Deceptions of the Heart by Denise Moncrief

Rhonda is dead, tell me where her memories are supposed to live?” I shook with resentment toward Jennifer, toward him, toward his new wife.
    “I’m calling the police.” He stomped into the house.
    His wife followed, huddled behind him—a mousy mess. She looked back at me with large, frightened eyes. “Why are you doing this to me?”
    Her squeaky voice unnerved me. I wanted to shake her petite frame, but was afraid she would break into two pieces. She was fragile, like porcelain. A poor trophy wife.
    Alex grabbed a cordless phone from the table in the foyer. He punched numbers on the pad as if punching sense into the senseless. His hostility shook me out of my lethargy. An image nudged at the corners of my awareness. The memory wanted its recollection, spewing from my mouth before I could stop it. “I know what you did for Jackson.”
    He stopped, his breath hitching in his chest. “What?” The single word was barely audible. He replaced the receiver on the base. His wife stared at the phone as if it was a serpent ready to strike.
    “Alex! What are you doing? Call the cops.” She reached for the phone, the first evidence of grit I’d seen in her.
    “Back off, Kristen!” He smacked her hand. “We call the cops if I decide we call the cops.”
    She withdrew like a child shrinking from a parent’s wrath. I stepped between them, so close his breath heated my skin. Face to face. “You never told anyone. You never even told me. But…I know what you did.” Despite the fact I didn’t have a clue what I was talking about, the words jumped from my lips, ringing with the clarion peal of truth.
    “Alex, what is she talking about?” Kristen asked from over my shoulder.
    He quieted her with one flick of his pointer finger. She retreated without even a whimper. He grabbed my arm and dragged me into the living room. “Sit down,” he commanded and pushed me onto the sofa. “Where is he?”
    I assumed he meant Jackson. I shook his hand off my elbow. “I don’t know.”
    “Where did you see him?”
    I closed my eyes. I didn’t remember ever seeing him…not as Jennifer. But he was at the party. “In Virginia,” I offered the simple answer.
    “What did he tell you?”
    “Nothing. Well, at least if he did, I don’t remember what he said. You see—”
    “Then how do you know about… that ?”
    “I was here when he asked you to…do what you did. I was in the kitchen listening. I heard you. And I saw the two of you leave together. You should have never let him talk you into—”
    “Shut up before you say too much.” He turned toward his new wife. A cold, calculating sneer crept over his face before he returned his attention to me. “What do you want?” he asked again.
    “I told you already. I want you to help me figure out what happened to me. I want you to go with me to see Dr. Crane.”
    He flinched at mention of the heart specialist that performed Jennifer’s surgery. “This is insane.” He seethed as he paced in front of me. “Okay. I get it. He sent you to blackmail me.”
    “No. I’m here because I need answers. I told you what I want from you. If you can’t or won’t help me…” I stiffened my upper lip to keep from calling him a few choice names. “I’m leaving,” I said and rose from the sofa. I almost made it out the door before my tears dripped down my cheeks against my will. I didn’t want Alex to see me cry.
    “Come back. Sit down,” he cajoled, adopting a long-suffering attitude as if resigned to helping me. “I promise I’ll listen to what you have to say.”
    It was pathetic how quickly he capitulated. I almost smiled, but kept my triumph to myself. I turned toward him once again, willing my face into a noncommittal facade. When I looked into his eyes, my joy disappeared. His gaze hardened as if he’d just captured a weaker being in his twisted trap. My victory proved hollow. My pitiful act backfired. Hot liquid filled my tear ducts and I almost broke down. I sucked up