Susan
Home at last. Susan Randall moved her shoulders in slow circles to
ease the tension raised by the series of delays she had experienced during the
morning's journey from Florida.
An hour's delay in the departure of the flight. Traffic snarls due to
construction. She had hoped to be home long before noon. She looked at her
watch. Nearly one o'clock.
The limousine driver dropped her bags on the porch.
After paying the man, she waited for him to leave. Then she fished the house
key from the jumble in her purse and opened the front door. Why
hadn't
she stuck to her original plan and left last night? Instead, she had allowed
her parents to persuade her to stay until this morning. Another failure in
assertiveness, she thought.
The two weeks in Florida had
exhausted her. With a sigh, she opened the front door and lifted the suitcases.
Worry over the outcome of her father's abdominal surgery and coping with her
mother's fears had drained her. Her father's uncomplicated recovery had given
her parents time to offer advice on how she should live her life.
"It's been nearly a year and a half since Jim's
death. How long are you going to grieve? You're thirty-five. Isn't it time to
let
him go and build a new life?"
Variations on the theme had been endless. The
unsolicited advice and opinions had only increased
her
inner restlessness.
Susan dropped the suitcases beside the brown and white
couch. How could she admit to her parents that fear of losing her identity
again and not grief had governed her choices? Until the restraints had
vanished, she hadn't realized she had been
wrapped in a cocoon. If Jim hadn't
died, her contentment
with
her life would have lasted. He would have continued to make decisions for every
moment of their life and she wouldn't \have protested. He had bound her so
tightly, there had been little need for family, friends or children. During the
past eighteen months, making decisions for the slightest change had been
difficult, but she had learned. She had no intention of ceding her newfound independence.
Why would she want to find another man and plunge into
the same kind of dependency? The odds of settling into a similar relationship
were high. How many of her friends had she watched leave one man and find
another with the same traits? She couldn't take the chance--not until she
gained confidence in herself. Besides, her life would remain serene as long as
her
emotions remained in a coma.
The wall clock chimed. Startled, she looked up. One
forty-five. How long had she drifted in thought? She'd better move
before she
arrived late for work, an act she hadn't committed in her thirteen years at Bradley Memorial Hospital.
Patrick
Patrick stood on the porch. The ceiling light glinted on his
honey-blond hair. She left the car and walked to the porch.
"Welcome home. Long night." His deep voice
promised security.
For an instant, she thought of finding forgetfulness
in his arms the way she had the night Jim had died. But
that encounter had
nearly destroyed their friendship.
Tears spilled down her cheeks. Were they for Barbara,
herself or some unknown reason? She fought to
control feelings of helplessness.
If Patrick saw her as weak, he would react the same way Jim had. She never
wanted to be smothered again.
He reached for her hand. "Don't tell me you knew
the nurse I heard about on the police band."
She nodded. "I found the body." She fumbled
in her purse for the house key. Patrick put his arm around her shoulders. For a
moment, she leaned against him. "I'll be all right."
"I know, but it must have been a brutal shock. If
you need a shoulder, mine's broad." He plucked the keys from
her
hand and opened the door.
She dropped her coat on the arm of the couch. A
splotch of dried blood stained the right knee of her uniform. She gasped. Why
hadn't someone told her?
She felt unclean. Her skin itched. She wanted to tear
off the uniform. As she hurried to the stairs, she unfastened the buttons of
her white shirt. "I have to shower."
The note of panic in Susan's
voice drew Patrick to the stairs. When she turned, he saw the
bloodstained knee of her uniform. He gripped the newel
post. She must have found the body not long after the woman had been killed.
His muscles tensed. Had the murderer seen her?
Long after she vanished, he remained at the foot of
the steps. He wanted to follow her, to hold her, to protect her. She might
be
in danger. What if she had seen something that could identify the killer?
He released his held breath and walked to the kitchen.
There, he measured coffee and turned on the machine. While the coffee brewed,
he returned to the living room and took a bottle of brandy from the antique
icebox Susan used as a bar.
Memories of the night Jim died arose. He had held
Susan in his arms. A light kiss meant to offer comfort had ignited passion. He
had forgotten her grief, forgotten his friend and had drowned in the heady
sensations of making love with the woman he had wanted for years. The shock of
hearing her
call him Jim had iced his desire.
For months after the funeral, she had avoided him.
Though he had understood and shared the guilt,
he had feared they would never regain what had been lost.
This past summer, they had become friends again, but he wanted
more. Sometimes,
he thought his desire for her had become an obsession.
Patrick leaned against the counter. He loved her, but
she had to be more secure about her ability to
deal with life before she would be ready for a
relationship.
He reached for two mugs hanging from hooks above the
kitchen table, poured coffee and laced
Susan's with brandy. Just as she came down the stairs, he
entered the living room. His body reacted to
the gentle sway of her light brown caftan.
She sat on one end of the couch and tucked her feet under
her. After taking the mug in her hands, she sipped
and coughed. "You
should have warned me."
"The perfect antidote for tonight's shock. Will
help you sleep."
"Thanks, and thank you for the flowers." She
leaned forward and stroked one of the chrysanthemums with a
finger.
Patrick imagined her touching him in the same way. He
lifted his mug. "Who was killed?"
