well.”
“Surprise, surprise.”
“If he dumps me over something like this, I’m better off without him.”
“Don’t worry, he won’t dump you.”
“I don’t know. He was acting…pretty spiteful.”
“Sure. He was looking forward to some whoopy. Major disappointment, sob, sob. By tomorrow, though, he’ll be telling himself you just had a bad night, and he’ll be expecting you to come to your senses by the next time he sees you. He’ll probably treat you extra nice, just to be on the safe side.”
“He’ll be in for another disappointment.”
“How long are you planning to hold out?”
“Just long enough to see what happens.”
“Know what I think?” Helen asked, brushing some crumbs off the front of her robe.
“What?”
“I think you’ve just had a bad night, and tomorrow you’ll come to your senses and put out for the guy.”
“You on his side?”
“I know you. You’re angry at him right now, but anger has a way of softening pretty fast and you’re an easy mark. First thing you know, you’ll be feeling sorry for him—and feeling guilty because you’re the reason he’s so miserable. Then you’ll do what’s necessary to cheer him up. This time tomorrow night, you’ll be in the sack with him.”
“No way.”
“You’ll see.”
Alison heard the faint, scuffing sound of footsteps. Someone was climbing the outside stairway. Very slowly. Helen stopped chewing and raised her thick eyebrows.
Alison’s heart pounded hard. “Maybe it’s Celia,” she whispered.
Helen shook her head. “Try again. Wally’s doesn’t close till two.”
“Oh, God. I don’t need this.”
“Want me to tell him you’re in the shower, or something?”
The footsteps came to a stop on the landing just outside the door. “No, I’d better…”
A key snicked into the lock. Alison’s stiff body relaxed, sinking back into the sofa. Mixed with her relief was a hint of disappointment.
Then Celia came in, and Alison jerked upright.
Celia’s right arm was held across her chest by a sling. A bandage covered the right side of her forehead from her eyebrow to her hairline.
“Whoa,” said Helen.
“What happened?” Alison asked.
“I got creamed, that’s what.” With her left hand, Celiaswept the jacket off her shoulders. She dropped it, along with her purse, onto the floor beside the door. “Some bastard tried to turn me into a road pizza.”
She limped toward the sofa, wobbling a bit, apparently not only injured but somewhat drunk. After easing herself down beside Alison, she carefully raised her legs onto the coffee table, stretched them out, and moaned.
“You and that stupid bike,” Helen said. “I told you you’d get nailed.”
“Take a leap.”
“You were on your bike and a car hit you. Tell me that I’m wrong.”
“How about getting me a drink?”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“It helps the pain.”
“I’ll get you something,” Alison offered. “What do you want?”
“Anything but beer. I couldn’t look another beer in the face. Bring me some whiskey, okay?”
Alison hurried into the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey from the cupboard, got a glass, and returned to the living room. She filled the glass halfway and handed it to Celia. “You’re a bud,” Celia said.
“How’d it happen?” Alison asked, sitting down again.
“Some bastard tried to run me down. I was over on Latham Road, you know? On my way back from Four Corners. And this van came down on me. The guy had all kinds of room to go around, but he steered right at me. He intended to hit me. Some kind of a nut. Anyhow, I tried to get out of his way and the bike flipped. That’s how I got busted up.” She sat up slightly, wincing, and took a drink. Then she settled back. She rested the glass on the lap of her sweatpants.
“He intended to hit you?” Helen sounded skeptical.
“You bet your buns.”
“Why would someone—?” Alison began.
“Cause he was a
“Surprise, surprise.”
“If he dumps me over something like this, I’m better off without him.”
“Don’t worry, he won’t dump you.”
“I don’t know. He was acting…pretty spiteful.”
“Sure. He was looking forward to some whoopy. Major disappointment, sob, sob. By tomorrow, though, he’ll be telling himself you just had a bad night, and he’ll be expecting you to come to your senses by the next time he sees you. He’ll probably treat you extra nice, just to be on the safe side.”
“He’ll be in for another disappointment.”
“How long are you planning to hold out?”
“Just long enough to see what happens.”
“Know what I think?” Helen asked, brushing some crumbs off the front of her robe.
“What?”
“I think you’ve just had a bad night, and tomorrow you’ll come to your senses and put out for the guy.”
“You on his side?”
“I know you. You’re angry at him right now, but anger has a way of softening pretty fast and you’re an easy mark. First thing you know, you’ll be feeling sorry for him—and feeling guilty because you’re the reason he’s so miserable. Then you’ll do what’s necessary to cheer him up. This time tomorrow night, you’ll be in the sack with him.”
“No way.”
“You’ll see.”
Alison heard the faint, scuffing sound of footsteps. Someone was climbing the outside stairway. Very slowly. Helen stopped chewing and raised her thick eyebrows.
Alison’s heart pounded hard. “Maybe it’s Celia,” she whispered.
Helen shook her head. “Try again. Wally’s doesn’t close till two.”
“Oh, God. I don’t need this.”
“Want me to tell him you’re in the shower, or something?”
The footsteps came to a stop on the landing just outside the door. “No, I’d better…”
A key snicked into the lock. Alison’s stiff body relaxed, sinking back into the sofa. Mixed with her relief was a hint of disappointment.
Then Celia came in, and Alison jerked upright.
Celia’s right arm was held across her chest by a sling. A bandage covered the right side of her forehead from her eyebrow to her hairline.
“Whoa,” said Helen.
“What happened?” Alison asked.
“I got creamed, that’s what.” With her left hand, Celiaswept the jacket off her shoulders. She dropped it, along with her purse, onto the floor beside the door. “Some bastard tried to turn me into a road pizza.”
She limped toward the sofa, wobbling a bit, apparently not only injured but somewhat drunk. After easing herself down beside Alison, she carefully raised her legs onto the coffee table, stretched them out, and moaned.
“You and that stupid bike,” Helen said. “I told you you’d get nailed.”
“Take a leap.”
“You were on your bike and a car hit you. Tell me that I’m wrong.”
“How about getting me a drink?”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough?”
“It helps the pain.”
“I’ll get you something,” Alison offered. “What do you want?”
“Anything but beer. I couldn’t look another beer in the face. Bring me some whiskey, okay?”
Alison hurried into the kitchen. She grabbed a bottle of Irish whiskey from the cupboard, got a glass, and returned to the living room. She filled the glass halfway and handed it to Celia. “You’re a bud,” Celia said.
“How’d it happen?” Alison asked, sitting down again.
“Some bastard tried to run me down. I was over on Latham Road, you know? On my way back from Four Corners. And this van came down on me. The guy had all kinds of room to go around, but he steered right at me. He intended to hit me. Some kind of a nut. Anyhow, I tried to get out of his way and the bike flipped. That’s how I got busted up.” She sat up slightly, wincing, and took a drink. Then she settled back. She rested the glass on the lap of her sweatpants.
“He intended to hit you?” Helen sounded skeptical.
“You bet your buns.”
“Why would someone—?” Alison began.
“Cause he was a
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