“I promise not to kill anyone…unless they try to kill me first.”
“Everybody tries to kill you.”
“Well, that’s not my fault, is it?”
Anatoly groaned and turned away from me.
I hesitated a moment and then sighed and rested my head against the back of his neck. “I’m not going to do anything illegal…at least not anything that’s likely to get me thrown in jail for more than a couple weeks.”
Anatoly groaned again but I remained undeterred. “I know my being put away won’t do anyone any good, least of all Dena. If you promise to help me find out who did this then I promise to…well, to behave as well as I normally do.”
Anatoly turned back to me. “That’s not saying a lot.”
“It’s the best I can do.”
“Sophie,” he said sharply. “You have to control your anger.”
I opened my mouth to respond but as I did a middle-aged couple came into the room. They glanced in our direction and then found a place for themselves in the far corner of the room. We weren’t alone anymore.
Anatoly and I sat down again. I squeezed my eyes closed and wrapped my arms around my chest. He was right of course. I did need to control my anger. But not get rid of it. I needed a controlled rage to get me through to the next day. And I needed it to drown out the screaming memory of Dena’s silence.
CHAPTER 3
Men are like rose stems in that rose stems of considerable length are nice but, ultimately, their size is not their most important attribute. What’s important is that the stem stays stiff long enough for your flower to hit full bloom.
–Fatally Yours
That night I dreamed of monsters. Before we had left the hospital the doctor had come out and told us that it appeared Dena’s surgery had been successful. That she should be able to walk again and that perhaps she eventually wouldn’t need a walker or braces in order to do it. He gave us a lot more details, but I didn’t hear them. All I heard were the lack of assurances. Their absence became a tangible thing that twisted itself into a multitude of awful images. Those images curled up in my mind only to uncoil in my sleep and attack my dreams. I hadn’t been able to see Dena either. Only blood relatives had been allowed admittance into her room. The rest of us had to wait for daylight hours.
Anatoly had held me all night but for once his embrace didn’t lead to sex. Having sex while Dena was unable to felt wrong. Like starting a rock band on the eve of Elvis’s death.
And now morning was here. My kitty, Mr. Katz, was rolled up in a ball by my feet and Anatoly still slept, understandable since it was only a little after 8:00 a.m. Last night we hadn’t even gotten home until almost 3:00 a.m. It was too early to go to the hospital; I certainly didn’t want to risk waking Dena. So where should I go? I couldn’t go back to sleep. There would be more monsters there.
As if he sensed the question, Anatoly’s eyes flickered open and glided over to me. “What time is it?” he muttered.
“Too early,” I answered.
Anatoly turned to check the clock and then paused as he tried to figure out the significance of my being conscious at such an obscene hour.
“I’m getting up,” I said.
“I’ll cook you breakfast,” Anatoly offered. He pushed the covers off himself, revealing his state of undress. Nothing but his fitted Calvin Klein boxers. Normally that would be enough to get my endorphins moving, but not this morning.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You’re always hungry, particularly if I’m cooking.”
“Today’s different.”
We lay there in silence for a few moments as Mr. Katz stretched his legs and abandoned us in search of a more peaceful resting spot, neither of us wanting to be the first to name the tragedy that had taken away my appetite for sex and food.
He sighed and pulled me into the crook of his arm. “Let’s stay here. We didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
I smiled and kissed his chin. “Sleep then,” I whispered before freeing myself and getting to my feet.
“Sophie—”
“No, I mean it. Stay here. I need to…think. To drive and think.”
“You’re sure you can’t think here in bed?” The red veins of exhaustion drew ragged lines across his eyes, making him look stoned and uncharacteristically vulnerable.
I leaned down and gave him another kiss, this time on the mouth. I let my tongue dance across his lower lip as I savored the taste of him. “Sleep,” I said when I finally pulled away. “We’ll talk later.”
Anatoly didn’t say anything as I pulled on my jeans and a T-shirt and brushed a thin golden layer of Bare Escentuals mineral powder across my face. I could feel him watching me as I left the room.
Outside the rising sun cast an eerie pale pink light across the sky. The fog that usually owned the mornings of San Francisco wasn’t there today. Without its insulation, the air had a harsh quality that felt out of place for May.
Of course, driving without coffee is almost as irresponsible as driving drunk, so my first stop was Starbucks. The barista recognized me and prepared my usual light mint mocha chip Frappuccino with a floating shot and extra whipped cream before I had the chance to order it. When tormented, always turn to your comfort foods.
I drove for over an hour and eventually I found myself in the South of Market district, only blocks away from O’Keefe’s, the nursery and flower boutique where Amelia worked. Of course she wouldn’t be there today. She and Kim were probably sleeping off a marijuana-induced high in some small corner of Nicaragua, blissfully unaware that here, in the highly developed city of San Francisco, the sky was falling.
But Dena liked the bouquets they made here…what was her favorite…did they call it the Aphrodisiac? Or maybe it was O’Keefe’s Pleasure? Whoever was working would know what I was talking about. I found a parking spot right in front and checked to make sure I had some cash on me before stepping inside.
South of Market was incredibly industrial but when you walked into O’Keefe’s it was as if you were entering a manicured jungle. Ivy and ferns dangled from the ceiling, forcing anyone above the height of five foot six to zigzag their way through the shop in order to avoid being smacked in the face by a leaf. Then there were the buckets of roses, the small potted plants, the ficus trees and the musty smell of damp soil. It was such a tangle of sensory delights that it took me a moment to identify what was wrong with the picture.
What was wrong was the employee on duty. Amelia stood frozen, partially hidden by a towering areca palm with leaves almost as wild and unruly as the mass of light brown curls that fell over her naturally tanned shoulders. “Sophie,” she said quietly.
“Amelia, what are you doing here?” I quickly closed the distance between us.
“I—I—I’m
