Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112001 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
As she stroked the navy blue folds, Lydia murmured, “How long have you been in love with him.”
“Since the moment I met him, if I’m honest with myself. Naturally, I fought it as long as I could… because I was scared of what I felt.” A lopsided smile flared and disappeared. “I like control, in case you haven’t noticed.”
Lydia laughed a little, and motioned around the white room. “I mean, this chaotic color, these patterns. And it’s all over the house, too.”
“That’s me. The chintz queen.” C.P. grew serious and then tapped her temple. “He was smart, though. Well, I suppose Gus’s IQ speaks for itself. But he didn’t want me. He knew…”
“Did you tell him how you felt?”
“In a roundabout way. He kept things professional when I would have taken them in a different direction. He was too good for me—”
“Don’t say that.”
“Oh, but it’s true. Just because reality hurts, doesn’t mean you should ignore it. In fact, self-preservation is often unpleasant, and when you don’t have a lot of time, like I do, you can’t afford to waste a moment in delusion.”
Lydia wanted to say something along the lines of “We’ll find him,” but she kept that to herself. Gus’s body was what was going to turn up, if anything did, and who needed to be reminded of that?
“Anyway…” C.P. yawned in what seemed like an exaggerated way. “I think your man might have the right idea. It’s late.”
Indeed, Daniel had excused himself an hour ago. Or was it two hours ago? Who the hell knew. He’d been doing his best to hang out in the other super-soft armchair they’d pulled over to the bedside, but after a while, he’d no longer been able to hide the fact that he was falling asleep sitting up.
Lydia shifted her legs out of the tuck they were in. “Do you need anything? Should I call Georgina for you?”
“No, she’ll come out the second you’re gone. There’s a sensor back there that’s tied to the door.”
“Oh, okay.”
“Thanks, though.”
After a moment, Lydia nodded, got to her feet, and turned away. At the door, she hesitated again and wasn’t sure why. Then again, she could really smell the cancer inside the woman now, and she felt like she should acknowledge that in some way. As with the pregnancy, she had been too distracted at first by what was going on in her own life to notice the subtle changes in scent. But the disease was becoming more and more obvious, almost by the hour.
“The answer is, I don’t know.”
Lydia jumped and looked back around. “I’m sorry?”
C.P. stared down her fragile body and across the grand bedroom. “I don’t know whether I’ll try Vita-12b. Funny, it felt safer if Gus was the one giving it to me, which is illogical. The drug doesn’t care who is doing its administration. Then again, he would take care of me… if something went wrong. Would have, I mean.”
During their marathon of silence, Lydia had wondered about that, but how could she ask? Talk about insensitive: Hey, so you’ve lost your baby, how ’bout you try that novel agent you cooked up in your lab—if only because maybe it’ll help Daniel to take the drug, too. And then my life won’t be ruined if it works.
“That’s a decision only you can make,” Lydia said. “Get some rest. I’ll check in on you later.”
What a generic goodbye, she thought as she slipped out.
The kind of thing that took for granted you’d see the person again.
The stairs down to the foyer seemed as long as a trail descending a mountain, and when she got to the bottom, she went over to the guard standing sentry in his alcove.
“I’m just going to get something from the car,” she said.
He nodded curtly, and triggered his shoulder-mounted communicator. By the time she reached the heavy door, the lock was sliding free, and as she gripped the wrought iron handle, she sank down into her thighs and put her back into it—except there was no need for the muscle show. The bank-vault-like panel, which was easily as thick as her leg, opened as if it was nothing more than the lid to a bread box.
Outside, she took a deep breath, descended the shallow steps, and proceeded down the passenger side of the Suburban. As she came to the rear hatch, she stopped and stared at the glowing Chevy symbol on the asphalt, a false moon.
Shoving her hand in the pocket of her pants, she took out the key. She’d forgotten she’d had the fob with her.
She’d lied to the guard. There wasn’t anything she needed inside the SUV.
Wandering out from under the porte cochere, she looked over the front acreage that skirted the allée of trees guarding the driveway. In the nicer months, the lawn was mowed to golf course precision, the smooth, green nature-made carpet undulating out to the stone wall that ran along the roadside edge of the property. Currently, the landscape was draped in moonlight, everything in shades of blue, from the dull French gray of the ground cover, now dead, to the icy bright, skeletal branches, and the sapphire shadows thrown by the big trunked maples down by the road. This nocturnal palette wasn’t going to last long. Over to the east, along the horizon, a glow was just beginning to appear—