get home and go to bed.
I am so tired of Christmas Eve, she thought. Would they ever have a happy one again? One not fraught with some terrible event, or the kind of gloom that event left them with, like a perverse gift of some evil Magi?
Oh, stop complaining. Like the doctor said, one or all of us could be dead now.
As it was, her neck hurt, and there was a vague pain in the area of her collarbone. “Whiplash,” the doctor said. “Also, probably the force of the seat belt holding you back. There’s a bruise on your collarbone. It should go away in a few days.”
He had wanted to take X rays of her neck, and Paul had wanted that, too. But the X-ray department was backed up with holiday revelers who had fallen down stairs, slipped on a dance floor, rear-ended another car. It would take hours of sitting here, waiting.
“If I don’t feel better, I’ll come back the day after tomorrow,” Gina promised.
Paul shrugged off his back pain as something he experienced now and then, and begged off from the X rays as well. “I really just need to get home and sleep,” he said. Foremost in his mind, however, was that there wasn’t any Scotch in the hospital, and he needed a drink—bad.
The Infiniti had been towed to a shop to be repaired, if possible, after being checked out at the site of the accident by the police. They had taken samples of paint that didn’t match the Infiniti, and anything else the forensics lab could use.
After picking up muscle relaxants and painkillers at the hospital pharmacy, Paul, Gina and Rachel rode home silently in a cab, each deep in his and her own private thoughts.
The next morning they all slept in. When they got up sleepily around eleven and poked without appetite at eggs that Gina managed to scramble, they barely remembered it was Christmas Day. In the afternoon they watched movies on tape. Around five o’clock, when the sun had gone down, they lit the Christmas tree and made an attempt at celebration by opening each other’s presents.
“Thank you, Mom, I love it,” Rachel said, opening a glittery gold box and holding up a pink cashmere sweater. She didn’t try it on as she normally would, but put it back in the box, on the floor.
Gina knew how she felt, and simply accepted the thank-you, telling Rachel the same when she opened her own gift of perfume.
Paul did his best to raise their spirits by putting on his new dark green fleece jacket and modeling it, as if on a runway. He looked handsome—like a movie star, Rachel said, smiling—and Gina smiled, too, and agreed. Soon, however, they fell back into sitting silently, watching rain beat against the windows that looked out on the city of Seattle.
It’s the muscle relaxants, Paul thought. They’ve turned us into zombies. Or maybe it’s post-traumatic stress.
But he knew that wasn’t the reason for his mood, and maybe not for Gina and Rachel’s, either. He’d bet that they, too, were thinking: Who would want to hurt us so much, they could do a thing like that?
5
It was the day after Christmas, and Lacey was stretched out on the sofa when Paul let himself into the apartment. She was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and had kicked her shoes off. One leg was slung over the back of the sofa. In her white crew socks, she looked like a child. She was even watching the cartoon channel, like a kid on a Saturday morning.
She picked up the remote and flicked the TV off as Paul entered and hung his jacket over the back of a chair. He noted that an open bag of potato chips lay on the coffee table, and a can of Pepsi had left wet rings on the glass top.
That was one of the things he liked about being here, the fact that he could mess things up a bit. Lacey was easygoing that way, while Gina, probably because of her work as an interior designer, liked rooms neat and tidy. Even the magazines on the coffee table in their living room were chosen to look good, rather than for their reading content.
In the beginning, Paul had appreciated that Gina kept such a nice house. In time he began to weary, however, of always having to pick things up, especially when his mind was on other matters.
Before coming here, Paul had been prepared to tell Lacey they should cool things off, not see each other as much anymore. Her presence at Midnight Mass had been a bit too close for comfort. Paul honestly did not want to hurt Gina or Rachel. For that reason, he had never taken Lacey to Soleil, unwilling to risk having any of the employees gossip about them—gossip that might get back to Gina.
But now, seeing her like this, his heart melted. He had missed her spontaneity the past few days, the quick flashes of humor, her slight Southern accent from growing up in Atlanta. As much as she had tried to do away with it, Lacey had told him, she never was able to. “Guess it’s inbred,” she had said, laughing. “Take it or leave it.” Paul had taken it. And loved it.
“That was close the other night,” he said, sitting on the edge of the sofa beside her. In spite of himself, he couldn’t resist stroking her breast through the tight T-shirt and feeling excited as her nipples became hard in response to his touch.
“You’re sure in a hurry to get started today,” she teased, pulling a pillow off the back of the sofa and smacking him with it.
He drew back, laughing, and took the pillow, putting it behind her head. Gently pushing a strand of her hair behind an ear, he said, “Actually, I didn’t have that in mind for tonight.”
“Oh?”
His finger paused at her ear, then traced her cheekbone. Finally he took her hand and sighed. “Lacey, sweetheart, I think we should talk.”
She sat up, pulling her hand out of his. Taking another sofa pillow, she held it tight against her. “I’m not sure I like the sound of that.”
Paul tugged at his tie, loosening it. Suddenly he was having trouble breathing. He felt as if he were on a precipice, about to do something that would change his life in ways he might be sorry for later.
“I, uh…I just think we should take this a bit slower. I mean, you know, spend less time together…”
His voice shook when she didn’t respond. “The thing is, Rachel’s home, and since the accident the other night, I think I should spend more time with her.”
He had told Lacey about the accident this morning, on the phone, when he called to say he’d be coming by. She hadn’t expected him on Christmas Day, of course, but it had been agreed upon that he would come here the day after, while Gina and Rachel were hitting the stores for sales. He would bring his present—a gold necklace—to her then, and spend the afternoon with her.
“Of course you need to stay home and take care of Rachel,” Lacey said now. “I understand completely.”
Her eyes, however, filled with tears. “That’s not what this is about, though,” she said in a low, husky voice. “You want to break up with me. You’re saying goodbye.”
“No! No, not at all,” Paul said, though he wondered if that were true. His motivations weren’t completely clear, even to him.
He ran a hand through his hair, which left the cowlick he tried so hard to gel down every morning standing upright. He knew this, and it irritated him. He wanted to feel in charge here today, not like a barefoot
