got out. “I’m going to come in and have a talk with your ‘friend.’”

“He’s not here.” She slammed the car door shut. Gravel crunched beneath her feet as she headed to the steps. “He went out.”

“Where did he go?”

“How should I know? To a restaurant, I expect.”

She was all the way up the steps before she noticed that Brad was no longer following her.

“I meant every word I said, Ellen,” he warned. “Riley leaves.”

She spun around. The pressure that had been building inside her all day suddenly broke its bounds. “That is enough!”

Brad stared at her, blank with astonishment.

“I have been pushed around enough for one evening!” she yelled.

“I’m not pushing you around.” Brad’s self-righteous tone grated her raw nerves. “If you would calm down, you would understand—”

“I don’t want to understand!” she bellowed. “I have a headache!”

Brad looked as horrified as if she had sprouted a physical deformity. “God, Ellen! What’s wrong with you? You are screaming!”

She stopped herself, clenched her shaking hands and tried to breathe. “I know,” she said. “I’m sorry. I’m going to go lie down for a while. Have a nice evening. Thanks for the ring.”

“Oh, you’re so welcome,” he muttered.

His door slammed. The car slewed around in the gravel and roared away. Ellen gasped and coughed in the choking cloud of dust.