Macnamara's Woman by Alicia Scott

Author:Alicia Scott [Scott, Alicia]
Language: deu
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2011-08-07T12:50:49+00:00

Chapter 7

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"I'm returning to Manhattan. It's time to go home."

It was seven in the morning. Patty stood in the doorway of her four-bedroom house, looking at Tamara with shocked eyes while she tightened the belt of her simple navy blue terry-cloth robe. That robe wasn't right. Patty should be wearing the silk, bloodred dragon kimono she'd bought when they were fifteen. That robe had been wild, fierce, a bold statement of budding sexuality and rebellion. Tamara had looked at it with awe. This robe Tamara resented, even if it was stupid to resent a bathrobe. In this robe, she saw the yawning gap between her and Patty, between the innocent girls they were in her mind and the reserved, world-weary women they'd become. She wished Patty still wore bloodred silk. How silly.

"Why don't you come in?" Patty said at last. "I'll get us both cups of coffee."

Tamara nodded. She was shivering unconsciously on the doorstep, clutching her trench coat for warmth. The cab that had delivered her had already come and gone.

This early, the sun was just beginning to burn the haze from the sky, and dew still glistened on leaves of mesquite trees and the fine needles of saguaro cacti. Patty lived outside of Sedona on a large tract of land. Despite what she'd stated earlier, she seemed to be making a very nice living. Her house was surrounded by a luxurious oasis of emerald green grass, expensive to maintain. Sturdy yucca soap trees and bundles of barrel cacti fringed the perimeter, helping conceal the black wrought-iron fence guarding the backyard. Her stucco walls had been freshly whitewashed and her red-tiled roof, recently cleaned and well maintained, gleamed darkly beneath the rising sun.

The inside looked the same, tastefully upper class. Huge vaulted ceilings and a rising expanse of windows revealed the kidney-shaped pool and lush garden in her backyard. Ceiling fans stirred the air. Jade green marble framed a decorative fireplace and glossed over the kitchen floor. Cream-colored leather sofas sat on plush white Berber rugs, while tasteful landscape paintings of Arizona sunsets hung neatly on the walls.

The room was elegant, without reproach, and lacked a single spark of life. It depressed Tamara even more.

"How would you like your coffee?" Patty asked politely, filling the void.

"Cream. A little sugar." Generally she drank it black, but the thought of straight caffeine already made her stomach roll. When had she eaten last? Twelve, sixteen, twenty-four hours ago? She had no insides left.

Patty crossed to the adjoining kitchen, which was separated from the living room only by a green-tiled bar. "Tamara, are you all right?"

"I'm not sleeping well, that's all." That was an understatement. She was exhausted and overwrought. She'd tossed and turned since C.J. had dropped her off at three, dozing off to sleep twice and suffering horrible nightmares on each occasion. Right around six, she'd given up on sleep and she'd given up on peace. She'd made her decision and called Patty.

"I think I was wrong about the senator," Tamara said abruptly.

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