like dancing.” Without meeting Elizabeth’s eyes, April spoke into the night. “I like the money. I like the people…”
“You like the peop—” Elizabeth broke off, shaking her head and dropping her hand. “How can you say that, April? Look at Tracy! You’re her friend—you help her out and do things for her—but she isn’t yours. She’d stab you in the back and never give it a second thought. And Greg! Is he really the kind of man you want to spend your life with?”
“Tracy’s okay, and Greg gave me a job when I needed one. Don’t knock him.”
“Any idiot with eyes in his head would have given you a job. You’re gorgeous! You’re smart! Sweetheart, c’mon! You could be doing anything you want to if you’d just—”
April whirled around, eyes flashing, hands balled into fists. “Goddamn it, Elizabeth, get off my case!” she yelled. “For once just leave me alone, would you?”
Elizabeth stepped back, the room humming with April’s startling fury. “Sweetheart, I’m concerned. I was only—”
“—poking your nose into my business like you have ever since Dad died. I’m not a kid, Elizabeth, and I don’t need somebody taking care of me all the time. I’m not Mom, okay?”
Elizabeth immediately blanked her expression to hide her hurt, but the words cut deeply, painfully. When they were twelve, they’d lost their father—a euphemism Elizabeth hated but used out of habit—and she’d taken care of herself and April and had pulled them through the disaster with their mother that had followed. Not because Elizabeth wanted to but because she’d had to. Their mother, a fragile woman, had depended on her husband so completely that when he died…well, what had happened to him had been less painful by far.
She pointed out none of this.
“I’m sorry,” she said, instead, her voice stiff. “I thought I was helping.”
April paused, then took a deep breath, the line of her jaw tightening. “Well, you aren’t. I’m not perfect like you. And I never will be, so stop trying to make me that way, okay?”
Elizabeth’s mouth dropped open in surprise. “Perfect? That’s ridiculous. I’m not perfect! And I never meant to make you like me. Is…is that what you think?”
“I don’t know what to think, but I do know you’ve been trying to run my life for years, and I’m sick and tired of it. I just want to be myself, do things my own way.”
“Being yourself is what you should be, April. I only—”
April held up her hand, her bloodred nails gleaming in the dying light. “Drop it, Elizabeth! Let me make my own mistakes. Leave me alone.”
To Elizabeth it seemed as if a chasm had opened between them even though she hadn’t moved an inch from her stance at the window. She felt it deep down inside and it sent a cold chill skittering down her back. The closeness they’d once shared was gone forever.
IT WAS EARLY DAWN, and the sky was a pearly white tinged with blue and pink. The late-summer moon still hung above the horizon, a cool white disk, barely visible, while at the same time, the sun had begun to peek over the neighbor’s roof. The scent of gardenias lay thick in the humid air, and the manicured emerald lawns, stretching out before him, shimmered with dew.
John Mallory stood in the open door of his town house and looked around, a mug of hot coffee steaming in his hand. He always began the day this way, staring out at the street, soaking in the serenity—wondering just what kind of disaster the hours ahead would bring. As a Houston cop he’d seen just about everything, but some days could still surprise him.
He was about to take another sip of coffee when he caught a sudden movement in his peripheral vision. His gut tightened automatically when he realized who he was seeing. It was his neighbor, Elizabeth Benoit, walking to her car. He knew her name only because he’d seen it on her mailbox. She didn’t speak to him or to anyone else as far as he could tell. She was leaving earlier than usual this morning, her stride hurried yet graceful, her black hair gleaming, her dark eyes already hidden behind sunglasses. She was one of those incredibly beautiful women, like his ex-wife Marsha, who noticed people only when she needed them.
And that was damned seldom.
His phone sounded, and John stepped back into the house, slamming the door behind him. Just as well, he thought, crossing the living room and heading down the hall to the kitchen. He was an idiot for even noticing Elizabeth Benoit. Dazzling women were always trouble, and trouble like that he definitely did not need. A few years before, he had disentangled himself from one such woman—and he still had the scars to prove it.
As if he needed further incentive to remember that, the voice on the other end of the line provided a sharp reminder.
“John. This is Marsha. Look, I only have a minute, but I wanted to catch you before I left for work. I’ve got a problem with this week.”
John deliberately placed his coffee cup into the sink before he answered. His ex-wife didn’t believe in such niceties as saying hello. She was always in a hurry and looking for ways to streamline her life. He couldn’t understand why; what did she do with all that extra time?
“What’s the problem, Marsha?” he asked as pleasantly as he could.
“Lisa has to get her hair trimmed and the only time Luis can do it is Thursday evening, and you know I have to be there. I’m sorry, but you can have her next week as usual.”
John counted to three before he spoke. “Our arrangement is for me to have our daughter every Thursday. You’ll have to take her to the beauty shop some other day.”
“But Luis only had that time open.”
“She’s five years old, Marsha.” Again he waited a beat, looked out the kitchen window at a crow pecking at something on the sidewalk. “She doesn’t need to go to the most expensive hairdresser in town to have her bangs trimmed.”
Her voice turned hostile. “John, if you want to hassle me about something this minor, we can go back to court. I’d be more than happy to accommodate you, and we can work out a few other details, too….”
She droned on and John tuned her out. Marsha hadn’t always been difficult, and once upon a time, they’d really been in love. Somewhere down the line, though, he’d disappointed her and she’d turned bitter. When at last she paused to draw a breath, he broke in, his words clipped and precise so they wouldn’t reveal his desire to reach through the phone and throttle her.
“Marsha, I will be there Thursday at five to pick up our daughter. I will keep her overnight, then I will bring her back Friday morning when I go to work, just as I do every week. Find another time to get her hair cut. Goodbye.”
Marsha was still talking when he hung up the phone.
He headed for his bedroom shaking his head and thought of Elizabeth Benoit once more. She was a gorgeous woman, but if being married to one for six long years hadn’t taught him how dangerous such women were, he was a fool. And the realization that he was generalizing didn’t bother him a bit. Beautiful women were his weakness, and he’d dated enough of them to know what he was talking about.
WHEN ELIZABETH woke up and stumbled outside for the paper,
