Her little bungalow sat dark at the end of the street. The porch light had been burned out for a week. It was only tonight that it took on a sinister dimension. Her stomach tightened into a cramp and her breathing kicked up. She clicked on the bright lights as she approached. They swept the empty yard and spindly winter bushes.
Then, out loud, to herself, “Don’t be silly.”
She parked at the top of the driveway and stepped out, the chill helping to center her. The street looked coldly benign in the moonlight. The moon looked like it had been shot out of a cannon.
It came quickly from her left, shadow and blurry motion.
“No!”
“Cheryl Beth, it’s okay. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“Gary.” She felt her heart slowly withdraw from her throat. “What are you doing here?”
“The hospital told me.”
“Come inside.”
She clumsily unlocked the door, led him in, and turned on some lights. When she turned around he was right there, pulling her greedily into his arms. At first she resisted, guilt and empathy fighting inside her. Then she let him hold her. After a moment, she even held him back. Dr. Gary Nagle stood a foot taller than she, but his body was hard with muscles, lacking even a careless hint of fat. He was a killer squash player.
“Oh, Gary, I am so, so sorry.”
With that she started sobbing again and cleaved against him until the coat made her oppressively hot, the heat reminding her of the impossible awkwardness of this. She broke away, tossed her coat in a chair, and went silently to the kitchen where she made herself a Bushmills on the rocks. He was already fixing himself a scotch. He knew where the bottle was kept.
“They told me you found her.”
He followed her back into the living room and waited, standing while she put a fake log in the fireplace, thinking the light and flame might be comforting. It bloomed into unnatural light as she told him what had happened. She was accustomed to telling the story now that she had told the police four times. The big black detective, she didn’t like him. He had aggressively questioned her every sentence, almost as if he suspected her of the crime. Several of her RN friends had married cops, but she had little personal experience with the police. If this was any indication, it was no wonder so many of those marriages had failed.
“She was just cut so badly,” Cheryl Beth said. “There was nothing I could do. She bled out. He cut off her ring finger.”
