For some reason it completely annoys me that Susan is so concerned about these women. It just smacks of insincerity, like she’s trying to one-up me.
Susan nods and says, "Well, it sounds like you two have your work cut out for you. I’m going to take a shower and then get out of your hair." With that, the brunette rises from her seat and sets down her empty mug. She gently kisses Kelsey’s temple and makes her way towards the bedroom.
I watch as Kels smiles and her eyes follow the woman across the room. There was a time when I wanted her eyes to follow me like that. I guess deep down inside I still do, but Omaha certainly fucked that up. That’ll be the last time I get hammered on whiskey.
And finding Susan here this morning didn’t help much either.
We're left alone and I suddenly feel the need to fill the silence. "So, I have an interview set up with the manager of the facility. Right now, we have an exclusive, if we get there fast enough. I want to go over some potential questions for her. If we can get -"
"I really like her," Kelsey interrupts in a soft tone.
"What?" I truly am baffled by the statement. Is she talking about the manager?
"Susan, I like her, a lot. We promised to keep it casual and that's what I need."
It’s not what you need, Kels. Don’t bother lying to yourself. "What happened to all that bullshit about your contract and appearances?" The words are out before I can stop them.
"She knows to be discreet. She needs to be as well." She fixes her gaze on me and hardens her look a bit. "You’re the one who told me I had to stop hiding from myself."
I can’t really argue with her on that one. Though I kind of had intended to be the beneficiary of her new found freedom.
"So don’t interfere."
"Kels, come on," I argue softly. She thinks this lowly of me? "Regardless of what you may think, I’m not out to hurt you."
"Why should I believe you?"
I meet her shuttered green eyes. They’re cautious and wary and I long for those moments we shared in Omaha. God, I’d like to kiss her right now. But it would only get me slapped. Or worse. "Because I’m giving you my word. And there was a time when you trusted me."
She sighs, looks down at her hands. "And you threw that in my face."
I did no such thing. I protected you and took care of you, just like I’d promised. I got you out of there alive and intact. I held you while you cried and trembled with fear. I let you eat my Twinkie. "I did not," I finally object, long explanations failing me.
"You laughed at me."
It sounds like a child’s confession and I see, for a moment, the sensitive woman I met in that closet in the compound. "Kels," I say softly, wanting to touch her but knowing it’s not welcome. "Little Roo, when did I ever laugh at you?"
"After we woke up. In my hotel room."
I think back and remember. Shit, I wasn’t laughing at her. I was laughing at the situation. I hadn’t realized at that moment she was horrified.
Horrified.
That still bugs the crap out of me. What am I? Some infectious disease? "Come on, Kels," I say sharply. "I mean, you acted like waking up naked with me was the worst thing that had ever happened in your life, that the thought of spending the night with me was repulsive."
"You’re wrong. I was confused and hung over and ..." She shakes her head as if to clear it of the thoughts that she’s having. "You showed me I was nothing. I was just another…" She pauses again and then looks to her bedroom door with a sad smile. "Just never mind, Tabloid, it doesn’t fucking matter anymore." She puts her cup down and stands up. As she brushes past me, I hear her mumble something about ‘being so damn stupid to think’, then the comment dies on her lips.
"Fine," I say quickly, raising a hand to placate her. My head is starting to hurt and this new information only makes it worse. "Let’s just get to work. Wear something friendly and feminine. You know, your lipstick lez look." It’s out of my mouth before I can stop it.
She’s standing a few feet from me, trembling with anger. "I need a shower," she mutters.
"I think it’s occupied."
"All the better." She turns quickly on her heel and disappears.
I throw myself down on the couch and finish my coffee in a huge gulp. "That went well," I tell the empty room.
This morning could have gone better, I realize as I lean my back against the passenger seat of the van. Jimmy is in the back, as usual, messing with equipment and muttering to himself, doing his best to avoid us at all costs. Harper is on her fourth cup of coffee already. She’s not speaking to me.
I hadn’t meant to be vulnerable. I hadn’t meant to tell her what was bothering me. It just came out. Part of me wanted her to understand because I really am attracted to her. Not just her looks, that much is obvious. But because she’s educated and compassionate, she lives her life with carefree abandon, and has this sense of loyalty that I admire. I bet she’s good in bed, too, I admit to myself. I know it’s not her fault about our encounter. I’m a lousy drunk.
The shower was nice. Susan is a wonderful woman and I’m thrilled to have found her. I can still feel her hands on my body and in my hair. She kissed me goodbye at the elevator and whispered promises of more opportunities to come. I feel pretty good about that relationship. If only I could fix this one.
"I’m sorry I blew up this morning." I say, surprising us both. Jimmy looks up from his tinkering but then goes back to it wordlessly.
"Whatever," Harper responds shortly as she jerks the van’s steering wheel and slams on the brakes. I hear Jimmy fall onto the floor in the back.
"Christ, Harper," he glares at her. "Didja wake up on the wrong side of bed this morning?"
"We’re here," she answers, ignoring Jimmy.
"I see," I nod slowly. We’re parked outside the hotel where the shelter’s manager is staying. I feel a little tingle in my belly at the thought of the interview. I always love that feeling: the thrill of a mystery and hoping to get to the bottom of it. Today would be a perfect day if it weren’t for the black cloud hovering next to me behind the wheel.
I know I’m to blame for that, though, so I try hard not to react with my usual moodiness. I decide to be neutral and get the job done. Why is it I feel I have to protect myself by hurting her? My parents taught me well, I realize with a sinking feeling.
The woman contrasts with Kelsey nicely. She’s in her early fifties, tall and willowy. Still, she has the appearance of a strong woman who has survived her share of disappointments. She greets us with a gentle smile as she rubs at her eyes. "Sorry, long night," she explains and yawns, showing us into the hotel room.
Kelsey is talking with her casually as Jims and I set up. She’s trying to make the woman comfortable with her voice and mannerisms and is idly discussing the string of murders.
"Rumor is they all look alike," the woman says, shaking her head.
"I think they were all blonde. That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. We’re in California, after all," she laughs. "Most of the women who aren’t blonde here find the color in a bottle."
I hide my smirk at that statement. Kelsey is no bottle-blonde. I know that for a fact. I shake my head, trying to clear that image from my brain. I’m not gonna be looking at that view again anytime soon.
The woman agrees with Kelsey. "Still. It’s frightening to know how unsafe women are in this city. I see it every day, as I am sure you do as well."
Kelsey uses this sentiment to segue into the topic of our interview. "Which is why your work is so important, Ms. Graham. Your home offered women a safe place to recover from tragic events in their lives."
She nods solemnly and folds her hands in thought. "It’s horrible to lose that place. It was so much a part of my life and so important to the hundreds of women who have found shelter there over the years."