I couldn’t deny, though, that it felt kind of nice. At the entrance I released his arm and lifted my eyes. “And thank you, for that. For being there.” I pressed my lips together, determined not to dwell on the near miss. It was an accident. Accidents happened. “I’ll see you around.”
Why did you save me?
I made my way into the Bourbon Hotel and looked around for my parents, trying to rationalize the irritation that was starting to set in now that the adrenaline was wearing off. It was ridiculous to feel like reading Brodie the riot act for saving my life, but there it was.
It would have been so easy. Painful, maybe. But surely quick. There had been no time to make a decision, although technically the very absence of decision was a choice in itself. It was easier that way, though. Easier to pretend I was blameless.
The thought of death was nothing new, although I hadn’t thought of it for…oh…twenty hours or so. It had been hanging around the edges of my mind for some time now, filtering into my waking thoughts when I was standing in check-out with my shampoo and avocados, rearing its grim head when I went to work and home again in the evening...It was everywhere.
It spelled solace.
No more grief, no more blind fucking rage over things I had no control over.
Just the cool weighted blanket of death.
Bourbon House Restaurant was located on the fifth floor of the hotel, an odd location chosen for its juxtaposition between a couple of large conference areas. I rode the elevator up, fingers still working at the tear in my dress and the missing button. Fortunately, it was the top one; I could pretend it was intentional. The hint of cleavage would piss Mother off, but it couldn’t be helped.
Now that the adrenaline was wearing off, I was starting to tremble. Closing my eyes, I worked on centering myself in my surroundings as Michael had tried to teach me to do before prescribing the Valium. It had all happened so fast...the roar of the engine, the knowledge that I wouldn’t move quickly enough, the feeling of being tackled by Brodie’s firm, heavy form.
I frowned as the elevator doors slid open and stepped out, eyes searching the room for my parents. It should have been more panic inducing than it was, feeling his body pressing mine into the ground. Being unable to move. Powerless. It hadn’t been, though. Maybe it was the way his hands had sheltered my head from a certain concussion, but I had felt safe, instead.
I located my parents in their usual spot, noting their friends Stephen and Barbara Henry were there, as well. Paul and Stephen golfed together, while Barbara and Mother pretended to enjoy one another’s company. Their conversation tended to consist of veiled barbs and one-ups, though. “I discovered the most amusing little place to vacation,” one would say. “Oh, yes? We just returned from a European tour. It was sublime,” the other would answer.
Their son, Richard, was there, too, a former student at the same high school I’d attended but a couple of years older than I. He eyed me up as I approached, rising with Paul and Stephen as I drew near and pulling a chair out. Rounding the table, I sat with a polite smile of thanks and a hidden grimace.
It was obvious that this brunch was a matchmaking effort. I hadn’t been home for a week and already they were trying to sell me to the highest bidder. At least this time he was in the same age bracket.
“Glad you could make it, Emery.” Mother’s statement was bland, but I caught the innuendo. I was late; I was a disappointment.I saw her gaze flick to my hair and the barely discernible downturn of her lips.
“I would have been here earlier; except I was nearly mowed down by some idiot in a black car.”
Paul’s eyebrows drew together. “Someone tried to run over you?”
I nodded and took a long pull of the mimosa in front of me. “Yes.”
There was silence for a moment. Then Barbara gasped. “How very shocking!”
“Yes. Shocking,” I agreed politely.
Her husband shook his head. That was all he ever did. Shake his head. Richard grinned fatuously. “Maybe they were distracted.”
“I suppose that’s why you look so disheveled.” Mother slid the knife in.
“Did you forget to look both ways?” Paul twisted.
“Jesus,” I muttered, and stood.“I’m fine, if anyone’s curious.”
“Language,” Mother said.
“I’ll be back in a moment. I need to make a quick trip to the restroom.”To repair my disheveled appearance, I thought, but refrained from speaking the words aloud. It would just create friction. I stomped off to the ladies’ room, my hands trembling now not with reaction but with rage. Pushing open the door, I strode inside and let it slam behind me.
This.This was why I rarely came home, and why I stayed with Shiloh when I did. They were so cold, so calloused. They hadn’t even asked if I was okay.
I tossed my purse onto a padded bench and paced the length of the plush, well-appointed restroom, my heels soundless on the pale peach carpet. It was unsatisfying in a most primal way. I needed to make some noise, even if it were only the stamp of my shoes on the floor, needed to release this anger that was festering inside me. I could hit something, or scream, but they’d probably place me in a mental institution if they came in and found me yelling at the walls.
I stopped to stand in front of the sink and leaned forward to check my reflection in the mirror. My lipstick was smeared, and I wiped a bit of scarlet from just beneath my bottom lip. My hair was perfectly okay, despite its ignominious fall from grace. I smoothed it behind my ear and looked for another excuse to continue hiding in the bathroom. I couldn’t do anything with the button or the tear.
Resigned, I turned on the taps and washed my hands, then turned to tear a paper towel from the bin on the wall. No more delaying.
